The Substitute Bride

The Debt

The Dawkins never found Rose’s body.

The fire took her whole, left nothing but a gold chain — the one her grandmother gave her at twenty — twisted and blackened in the wreckage.

That was proof enough.

Rose had boarded Flight GH-217.

Rose was gone.

The funeral was for an empty coffin.

Chloe stood at the edge of the cemetery, half-hidden behind a marble angel.

The sky was the color of bruises.

Grief hung thick in the air, loud with sobs, with the raw sound of Mrs. Dawkins — Rose’s mother — screaming her daughter’s name into the earth.

The casket lowered.

Dirt hit wood.

_Thud. Thud. Thud._

Each one landed in Chloe’s chest.

She stepped forward, placed a single white lily on the mound, and turned to leave.

She didn’t belong here. Not really.

A hand shot out and seized her wrist.

Nails dug in.

_Smack._

Chloe’s head snapped to the side. Her cheek burned.

The taste of copper bloomed in her mouth.

“Give me back my daughter!”

Mrs. Dawkins howled, fisting Chloe’s dress, dragging her down toward the grave.

“You killed her! You sent her on that plane! Give her back!”

Chloe didn’t fight.

Couldn’t.

She was forlorn, hollowed out.

She grieved with them. More than them.

The guilt was a living thing inside her, eating her alive.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Dawkins,” she whispered.

The words were ash.

“I’m so sorry.”

She pried the woman’s fingers off her, gently, and turned away.

Tears blurred her vision.

“Miss Chloe, right?”

A man in a black suit blocked her path.

Impassive. Formal. Dangerous in a quiet way.

“Mr. Liam wants to see you.”

He gestured toward the cemetery gates.

A black Maybach idled there, windows tinted, exhaust curling into the cold air.

_Mr. Liam._

Rose’s fiancé.

The name hit like ice water.

Chloe’s stomach dropped, but her feet moved.

She followed him, each step heavier than the last.

“Mr. Liam, she’s here,” the man said, opening the rear door.

Smoke rolled out first. Thick, acrid.

Then him.

Liam Reigns sat with one leg crossed over the other, a cigarette burning between his fingers.

His suit was perfect.

His face was worse — beautiful in a way that made her want to run.

Emerald eyes, cold as a glacier, cut into her.

“So you’re the murderer,” he said.

No hello.

No preamble.

Just judgment.

Chloe flinched.

“I—”

“Are you ready to pay your debt?”

His voice was soft. That made it worse.

“Because it’s going to be for a lifetime.”

She bowed her head.

Respect.

Surrender.

“Mr. Liam, I am deeply sorry for what happened to Rose. You must hate me. I’ll accept any punishment.”

“Really?”

A paper fluttered onto her chest.

She caught it on instinct.

Her eyes scanned it.

Her blood went cold.

“This… this is a marriage contract?”

Her voice cracked.

“I know you love your boyfriend,” he said, exhaling smoke toward her face.

“But Rose died because of you. So you will atone. Every minute. As long as you’re alive. You don’t deserve happiness. Not after this.”

He flicked the cigarette out the door.

It hissed in a puddle.

Chloe turned to walk away.

She’d apologize. She’d pay money. She’d do charity in Rose’s name.

But not this.

Never this.

“The wedding is tomorrow,” he said, and her legs locked.

“Time and venue will be sent. Don’t bother with a gown. I’ll have one delivered. Unless you prefer to come naked?”

The smirk on his face was a blade.

He didn’t wait for an answer.

The door shut.

The Maybach pulled away, tires spitting gravel.

Chloe stood there, alone, trembling.

She hadn’t signed up for this.

She _didn’t_ sign up for this.

She didn’t know how long she stood there.

The sky opened.

Cold rain soaked her hair, her dress, the contract in her hands.

She didn’t move.

Didn’t feel it.

Not until warmth settled on her shoulders.

“Chloe.”

Lily.

Her assistant, her manager, her friend.

She draped a jacket over Chloe and guided her toward the waiting van.

“You’ll catch a fever. Come on.”

Chloe let herself be led.

She hated rain.

Hated how it felt like the sky was crying for Rose.

But the jacket helped.

The warmth helped.

The last thing she needed was a cold.

Not when she had a wedding tomorrow.

The thought made her nauseous.

Marrying Rose’s fiancé.

Taking her place in every way that mattered.

Her stomach churned.

Inside the van, Lily slammed the door.

The rain drummed on the roof.

Chloe stared at the paper.

Read it.

Then read it again.

And again.

As if the words would change.

_CONTRACT OF MARRIAGE BETWEEN LIAM REIGNS AND CHLOE ADAMS_

_Party A: LIAM REIGNS_

_Party B: CHLOE ADAMS_

1. Party B shall adhere to all directives given by Party A.

2. Party B shall be submissive to Party A at all times.

3. Party B shall reside at the Reigns Mansion henceforth.

4. Party B shall relinquish her career and all professional titles, assuming the role of stay-home wife.

5. Party B is forbidden from leaving the Reigns Mansion without prior notification to and express permission from Party A.

6. Party B is strictly forbidden from referring to Party A as her husband in public.

7. Party B shall remain out of public view and maintain distance from all press.

_Note: Party A reserves the right to add further terms at his discretion._

“Who the _f**k_ does he think he is?”

Lily snatched the contract, her voice shaking with rage.

“This is insane, Chloe. This is slavery. You can’t—”

Chloe took the pen from Lily’s hand.

Signed.

_Chloe Adams._

The letters didn’t wobble.

Lily stared at her like she’d grown a second head.

“Tell me you didn’t just—”

Chloe gave her a small, empty smile.

Then she leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes.

“I’m tired, Lil.”

“Chloe—”

“I have a long day tomorrow.”

Lily’s protests died.

She knew that tone.

Knew there was no arguing with guilt this heavy.

Outside, the rain kept falling.

Washing the world clean.

But nothing could wash Chloe clean.

Not anymore.

Tomorrow, she’d walk down an aisle she didn’t choose, toward a man who hated her, to pay for a death she caused.

The cage was waiting.

And she’d just locked herself in.

---

It arrived at 6:00 AM.

No note.

No sender.

Just a black box with white roses and a dress that cost more than Chloe’s old apartment.

Lily stared at it and then at Chloe.

“You don’t have to wear it.”

Chloe’s hands were already unzipping it.

“I do.”

The gown was white.

Not ivory. Not lace.

Satin. Cold. It clung like a second skin and left nothing to the imagination.

A punishment disguised as bridal.

When she looked in the mirror, she didn’t see a bride.

She saw a substitute.

The car came at 8:00 AM.

Same black Maybach.

Same driver in a black suit.

The church was empty again.

Just like he wanted it.

And at the altar, waiting, was the man who would collect his debt — one day, one rule, one broken piece of her at a time.