The Don’s Discarded Bride Chapter 03
I couldn’t shake the look of disgust on Adrian’s face.
It burned itself into my memory.
The memory flashed back: a rainy night three years into our relationship, in my Manhattan apartment. That was when I’d finally gathered the courage to tell him about my mother. His eyes had glistened with what looked like genuine pain for me.
He’d held me close and said I hadn’t chosen my birth, that he’d protect me forever.
But that sincere boy from years ago had torn open my rawest, bleeding wound today, in front of every key figure in both families, just to defend another woman.
“Are you in love with Laurel?”
Adrian’s face was terrifyingly calm.
“Not love. But I care for her.”
“You know me. I don’t lie to you.”
In that awful moment, I remembered the day I’d said yes. He’d promised, his young face earnest in the moonlight, that he would never lie to me, not for as long as he lived.
All these years, no matter how I checked up on him—sent men to tail him, went through his phone—he’d told me everything without hesitation.
He’d even owned up to it when the guys in the family teased him.
“I like it when Clara keeps me in line,” he’d say, a grin tugging at his lips. “I’ll never lie to her. Not even if I step out.”
He’d kept that promise, all right.
Only now, that very promise was the knife twisting in my chest.
Just then, the wedding planner’s voice came from outside the door.
“Are you ready? The ceremony’s about to start.”
I ignored Adrian’s outstretched hand and stumbled toward the door on my own.
My fingers had just brushed the cold brass of the doorknob when his hand came down, clamping over mine.
“Clara, are you sure about this? You really want to call off the wedding?”
“I’m sure.”
He let out a cold laugh.
“If you’re refusing to go through with it, Clara, Laurel can take your place. After all,” he added, the words like a razor, “she’s the one with the marriage certificate. It would lend the occasion a certain… legitimacy.”
Laurel looped her arm through his shyly, but the eagerness in her eyes was impossible to miss.
“Oh, that would be perfect,” Laurel breathed, her eyes lighting up. “I wore this exact dress when we were together… while Clara was in the fitting room. It fits me like it was made for me.” She leaned into Adrian conspiratorially. “Is that why you pushed for this one? Because it reminded you of me?”
She clapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide with feigned horror. “Oh, I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Oops, I shouldn’t have said that.”
The dress constricted my chest, stealing my breath.
My fingers clawed at the delicate beading of the bodice, desperate to rip the cursed thing from my body, but Adrian’s hands closed like manacles around my wrists.
“Clara, stop this. You might be able to handle the fallout of canceling the wedding, but can your mother?”
He wore that smug, unshakable certainty.
He was waiting for me to back down, just like he did in every fight we’d ever had—silent, watching, until I caved first.
The door swung open then, and the world of the wedding—the guests, the music, the expectant chatter—poured into the strained silence of the room.
Someone spotted my red-rimmed eyes and teased.
“Look at her, crying happy tears already.”
I swallowed my emotions, determined not to let my mother see anything was wrong.
As we posed for the family portraits, Adrian leaned in and whispered in my ear.
“Clara, smile. Your father’s watching.”
I forced a tight, brittle smile.
Then a marriage license slipped out of nowhere and landed in my lap.
My mother snatched it up quickly, grinning.
“Silly girl, I know you and Adrian are crazy about each other, but you don’t have to carry your license around. Put it away.”
I nodded stiffly.
I reached for it, but Laurel grabbed it first.
She smiled demurely and said,
“I’m sorry, ma’am, this is mine.”
My mother handed it to her, still smiling.
Laurel ran her fingers over the license and asked sweetly,
“Would you like to see it, ma’am—”
“Laurel Hayes, shut up.”
Her smile widened at my furious expression. She flipped it open and held the names up for my mother to see.
“Tell me, Mrs. Rosino,” Laurel said, her voice now clear and cold, all pretense of sweetness gone. “Did you know your daughter is the other woman?” She paused, letting the words hang in the air. “History does have a way of repeating itself, doesn’t it?”
