THE RUNAWAY BRIDE'S DEAL

She stared at the rain rolling down the windowpane, her vision blurred by tears she didn't bother to wipe away. It all seemed too easy for her father, at least. Far too easy to destroy her life with the stroke of a pen and the shake of a hand. But it had never been easy for her. Being the least favorite daughter meant sacrificing pieces of herself from the moment she could walk. Taking the blame. Enduring punishments that were never hers. Smiling in silence while everyone else screamed. Now she was being handed off like an unwanted gift. To a man she didn't even know. A man whose presence made her skin crawl. His touch was careful but calculating, as though he were already measuring his control over her. Her chest tightened. The air in her room felt heavier than it should have been. She hated this place. Hated the polished walls, the floral perfume her mother sprayed on every curtain, the perfection forced on everything and everyone inside it, except her. Especially her. A soft knock on the door broke through her thoughts. Before she could respond, the door creaked open and her sister, Leona, stepped inside. "Isla," she said, her voice clipped, "your fiancé is downstairs. He's here to take you dress shopping." Dress shopping. As if she hadn't just spent the last ten minutes thinking of every way to avoid this wedding. As if the gown wasn't just another symbol of her cage. Isla turned her face back to the window, saying nothing. Leona sighed. "Please don't make a scene. Dad's already on edge. Just... get dressed and go with him." Well, it was easy for Leona to say that. She wasn't the one getting married to a man she barely knew. A man whose eyes held nothing but calculation. Then she was gone, the door closing with a quiet thud behind her. Isla closed her eyes. She didn't want a dress. She wanted a way out. She let out a heavy sigh, her chest aching with the weight of it. Her parents couldn't have cared less. They wanted her gone off their property, out of their house, and preferably out of their lives. Even with five daughters, they still chose her for this marriage. The youngest. The last. The one no one ever looked at twice unless they needed someone to blame. None of her sisters were married. None of them had been forced like this. So why her? Why always her? It made her wonder if she'd done something wrong. Something terrible she just didn't remember. Sometimes she wanted to ask them to look her father in the eye and scream the question. "Was I ever your child?" "Or just a burden you couldn't wait to give away?" ~~ Isla walked down the stairs, her fingers brushing the smooth railing as she forced one foot in front of the other. Below, her entire family was already gathered, waiting eagerly like it was some celebration instead of a sentencing. Her mother was the first to look up, her lips curling into that signature fake smile she always wore whenever someone important was in the house. It never quite reached her eyes. Her sisters stood in a perfect line beside her, each of them smiling, as if this whole thing wasn't an act. All except one. Francesca. The only one whose smile faltered. The only one whose eyes didn't carry judgment or indifference. Francesca had always been different gentler, quieter, and the only one who treated Isla like more than just the black sheep of the family. They'd been inseparable once. They still were, in all the ways that mattered. Even now, with the walls closing in, Francesca's presence was the only thing keeping Isla from turning around and running back up the stairs. Her father barely looked at her before speaking. His tone was clipped and emotionless more like a warning than anything resembling care. "Make sure you behave yourself, Isla. No attitude. No mistakes. You know what's at stake." The same empty words, as always. His reputation. His pride. Never her. Before she could even respond, the front door swung open. In walked Mario. Her fiancé. A man she barely knew, and already hated. There was nothing warm about him. Not his expression. Not his voice. Not the way he let his eyes pass over her like she was just another task on his checklist. "Let's go," Mario said flatly, not bothering with a greeting. "I don't have all day." He didn't look at her father. Didn't nod at her mother. Didn't acknowledge anyone, really. Just turned on his heel and walked back toward the car. Isla stood there for a second, her fists clenched at her sides. Rage simmered low in her stomach, heavy and familiar. This was the man they were so eager to marry her off to. This was the future they'd forced into her hands. Not love. Not partnership. Just silence and control. She followed him out the door without a word, her spine straight and her heart a storm of resentment. If she had to go through hell- She'd do it quietly. But she wouldn't forget. Not a single face. Not a single word. Not a single betrayal. The ride to the boutique was, without a doubt, the last place Isla wanted to be. Mario didn't say a word to her. Not even a glance. Instead, he spent the entire drive on his phone barking orders, giving dry responses, and making deals like she wasn't even there. And honestly, she was grateful for it. The less she had to hear his voice directed at her, the better. She stared out the window, arms folded, jaw clenched. Every bump on the road felt like it rattled her entire future. She hoped they'd get there fast, and she was already planning her small act of defiance. She was going to pick the ugliest wedding dress in the world. Nothing soft. Nothing beautiful. Nothing that made this feel like a celebration. Because it wasn't. It was an ugly dress for an ugly event. When they finally arrived, she stepped out of the car without waiting for him. He didn't open the door for her, of course, Mario wasn't that type. He barely looked at her as he walked toward the entrance of the boutique like he had somewhere better to be. Inside, the store was filled with elegance and quiet classical music. Rows of gowns sparkled under soft lighting, and a tall, sharply dressed woman approached them with a bright smile. "Good afternoon. You must be the bride?" she asked kindly. Isla forced a small nod, her throat tight. The woman introduced herself as Rita and immediately began guiding her through the racks. Before she could get through her second question, Mario's phone rang again. He didn't excuse himself. He didn't even wait. He simply turned and walked out the boutique doors. Isla didn't watch him leave. She didn't care to. If anything, she was relieved. "Shall we start?" Rita asked gently. Isla gave her a tight-lipped smile. "Let's get this over with." They moved through satin, lace, and silk. Some dresses Rita suggested were clearly expensive, elegant and classic. But Isla passed over all of them, pretending to consider styles that made Rita raise an eyebrow. "Something a bit... plainer?" Isla asked, eyeing a shapeless, beige thing hanging in the corner. Rita hesitated, but nodded. "If that's what you want." They continued for a while, Isla trying to stay focused and emotionally numb. But eventually, nature called. "Um... is there a restroom I can use?" she asked. "Of course. Right this way," Rita said, leading her to a narrow hallway at the back of the store. Isla walked toward the bathroom door, her heels clicking against the floor. As she reached for the handle, a strange sound made her pause. A soft moan. Then another. Her brows furrowed. It was coming from inside. Confused and suddenly uneasy, Isla hesitated, but curiosity won over. She turned the knob slowly and pushed the door open... ...and froze. Her heart dropped. Her breath caught in her throat. The sight in front of her would haunt her forever.