The long awaited bride

Isabella's Point of View

"Get out of my car!" His cold voice boomed, startling me out of my thoughts. I hadn't even realized the car had come to a stop. My hand trembled as I reached for the door, opening it and stepping outside, letting the cold night air hit my face. I had been married off without my knowledge, and now, I was being sent away from the mansion like a nobody.

The light rain drizzled over me, dampening my hair, but I didn't care. I felt the walls of the mansion closing in on me. Tears mingled with the rain, sliding down my cheeks. Suddenly, I felt a muscular hand grab my wrist.

I looked up to see Ryan's cold face. He dragged me forward, and I struggled to free myself from his grasp.

"Let me go," I protested, my voice cracking. His grip was firm, and I was no match for his strength.

Just as we reached the entrance of the mansion, he stopped, slowly turning to stare into my eyes.

"Don't you get it?" he asked, his jaw clenched, unfazed by the rain pouring down on him or the lightning flashing overhead. "Every moment spent with you is torture to me. You don't want this marriage, and neither do I. I don't love you, Bella. I never did. This is my chance to get you out of my damn life!" he yelled.

I stared at him for a while, an awkward silence wrapping around us. I tried to speak, but a lump formed in my throat, and I swallowed hard. Then he turned and walked away, slamming the door behind him.

I never wanted this, yet somehow I had fallen for him. I blamed myself for catching feelings for a man who wanted nothing to do with me.

I made my way into the mansion, only to meet the cold gaze of my stepmother, her eyes sharp.

"What took you so long?" she asked, striding toward me. Before I could say a word, her hand collided with my cheek, and I staggered, falling to the floor. I tasted blood on my lips. Clutching my chin, I looked up, my lips trembling.

"You ungrateful, dirty rag!" she sneered, and I bowed my head in shame. "Your life is as worthless as your stepbrothers said."

My stepbrothers? I should have known they were involved. They arranged for me to marry Ryan, yet their influence still hovered over me. Why did they hate me so much?

"There you go!" my stepmother spat in disgust, tossing a bundle of my clothes at me. "Get out of my sight. You are no longer a Walters... pig," she hissed. She shot me one last glare before turning away.

"Mother, I have nowhere to go," I pleaded, falling to my knees. Where could I go at this hour? The city was unsafe for a woman alone. The memory of the harassment I faced earlier lived rent free in my head.

My father-in-law was nowhere to be seen, maybe he was too ashamed to look at me. I gathered my clothes, stuffing them into a bag before heading out of the mansion. I was unwanted; I'd known it would come to this sooner or later.

My hand instinctively moved to the hump on my lower abdomen as tears slid down my cheeks.

The wind howled through the empty streets, lightning flashed overhead, and thunder rumbled in the distance, amplifying my thoughts. I was so lost in them that I didn't realize I was walking in the middle of the road. The last thing I heard was a blaring car horn and the frightened face of the driver before everything turned… pitch black.

Ryan's Point of View

Finally free of her, I stepped into the bathroom, letting out a deep breath as the warm water cascaded down my spine, washing away the day's exhaustion. I didn't care what my father or George would say—as long as my mother and I were on the same page, I was satisfied.

I wrapped a towel around my waist, stepped out of the bathroom, and turned on the radio, letting the soft jazz notes fill the air. Humming along, I nodded to the rhythm, relaxing.

A soft bell rang, and the waitress announced that dinner was ready.

Sighing, I slipped into my night clothes and made my way downstairs to the dining room. But as I stepped in, I froze, taking in the odd decorations—the balloons, the ribbons on the chandelier, the candles arranged in a heart shape, and the smell of crispy chicken. Something was happening, and I couldn't quite put my finger on it.

"Mary," I called to the maid, beckoning her with a finger. She hurried over, bowing her head.

"Master?" she replied, too afraid to meet my eyes.

"What's with the weird decorations? Are we having a guest tonight?" I raised an eyebrow, curious.

"Yes… Master George is coming home with his bride. I was instructed to prepare a meal for them," she replied, her gaze fixed on the floor.

A chuckle escaped my lips. I had nearly forgotten that George was coming home with his soon-to-be bride. He wanted to introduce her over dinner. His life was perfect—he got whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, without our father dictating every step.

I walked to the dining table, ready to settle in for dinner with my mother. But just as I was about to sit, the door creaked open, and I looked up, jaw dropping as I saw my father holding none other than Isabella.

What on earth was wrong with him?

"Ryan, I need to speak with you… privately," he said, his tone icy.

I stood, taking a deep breath as I walked over to him. I was prepared to obey his wishes, but allowing Isabella back into my life was out of the question.

"How dare you send her out onto the street?" my father roared before I even reached him, his jaw clenched in anger.

"She is a disgrace to the Walters family, and I won't let her soil our name," I replied, trying to keep my voice steady.

"And you thought the solution was to send her onto the street to die? The Walters name was stained long before she came into it. The only real stain in this family is you!" he shot back, his face flushed with anger.

Our argument dragged on, feeling like an eternity. He was determined to keep Isabella as my wife. What on earth was so special about her anyway?

Just then, the door creaked open, and George walked in, his smile disappearing almost immediately.

"Am I missing something?" he asked, raising an eyebrow as his eyes darted between me and our father.

"Nothing," our father replied, noting the woman standing behind George.

He stepped aside, revealing the woman behind him—George's soon-to-be bride. She entered the room, her gaze locking with mine with a slow, deliberate smile. My heart pounded as I took her in, my muscles stiff. I was overwhelmed with unknown feelings; fear?

This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening. I had a feeling she'd find her way into the Walters mansion one day, but not like this. Whatever she was up to, it was no good, and George was just a pawn in her silly games.

She bit her lip, still maintaining eye contact, her hand resting casually on her hip.

"Kyle…" I murmured, my face turning pale.