Chapter 1: The wedding

Mabel's POV

Exhaling steadily, I reminded myself that everything would soon be over. There's no need for any of this, as the marriage certificate has already been signed. But it's my father's most anticipated moment and it would be inconsiderate of me to rob him of it.

The doors opened, accompanied by a wave of uneasiness. This was really happening. It wasn't a dream. I was getting married to someone I'd never met before.

“Are you ready?” My father spoke softly. But what if I wasn't? Would that change anything?

I inhaled sharply, my breath shuddering slightly.

“Yes, Dad.” A forced smile tugged on the corner of my lips.

He squeezed my palm softly which somehow managed to calm me, while his right hand rolled the wheel of his chair, and slowly, we strolled down the aisle.

This felt like the longest walk of my life. Almost like walking out of my freedom and into the Lion's den. I could see the priest and the man standing before him—the stranger I was supposed to marry.

I knew nothing about this man.

The empty church pews seemed to mock me as I walked past them with my heart in my hand. This was not how I had imagined getting married. It was crazy how quickly my life had changed before my eyes, worst of all, I felt powerless to stop it.

My eyes scanned the room, and I noticed only four people present, excluding myself and my dad.

My father handed me securely to the stranger as if he was entrusting his most prized possession. Then he smiled sadly and wheeled his chair to join the other two people sitting in the first row who must be the groom's parents.

Facing the man before me, I was ready to get this over with.

The priest handed me a ring which I reluctantly accepted, my fingers betraying my composure as they shook slightly despite my effort to stay calm.

“Do you, Miss Mabel Hawkins, accept Mr. Landon Ferguson to be your lawfully wedded husband?” My heart raced violently against my chest as the weight of his words hung in the air like a chandelier in a haunted ancient house.

There was a moment of silence that followed my hesitation. Silence, thick and deafening. From the corner of my eyes, my father watched me nervously, his smile faltering at the fear of what I might be thinking.

I never imagined faking an answer to a question like this. To spend a lifetime built on false vows and promises. This is not something I wanted for myself or my children.

“I do,” The words tasted bitter as they rolled out of my tongue. Instinctively, I slipped the ring onto his finger without being prompted.

The priest took another ring and handed it to the man. I gently removed my glove, revealing my sweaty tender fingers. I sucked in my breath as he reached for my hand, fighting the urge to pull back. After that ring slips in, I will be bound to this man.

“Do you, Mr. Landon Ferguson, accept Miss Mabel Hawkins to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

“On behalf of Mr. Ferguson, I do.”

My heart sank to the depth of my stomach, and I instinctively withdrew my hand, furrowing my brow in confusion.

I turned to my dad, wanting to ensure he was aware of this but he looked just as confused as I was. I could feel my emotions coming to the surface with so much pressure that I wasn't sure I could hold back.

“On behalf of Mr. Ferguson?” I echoed his words, my voice rising alongside my anger. My breath hitched as I fought to contain my anger.

“Mr. Ferguson is very busy at the moment; I'm here as a substitute,” He spoke with so much confidence as if this was all a joke. As if this meant nothing!

I left everything I was doing to be here, only to be wedded to a damn substitute? How much more disrespectful could this get? How could he be so cruel? How could he do this to me? My embarrassment knew no bounds.

“Are you kidding me? Who the hell does he think he is?” I thundered, my angry voice echoing through the almost empty hall. Heat rose to my face, my pupils dilating. I refuse to let anyone turn me into an object of mockery.

My palms balled into fists by my sides, trembling slightly with suppressed rage as I fought with my inner self, resisting the urge to disfigure his pretty face.

Suddenly, I felt a hand hold my wrist.

“Honey, please calm down,” My father's worried voice interrupted my murderous thoughts. I didn't realize he had moved to my side. I looked down at him, taking in his pitiful state, my eyes softening as they met his sad ones. The last thing I wanted was to be the reason for my father's unhappiness.

He knew better than anyone how quickly my temper could flare. He knew how bad the impact would be.

“You need to understand that Mr. Ferguson is a very busy person, and this wedding is just a formality. You're doing this for me, remember?” He squeezed my fist gently until it unclenched. Of course, it was just a formality. How could I forget?

I looked away, blinking back the tears that threatened to cloud my vision. They wouldn't see me break down. Mr. Ferguson, I would never forgive him for this.

“This is so wrong, Dad. This is wrong,” I lamented painfully, a tight knot forming in my chest. This humiliation was something I won't let slide. Never.

“I know,” he said softly, pulling on my hand. “Look at me.”

I didn't move immediately, only after I was sure I could face him.

“It's almost over; you're doing great.” He let out a warm smile, but his eyes said something different. They were sad, gloomy. I couldn't help but wonder why he wanted this marriage so badly. I sure as hell didn't want it.

“Dad,” I closed my eyes, taking in a deep long breath that somehow made my body shake slightly. “This is the last time you'll make me do something I don't want to do.” My voice was loud enough only for him to hear it. I made sure he understood the hidden meaning behind them.

His smile grew wider, giving a slight nod in acknowledgment. He wheeled himself to stay behind me, fearing I might do something impulsive if he left.

I snatched the ring from the so-called substitute and slid it onto my finger, glaring lasers at him. But he stood unfazed, as though I was just making a fuss, and it somehow got under my skin in ways I wouldn't like to admit.

“I now pronounce you man and wife. You may now kiss the bri—” I turned sharply and glared at the priest making his flinch. Someone chuckled at my reaction, but I couldn't care less about who it was.

The priest, upon realizing his mistake, quickly cleared his throat, letting out a nervous laugh before saying, “Your union is blessed.”

“Amen,” my dad affirmed. I fought the uncontrollable urge to scoff because I knew that would mean disrespect to my father.

“Congratulations, my lady,” said the supposed substitute. “Your ride is waiting for you outside,” With that, he took steady and calculated steps out of the hall.

“Isn't she such a beauty?”

The groom's mother reached for my cheeks and tugged them gently.

“You were just a baby the last time we met. You've grown up so well,” She pulled me into a tight hug which I wasn't grateful for

The old man cleared his throat, reminding her that she was acting out of place. She pulled away quickly.

“Come visit me from time to time, okay? I would love to catch up with my daughter-in-law,” she grinned. Why would I? When she failed to teach her son basic manners.

“Welcome to the family. I hope you can find a way to make something of this. I believe you're smart enough to," said the man who was around the same age as my father.

“Quit staring and say hi to your grandfather-in-law, Old Mr. Ferguson,” my dad’s voice came from behind me, where he had been watching all of this unfold.

“No need for that; she'll come around,” Old Mr. Ferguson countered before I could respond, his voice measured and dominant.

“I'll take my leave now.” He turned, using his walking stick for support. The lady followed behind him, not without slipping a piece of paper into my palm.

I went behind my dad, wheeling him out of the hall.

“Remain blessed,” I heard the priest call out but I ignored him.

Outside the church, my dad placed his hand on mine and carefully released my grip from the chair. He then smiled sadly. “It's okay; they're waiting for you.”

“They? Who?”

Sensing my confusion, he nudged me, and I looked to see the substitute guy waiting by a black BMW.

“I'm not leaving you here,” I protested, not giving a care in the world who was waiting.

“Who said I'll be here?” He chuckled. “There’s my ride.” He pointed to the SUV behind the BMW, the same one that came to move my things yesterday. I knelt before him.

“Will you be okay, though?” I didn't want to break down, but the tears came anyway.

“Of course; your aunt is there to care for me, remember?” I nodded tearfully. He cleaned my tears, pulling me into a tight hug. I didn't want to let go. The tears flowed even more.

“I love you so much, Dad.”

“I love you too.”

“We have to go,” the substitute guy reminded. Joy Killer!

I ignored him and pushed my dad's wheelchair to the SUV intending to help him in, but the driver offered to help. I thanked him and put the wheelchair in the trunk.

“Call me when you get home, okay?”

“Yes, Mom,” he said jokingly. I waved until they were out of sight. The feeling of loneliness engulfed me the instant he left. Just like that, I was separated from my only surviving parent.

The substitute guy held the back passenger door open. I entered, rested my back against the seat, and closed my eyes, the weight of reality sinking in. I am married now.

The car started to move and I tried to relax my nerves. It's the best I could do at the moment.

“Are you with me?”

“Huh?” My eyes flew open.

“Did you hear what I said?” he asked again.

I turned my head to the side. “I'm not sure.”

“I just wanted to remind you that the marriage must remain a secret. Word shouldn’t get out.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I dismissed lazily, closing my eyes again throughout the rest of the journey.

The car came to a stop, jolting me back to reality. I practiced my breathing technique before stepping out. Closing the door behind me, he led the way.

Reaching the entrance, he halted, ushering me in. My eyes lingered on him in suspicion but I wasn't in the mood to argue.

My eyes instantly found the staircase as I entered the living room. Without hesitation, I aimed for it.

“You must be the bride,” a cold, masculine voice called out from the living room, making me freeze in my tracks.