The Second Chance Bride

CHAPTER THREE

~Chloe

My lips trembled as I stared at my mother, her gaze razor sharp.

“I don't care...just get ready,” she snapped, ignoring how miserable I looked, she walked past me and left.

The door to the room clicked shut, sealing me in with my shame. I sank into the edge of the bed, the brown coat still pressed to my skin like a second betrayal.

This is where I was supposed to sleep—not next to a complete stranger. I thought the worst that could happen to me was drowning in an ocean. Not this. Not even close.

I pressed my palms to my eyes, trying to block out the world, but the images kept coming—flashes of the stranger’s hands, the heat of my own body betraying me.

I thought marriage would give me the freedom I never enjoyed. The guilt would haunt me if I didn't voice out. I gripped the bedspread, like it was the only thing left to hold on to.

Tears rushed down my cheeks. I was used to crying, but this time it was hot, filled with sorrow and a heavy heart.

Someone knocked on the door. I hurriedly scrubbed my face with the bedspread, my eyes mottled red, rehearsing the words I'd tell whoever was at the door.

“Your makeup session will be in twenty minutes, ma'am.” The makeup artists said behind the door.

“I'll be there,” I answered, struggling to keep my voice steady; rather, it came out breaking.

~

My reflection stared back at me in the mirror as the makeup artist blended in my lipstick. I had applied ice to my eye bags and promised myself not to cry anymore, till after the wedding at least.

The woman that stared back at me definitely looked like a bride. I didn't know how a bride feels, but it's definitely not like that—miserable, used, helpless.

I didn't know how to make Tristan forgive me. Maybe I truly was trading one gilded cage for another, but between my family and Tristan, I’d much rather choose him without thinking twice.

I never thought I'd feel so lonely even with the makeup artists in the same room with me, trying to make me smile. I've always faked it because I haven't been genuinely happy since the incident that snatched my happiness years ago.

“All done, miss.” She said, her eyes glinting.

“I would like you to move to the full-length mirror to confirm the fitting of your dress.” She said, holding my hands up as I looked and walked towards the corner of the room.

I almost gasped. I looked like a beautiful bride. Tristan's sister had personally styled my dress, and I went for the final fitting two weeks ago.

Someone knocked on the door, and I expected to see worried Tristan. My mind swirled with excuses I'd give him. It swung open before I gave permission; my eyes widened in shock when I saw my parents walk in together.

My father wore a genuinely gentle face. I was relieved not to find anger in his eyes. I almost got carried away and smiled back at him.

“Good morning, Mr. Winters. We'd excuse you.” The makeup artists greeted and left with her assistant, leaving me behind with my parents that wouldn't hesitate to squeeze life out of me.

The door opened and clicked shut. I blinked and swallowed hard, bracing myself for whatever happens next. Father reached for me and grabbed my arm tightly; it hurt, but I remained silent.

“Don't think you'll get to rest any moment from now. Seduce him and make his parents love you; convince them to invest more in our company.” He said tightly, his tone becoming more harsh after each statement. No, threatening.

“You know what I'm capable of.” He added, face flushed with anger, to back up his threats.

My mother stepped forward, eyes darkening, as she met my gaze, staring at me with unbidden detest.

“I would have liked Carrie to get married instead of you, but you're just a means to the end.” She shrugged. “I don't know why Tristan chose you… I can't just do it. I can't watch my princess struggle with love in her marriage. I hope he makes you suffer too.”

She tapped Father's arm with a smug tilt of her head. “Release her; you wouldn't want Tristan to find red scars on her.”

He pulled me forward, and I nearly stumbled in my heels. “Don't disgrace me… if you dare pull up a scene. I wouldn’t hesitate to skin you alive.”

"Be fast, Dad...I don't want to be late," Carrie called from outside the door, her voice extra sweet.

"We'll make it on time, sweetheart," he replied, shooting me a loaded glare, and they walked out.

~

Sharp breaths escaped my nostrils, echoing in my ears more than the soft background music. My father held my hands as he walked me down the aisle.

No, strange. His grip was neither too tightened nor loosened.

The heels suddenly felt like I've worn them for ages, making my feet hurt. The physical pain was nothing close—nothing—to the emotional hurt that screamed it was here to stay.

My masked self hid my feelings, but internally, I could hear my heart breaking.

My wedding day was nothing different; I wore a tight smile to brush it off.

No.

The smile remained on my lips, showing everyone that part of me that didn't exist—not even behind the doors. I tried to steady my movements and avoid tripping on my long-tailed wedding dress whipping behind me in the wind.

Suddenly, his grip tightened on mine, and I called my stray mind back; my fingers twitched.

“I've been chasing the Astors for years. Now that I have them on my fingertip, don't disgrace me, or I'll end you.” Father mumbled, his voice deep.

At that moment, it sounded more like a threat than advice; my determination was not to embarrass myself either. Hundreds of eyes turned to me, making my skin crawl.

What were they admiring? My dress? Or did they notice my awkward smile?

I hate being the center of attraction. My mind was rammed with the question, buried in my thoughts for a while.

We settled for an outdoor wedding—an aspect where my parents couldn’t interfere. The wedding wasn't in favor of them; the Astors fished out everything.

Tristan stood beneath the white and green flower arch with the pastor, his gaze fixed on me. I stared back at him through my white lacy veils. He offered me the widest smile, excitement dancing in his eyes.

When we walked to the front, my anxiety reduced like I had found a temporary solution. The hum of whispered conversations vanished into a vacuum.

My father handed me to Tristan; our eyes met, and I couldn't look down. He was my betrothed; we were left without choices. It wasn’t difficult, but we learned to love each other.

He offered us a tight smile. To me, it was a warning. A reminder. Then, he left.

At first, I saw marriage as an escape route to finally get away from my family. But before I knew it, it became real.

“A moment, everyone,” Carrie said casually, hand raised in permission. Before the pastor could respond, she walked to the front, heels clinking through the walkway.