Chapter 292
Chapter 52
The gentle strokes of the makeup brush against her skin felt mechanical, distant. Isla sat motionless as the maid delicately applied the final touches–soft blush on her cheeks, a whisper of highlighter on her brow bone, a neutral shade on her lips. But it was all meaningless.
She was supposed to feel beautiful today. She was supposed to feel special. Instead, she felt like a hollow shell, going through the motions of a day that had
already begun to turn sour.
And then, it was time.
The dress.
The gown chosen not by her, but by Layla Anderson. Graham’s Layla.
As the garment bag was unzipped, Isla’s stomach twisted into a knot, bile rising in her throat the moment she saw it.
It was everything she didn’t want.
Long sleeves–stiff and heavy, suffocating her at the wrists.
A boat neckline–prim, conservative, stripping her of any trace of femininity or allure.
Tulle lace–delicate and intricate, but to her, it was claustrophobic, a relic of a past era meant for a sixteen–year–old maiden locked in a tower.
The dress was a statement. But
She hated it.
wasn’t hers.
She hated the way it looked. Hated the way it felt. Hated the way, the moment she stepped into it, it swallowed her whole–turning her into someone she
wasn’t.
But she wore it.
She let the maids fasten the buttons at her back, let them smooth down the fabric, let them pin the veil into her hair. She let them do it all, because what else was she supposed to do? Rip it off and demand another dress? There wasn’t another dress. There wasn’t another choice.
There never had been..
She caught sight of herself in the mirror, and the air in her lungs stilled,
She didn’t recognize the woman staring back at her.
She should have looked radiant, glowing with the kind of happiness that brides were meant to feel on their wedding day. But instead, her fee was blank, her eyes dim, her lips pressed into a thin, lifeless line.
She looked like a stranger.
This wasn’t the wedding she had dreamed of.
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Chapter 292
This wasn’t the day she had imagined.
This was a shotgun wedding disguised in white lace and forced smiles.
A dress she hated.
A groom who had reprimanded her, who had chosen to silence her instead of listen.
And a wedding that, moment by moment, was turning into something she was starting to hate.
Her chest tightened as Maggie adjusted the veil over her shoulders, offering her a soft, hopeful smile. “You look beautiful, sweetheart,” she said gently.
But Isla felt nothing.
Not joy.
Not excitement.
Just a growing emptiness, creeping in like a shadow.
sla moved like a puppet on invisible strings, every motion dictated by expectation rather than will.
She wore the dress like she had been told to.
She walked with the grace of an elegant lady, just as she had been instructed to.
She stood beside Graham in front of the priest, her posture prim, her hands folded neatly before her, just as she was supposed to.
But she didn’t smile.
Not at Graham.
Not at the guests.
Not even at Maggie, whose worried eyes followed her every step down the aisle.
She barely looked at him as she approached, the heavy weight of her dress pressing against her skin like a cage. She felt trapped–trapped in lace, in duty, is
a moment that should have been the happiest of her life but instead felt like a beautifully wrapped prison.
She didn’t want to be here.
Not like this.
And Graham knew,
He had sensed it the moment she stepped onto the aisle, long before she reached him. Isla was many things, but subtle was not one of them
His bride was furious.
Her eyes, normally bright with fire, were dull now, cold as steel. She refused to meet his gave, her tips pressed it in, siding us. Every step sogn
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Chapter 292
took toward him was stiff, controlled, forced.
Graham sighed, exhaling slowly as she finally came to stand beside him.
So, this was how she was going to be today.
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