The Don’s Discarded Bride Chapter 05
In the wedding chapel, Adrian Moretti’s gaze was fixed, unseeing, on the oceans of white baby’sÂ
breath that surrounded them. Even when theÂ
priest addressed him directly, his responses were distant, mumbled distractions.Â
Laurel Hayes watched, digging her nails so hardÂ
into her palms they turned red and swollen.Â
“Adrian, please look lovingly at your bride.”Â
“Do you take her to be your lawfully wedded wife,Â
to stand by her through poverty and wealth, for allÂ
the days of your life?”Â
Adrian held the microphone, silent for far too long.Â
He couldn’t say the words. He could feel theÂ
Rosinos‘ knife–like glares burning into his back.Â
from the back of the hall.Â
Urgent, subtle nudges came from the groomsmenÂ
beside him. From the front row, his father,Â
Salvatore Moretti, gave a single, sharp shake ofÂ
his head–a clear command to end this. AnÂ
invisible vise of pressure tightened around him.Â
After a long, heavy silence, he drew a sharp breathÂ
and finally mumbled,Â
“I do…”Â
The second the words left his mouth, his phoneÂ
buzzed violently in his pocket.Â
A flicker of surprise crossed his face, and heÂ
pulled it out instantly.Â
But when he read the text, all color drained from his face. He swayed, nearly collapsing.Â
[Adrian Moretti, are you happy now that you’re marrying Laurel on top of my mother’s corpse?]Â
The microphone crashed to the floor.Â
The priest scrambled to smooth things over and repeated the question.Â
Beneath Laurel’s eager gaze, Adrian spoke clearly, his voice cold and unforgiving,Â
“I don’t.”Â
The entire room erupted in murmurs, guests exchanging shocked glances.Â
The Morettis‘ faces turned ashen with rage. TheÂ
Rosinos smirked.Â
He tore off his boutonnière and stormed for theÂ
door, but Laurel blocked his path.Â
Her eyes filled with tears, and she asked pitifully,Â
“Adrian, you regret this?”Â
He didn’t hesitate. “Yes.” The word was a bullet. “IÂ
regret letting you stand where she should have been. I regret signing that paper with you. And I regret, more than anything, the day I ever laid eyesÂ
on you.”Â
The words left her gasping for air, speechless.Â
She’d expected him to regret the ceremony at worst, never that he’d disavow her entirely.Â
She had no idea what had turned him against her so completely.Â
So she ventured carefully,Â
“What did Clara tell you?”Â
His silence was confirmation enough. Laurel bowed her head, a single tear tracing a perfect path down her cheek. When she looked up, her face was a masterpiece of wounded innocence.Â
“Adrian, you know Clara’s always looked down on me. She talks to me like I’m beneath her.”Â
“And now even you don’t believe me. What am I supposed to do…”Â
The loaded pause said it all.Â
Adrian’s gaze was arctic. “Interesting,” he said, hisÂ
voice dangerously soft. “I never mentioned Clara.Â
Yet here you are, scrambling to throw the firstÂ
stone. Tell me, Laurel, does your conscience everÂ
trouble you? Or is slandering her just second.Â
nature now?”Â
“And let’s not forget–if it weren’t for her, yourÂ
family would’ve sold you to that old drunk in West Virginia years ago. That gambling debt yourÂ
brother owed? It was to a Rosino enforcer. ClaraÂ
wiped it clean with one word. You owe her yourÂ
life. Instead, you seduced her fiancé. YouÂ
ungrateful backstabber.”Â
Laurel stared at him in disbelief.Â
She’d never expected him to say that.Â
She’d thought if he’d abandoned an eight–year relationship and broken the alliance between twoÂ
families to marry her, he must have cared for her.Â
Now he was publicly crucifying her in front ofÂ
everyone.Â
She trembled under the weight of every stare in the room.Â
“Adrian, I’m your wife. You can’t do this to me.”Â
Adrian laughed bitterly.Â
“It’s just a piece of paper. You’re my wife only asÂ
long as I say you are. The second I stop, you’reÂ
nothing.”Â
Before she could reply, he pulled up his textÂ
messages and held the screen up to her face.Â
“Laurel Hayes, Clara’s mother is dead.”Â
“You kicked her phone away. You killed her.”Â
Laurel screamed and clamped her hands over herÂ
ears, shaking her head violently.Â
“I didn’t! I’m not a murderer!”

