My tears fell freely now, but they meant nothing to the men before me.

Richard—I couldn't bring myself to call him 'father'—simply checked his watch with impatience while Oliver's mouth twisted into a smirk.

"Are you quite finished with the dramatics?" Richard asked, his voice as cold as the marble floors beneath us. "The wedding is scheduled for this weekend. The Walker family has already made arrangements."

"This weekend?" I gasped, wiping furiously at my cheeks. "Huh! No way! I won't do it."

"You will," Richard stated flatly. "Unless you'd prefer to be responsible for hundreds of employees losing their jobs when Evans Industries collapses."

I stood on shaking legs, clutching my purse like a shield. “They’re not my employees. I’m leaving."

But as I turned toward the door, the housekeeper appeared, blocking my exit with an apologetic but firm expression.

“Get out of my way!” I glared at her. She didn’t move.

"Miss Evans will be staying in the east wing until the wedding," Richard instructed her, like I didn’t exist. "Ensure she has everything she needs to prepare for the ceremony."

The housekeeper took a bow before she flatly instructed me. “Please follow me, Miss Evans.”

That very second, the realization hit me like a physical blow—I wasn't a daughter returning home. I was a prisoner.

"You can't keep me here like this," I whispered, though the conviction in my voice was already fading.

Oliver approached, his expensive cologne suffocating as he leaned close to my ear. "We can and we will. Don't embarrass yourself by making a scene."

-

The week passed in a blur of fittings, instructions, and sleepless nights.

Throughout the week I had been trying to escape, but they locked the windows, blocked the gates, and had a maid following me all the time.

I became a doll being dressed and positioned for its purpose.

On the morning of the wedding, I stood before the mirror in the bridal suite, barely recognizing the woman staring back at me. My mother's silver locket—the only piece of her I had left—hung at my throat, hidden beneath layers of lace and pearls.

"It's time," the wedding coordinator announced, her professional smile never reaching her eyes.

Richard waited at the entrance to the church, not to walk me down the aisle as a loving father, but to ensure I didn't flee. Oliver stood nearby, checking his phone with bored indifference.

Neither spoke as the wedding march began and the massive oak doors swung open.

I clutched my bouquet of white roses, my knuckles bloodless beneath my gloves. The church was filled with strangers—business associates and society figures who had come to witness the alliance of two powerful families.

Not a single person was there for me.

As I took my first step down the aisle, the doors at the back of the church opened again. A collective murmur rippled through the congregation.

Luca Walker, my husband-to-be, entered, pushed in a sleek black wheelchair by a tall, stone-faced man I assumed was his bodyguard.

The whispers grew louder, and I caught fragments of their cruel commentary:

"Poor girl..."

"...can't even stand at his own wedding..."

"...the Walker cripple..."

I turned my head slightly, catching my first glimpse of the man I was about to marry.

Luca sat straight in his wheelchair, his expression impassive, almost bored. He was younger than I'd expected, perhaps early thirties, with sharp features and dark hair. Despite the circumstances that had brought him here, there was something dignified in his stillness.

I quickly faced forward again, my cheeks burning. I would not gawk at him like everyone else. Whatever his condition, he deserved basic respect.

When Luca's wheelchair finally reached the altar, Oliver stepped forward before the minister could speak.

"Fashionably late, Walker?" he sneered, loud enough for the front rows to hear. "Or is this the best speed you can manage these days?"

A hush fell over the church. The minister cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"Perhaps," Oliver continued, his voice dripping with contempt, "the Walkers should have sent someone more... capable to marry my sister. Though I suppose beggars can't be choosers."

Something snapped inside me.

I'd been silent, compliant, a pawn-like daughter, a perfect victim—but this cruelty was too much.

"Oliver," I said, my voice stronger than it had been all week, "you're embarrassing yourself and our family. Show some respect."

Oliver's eyes widened in shock before narrowing dangerously.

"Look at you, defending your cripple already. How touching." His voice dropped to a vicious whisper. "Remember your place, sister. Trash like you should be grateful we found any use for you at all."

I stared at him, heart sinking, could barely believe that the man calling me trash in front of my husband-to-be was my brother by blood.

How sad mom would be, if she learned that her son had become an asshole?

Before I could process Oliver's cruel words, the minister cleared his throat, signaling the ceremony to begin.

I stood there, trembling with a mixture of anger and humiliation, tears threatening to spill from my eyes as I faced Luca. His expression remained neutral, but I caught something in his eyes—a flash of understanding, perhaps even sympathy—that steadied me momentarily.

We exchanged vows mechanically, my voice barely audible as I promised to love and cherish a man I'd just met.

When Luca spoke his vows, his voice was unexpectedly strong and clear, contrasting with his physical condition.

The gold band felt heavy and foreign as it slid onto my finger.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife," the minister declared to a church filled with indifferent spectators.

No applause followed. No cheers of celebration. Just the rustle of expensive clothing as people shifted in their seats, eager for the reception where business could be discussed over champagne.

As soon as the ceremony concluded, Richard and Oliver practically sprinted toward a distinguished-looking man I assumed was Luca's uncle, Leonardo Walker.

Their faces transformed into ingratiating smiles as they approached him, no doubt to discuss the financial arrangement that had been the true purpose of this farce.

Luca and I were left alone at the altar, two pawns whose purpose had been served.

"Mrs. Walker," Luca said quietly, the first words he'd spoken directly to me. Before I could respond, we were interrupted.

"Well, isn't this just darling?"

A stunning woman in a fitted emerald dress approached us, her stiletto heels clicking purposefully against the marble floor. Her smile was perfect—too perfect, like a predator's.

"Matilda, right?" She extended a manicured hand. "I'm Emily. I just had to come meet Luca's bride."

I shook her hand hesitantly, noticing how her eyes never quite met mine, instead constantly darting toward Luca.

"It's nice to meet you," I managed, wondering why she was speaking to me rather than Luca if they knew each other.

"Luca and I were engaged once," she continued, her voice carrying just enough to attract the attention of nearby guests. "Before his... accident."

I felt Luca stiffen beside me but kept my expression neutral. "Oh. Um. I see."

"I just wanted to wish you both happiness," Emily said.

Before I could put up a smile and thank her, Emily raised her voice and continued. "Though I feel I should warn you about certain... limitations you might face in your marriage."

The surrounding conversations quieted as people tuned in to Emily's performance. I looked at her, studying her expression, utterly confused.

"After all," Emily continued with false concern, "not everything works properly after such trauma. Isn't that right, Luca?"

A wave of uncomfortable laughter rippled through the gathering crowd. It took me three whole seconds to understand what she was hinting for.

Horror dawned on me as I realized her true intention—not to speak with me, but to publicly humiliate Luca on our wedding day.

I felt dozens of eyes on us—some amused, others pitying. The weight of their stares pressed against my skin like physical touch. Oliver stood in the background, not bothering to hide his smirk.

But in that moment, something crystallized within me.

Looking at Luca, I saw not just a stranger I'd been forced to marry, but a fellow victim.

Both of us had been deemed expendable by those who should have protected us. Both of us were being laughed at by people who thought themselves superior.

I met Emily's gaze directly, refusing to shrink under her cruelty. I wouldn't give her—or any of them—the satisfaction of seeing me break.

“People who truly care don’t measure their love by what someone can or can’t do,” I began, looking into Emily’s widened eyes without hesitation. “Your concern is noted, Emily, but I’m afraid it’s misplaced.”

As the mocking laughter paused around, stunned by my defiance, I made a silent vow: I would protect this man beside me. I would make this marriage work, not for Richard or Oliver or the Walker family, but for us—the two discarded pieces who deserved better than they'd been given.

They all thought Luca was broken and I was worthless. They saw us as the family rejects, the convenient sacrifices. But their underestimation would be their mistake.

I placed my hand gently on Luca's shoulder, a small gesture of solidarity against the sea of judgment surrounding us.

Whatever came next, we would face it together—two strangers bound by circumstance but united by a common enemy.

And perhaps, just perhaps, we could build something real from these false beginnings.