I woke up feeling numb. My body moved on its own, letting the makeup artists and stylists do their work. They painted my lips red, curled my hair into perfect waves, and slipped me into the gown—the same one Bryant had sent me in a box, mocking my fate.

The dress was beautiful. White lace, delicate embroidery, and a flowing train fit for royalty. But it felt like a funeral shroud.

I was about to marry a monster.

I sat stiffly in the car, hands clenched into fists as we drove to the church. Guards sat on either side of me, their presence suffocating. I stared out the tinted windows, watching the world move outside. The world I no longer belonged to.

Then, just before we reached the church, a man approached me. He moved swiftly, slipping into the car before the guards could react.

He didn’t say much.

Just held up a photo.

My breath caught in my throat.

It was my family.

Tied up. Eyes wide with terror.

"If you try to run, if you do anything stupid," the man whispered, "Bryant won’t hesitate to kill them."

My stomach dropped. I wanted to scream, to fight, to tear this dress off and disappear. But I couldn’t.

I couldn’t risk their lives.

So I walked down the aisle, silent and obedient.

The church was packed with powerful people—investors, politicians, business moguls. Men who controlled the world with their wealth and influence. They all watched as I took slow, measured steps toward my captor.

Bryant stood at the altar, looking as handsome and arrogant as ever in his tailored suit. His dark eyes gleamed with victory.

I felt like I was walking toward my execution.

The ceremony was a blur. I barely heard the priest’s words. My body was ice-cold, my hands trembling in Bryant’s grip. And then—

"You may now kiss the bride."

My lips were claimed by a man I despised. His grip was firm, possessive, as he sealed my fate in front of everyone.

The applause rang in my ears. I forced a smile, pretending to be the devoted wife. Pretending so Bryant wouldn’t hurt my family.

And then, just when I thought I had survived the worst, my world shattered again.

"Congrats, Mrs. Harlow."

The voice was light, happy—familiar.

I turned, and there she was.

Mae.

My sister.

Smiling. Glowing. As if nothing had happened.

I felt my chest tighten. My pulse pounded in my ears.

Mae wasn’t a hostage. She wasn’t broken, terrified, or suffering.

She was celebrating.