Paper Promise: The Substitute Bride - Chapter 1: Chapter 1

That wedding dress wasn’t mine. Those guests weren’t mine. That gold ring that would be placed on my finger wasn’t mine. That groom at the altar wasn’t mine.
When I entered the church and all eyes turned to me, it felt like a silent accusation. They knew that the ceremony was theater.
My heart was beating fast, and my head was spinning, telling me to get out of there. For a minute, I looked at the door behind me, but it only took Dad’s hard stare to make me take the first step.
“Come on, Laura, you can do it,” I muttered to myself.
As I approached the altar, he was there. James, wearing his expensive dark suit, his hair gelled and his face impatiently.
I smiled under my veil, trying to disguise my nervousness, but he didn’t even look in my direction.
While the priest was giving a beautiful sermon about the wedding, I could see how irritated he was. James put the ring on my finger with such force that I let out a groan of pain.
By the time the priest said, “I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
He left the church without looking back, leaving me alone at the altar.
“Enjoy the party,” he shouted from the doorway.
The whispers started as a low hum and grew until they echoed throughout the church. I felt my face burn under the veil as I stood paralyzed at the altar, the bouquet trembling in my hands, and an overwhelming desire to cry.
“Laura, congratulations on the wedding,” someone said.
I couldn’t reply.
The air left my lungs as if I had been punched. My legs went weak, and I had to lean on the altar to keep from falling.
The bouquet slipped from my numb fingers and fell to the floor with a dull thud. Every word the guests said was like a new stab in my chest. I looked at my father, silently begging him to help me. But his face was pale, his eyes shifted to the floor.
“Laura...” someone said next to me, but I was already running.
I crossed the church aisle like a white blur, tripping over the dress that wasn’t mine, tearing off the veil that was stifling my sobs. The guests stood up in their places, but no one tried to stop me.
My trembling hands pushed open the church door, but at that moment a powerful hand grabbed my arm, its fingers digging into my skin like claws. The grip was familiar - my father always knew exactly how much force to use to hurt without leaving marks on my skin.
“Laura, don’t embarrass the family,” he hissed close to my ear, his voice calm but laden with menace. “Let’s go to the party. There’s a big celebration waiting for us.”
“What’s there to celebrate?”
The drive to the ballroom was a silent torture in the back of the limousine. My stepmother Eva kept complaining about how I had “ruined” the perfect ceremony she had planned. Her words mingled with the noise of the engine, turning into an irritating hum as I watched the city pass by the window, feeling like a prisoner on her way to her sentence.
“You need to smile,” my father ordered, his eyes meeting mine.
There was no warmth in his words, just the coldness of a business executive closing yet another deal.
Eva shifted in her seat. She displayed a fake concern on her face.
“The wedding day is the happiest day in a woman’s life,” she declared in that sugary voice she always used in public. “All the magazines say so.”
I felt a solitary tear run down my cheek as I looked at my hands, the wedding ring shining like a golden handcuff.
“Then why do I feel so sad?”
“You’ve always been dramatic,” Eva replied with an exasperated sigh, exchanging a complicated glance with my father. “Just like your mother.”
The mention of my mother was like a slap, but I swallowed the words I wanted to say. After all, that’s what they expected of me - to swallow the pain, smile and pretend that this really was the happiest day of my life.
“You married one of the richest men in the country; you should be happy,” my father argued.
“I don’t care about money. I wanted to marry for love,” I mumbled.
I arrived at the party, and everything was very luxurious.
Crystal lights reflected off the polished marble, creating an ethereal atmosphere in the hall. Silver candlesticks adorned the tables covered with champagne silk tablecloths, while elaborate arrangements of white orchids perfumed the room.
“Where’s James?” one guest whispered to another as I walked past.
I tried to keep my smile as I walked between the tables, feeling the looks of pity and curiosity following me. The bridal waltz began to play, but there was no one to dance with me.
“Laura, darling,” James’ mother approached, her smile as fake as the pearls around my neck. “James had an emergency at work. You understand, don’t you? He’s a very busy man.”
“Of course, Mrs. Reynolds,” I replied mechanically.
The five-tiered cake remained untouched, a masterpiece in shades of ivory and gold that no one dared to cut. The champagne glasses were filled and emptied quickly, as if the guests were trying to drown their embarrassment.
“This is unacceptable,” I heard my father mutter to Eva. “He won’t even take my calls.”
“Laura,” my cousin Alice approached, her eyes full of genuine concern. “You don’t have to stay here.”
“Yes, I do,” I whispered, looking at the empty seat next to me at the head table. “This is my punishment, isn’t it?”
“I told you to run away, too.”
A server passed by, offering more champagne. I took a glass and drank it in one gulp, feeling the bubbly liquid burn my throat along with the tears I refused to shed.
“Let’s make a toast to the bride and groom!” someone shouted, clearly drunk.
The silence that followed was deafening.
“Smile, Laura,” Eva whispered, squeezing my shoulder. “The photographers are still here.”
The orchestra continued playing romantic songs to a room where love was conspicuously absent, as was the groom.
After saying goodbye to the last guest, I went to the bedroom and, to my surprise, my husband was there. Sitting in a leather armchair, a document in his hands and an expression of utter contempt on his face.
“Are you in here?” I asked nervously.
“This is my room.”
I looked around, and everything was as cold as the man in front of me. His blue eyes were like icebergs in the northern seas.
“Let me make the terms very clear,” he said, his voice as sharp as ice. “First, you’re not my real wife. This is a business arrangement.”
I stood, still wearing the wedding dress that wasn’t mine, while he leafed through the contract.
“Second, you will sleep in the guest room at the end of the corridor. Or on the floor, if you prefer. I don’t mind.”
“I’m not quitting my job,” I declared, surprising us both with the firmness in my voice.
James looked up from the document, a cruel smile forming on his lips. “Oh, yes, you are. A wife from the Reynolds family doesn’t work in just any bookshop.”
“You can’t make me.”
“I can and I will,” he stood up, approaching like a predator. “Or have you forgotten the deal your father made? The debt he owes me? All it takes is one phone call from me to the lawyers, and your father will spend the rest of his life in jail.”
I felt my eyes sting with restrained tears. “But I like my job.”
“Too bad.”
“What else is in this contract?”
“Public appearances when necessary. Family dinners on Sundays. Smiles at social events,” he listed coldly. “And, of course, absolute secrecy about the nature of our arrangement.”
“For how long?”
“Until I decide it’s over.” James threw the contract on the bed. “Sign the last page. And Laura...” he paused in the doorway, “don’t kid yourself that this will ever change. My heart belongs to someone else.”
I picked up the pen with trembling fingers, each word of the contract weighing like lead in my chest.
He looked at me for a few seconds. “Laura, don’t ever wear fake jewelry again; that’s ridiculous.”
I touched my necklace in shame.
“Welcome to hell, Ms. Reynolds,” he said before leaving, leaving me alone with my new reality.
I let my body collapse onto the bed and cried.