Once The Rejected Bride, Now His Eternal Nightmare

Ashley point of view

My world is crumbling. The white roses, the music, the sea of smiling faces-it all turns to ash in my mouth. This is my wedding day, and the man standing at the altar, the love of my life, has just destroyed me.

The priest's voice is calm and steady. "Mr. Cole Evans, do you take Miss Ashley Marsh to be your lawfully wedded wife? Will you love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health, for richer, for poorer, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?"

I look at Cole. My hands are trembling, so I clutch my bouquet of gardenias tighter, their sweet scent now making me feel sick. He is looking at me, and he gives me that smile. That same soft, shy smile he gave me the very first day we met. My heart, which was pounding like a trapped bird, suddenly stills. That smile is my anchor. Everything is going to be okay.

I let out a small breath I didn't know I was holding. This is it.

And then he speaks.

"No."

The word is quiet, but it echoes like a thunderclap in the perfect silence of the cathedral. For a second, there is nothing. No sound, no breath, no heartbeat.

Then, a collective, horrified gasp ripples through the room. My own breath stops. It feels like a fist has reached into my chest and seized my lungs.

I stare at him. "Cole...?" My voice is a tiny, broken thing.

He doesn't look at me anymore. He looks past me, his jaw tight. "I said no. I will not marry her."

The priest stutters. "M-Mr. Evans, I..."

"I can never marry the likes of you, Ashley," Cole continues, his voice cold and clear, amplified by the microphone. It's a voice I don't recognize. "You are naive. You are weak. You cannot be my bride. You would be an embarrassment."

Each word is a physical blow. Naive. Weak. Embarrassment. They spin in my head. This isn't happening. This is a nightmare.

My mind fractures. I'm not here in this stifling dress. I'm suddenly back there, three years ago, on a stormy New York evening. The rain is coming down in sheets, and I'm soaked, hopelessly trying to hail a cab. A sleek black car pulls up, and the window rolls down.

"You look like you're fighting a losing battle," a warm voice says. It's him. Cole Evans. He's smiling, not with pity, but with kind amusement. "Please, let me give you a ride. It's no trouble."

In the warm, dry car, he offers me his handkerchief. "I'm Cole," he says.

"Ashley,"I whisper, shivering.

"Ashley,"he repeats, and my name sounds like a safe place. He looks at me, really looks at me, and says, "You have the most honest eyes I've ever seen."

The memory is so vivid I can smell the wet wool of my coat. That was the beginning. His promises play in my ears now, a cruel soundtrack to this horror.

"You are just exactly my type, Ashley Marsh."

"You're the love of my life. My forever."

"I've never felt this way about anyone. It's only you. Always you."

What changed? The silent scream echoes in my skull. What did I do?

My daze is shattered as Cole moves. He steps away from the altar, away from me. He walks straight to the front row, to where Mira sits in a dress that's too silvery, too close to white. He holds out his hand to her.

A wide, victorious smile spreads across her perfect face. She takes his hand, and he leads her up the steps to stand where I am standing. She brushes against my shoulder, a small, deliberate push.

"The truth is," Cole announces, putting an arm around Mira, "my heart has always belonged to another. To Mira. She is strong. She is brilliant. She is everything a woman in my world needs to be. I never loved you, Ashley. It was only ever Mira."

The tears come then. Not a gentle cry, but a torrent that burns my cheeks. My chest is caving in. The pain is so immense I can't even make a sound. He never loved me. It was all a lie. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered promise in the dark-a performance.

I force my eyes away from them, this horrible new couple. I look to my family. My stepmother, Sophia, has a hand pressed to her lips, but her eyes above her fingers are bright with triumph. She planned this. She must have.

My eyes find my father, Liam. He looks pale, shocked. His mouth is open. For a wild, desperate second, I think, He will stop this. He is my father. He will save me.

But he doesn't move. He doesn't shout. He just stares, paralyzed. His eyes meet mine for a fleeting second, and then they drop to the floor. The final betrayal. He is choosing silence. He is choosing them.

They all are. Every guest in this room is now a witness to my annihilation. They see the poor, rejected Marsh heiress, discarded for the better model. I am a public joke.

I look back at Mira. She leans into Cole, gazing up at him with fake adoration. Then her eyes slide to me. They hold mine, and in them is a message as clear as glass: I always win. You were just keeping him warm for me. You are nothing.

A searing pain splits my skull. The beautiful cathedral blurs, the colors of the stained-glass windows melting into a dizzying swirl. The supportive arm of my bridesmaid feels a million miles away. My legs, these useless pillars of satin and lace, turn to solid stone. They buckle.

I hear distant shouts. "Ashley!" "Someone catch her!"

But it's too late. The marble floor, cold and hard, rushes up to meet me. My head hits with a dull thud I feel more than hear. The world tilts on its side. My last conscious sight is not of Cole, or my traitorous family, but of the blinding, relentless flash of a dozen camera phones. Click. Click. Click.

They are not here for a wedding. They are here for a scandal. The headline writes itself in the darkening corners of my mind: REJECTED BRIDE COLLAPSES AT ALTAR.

Then, nothing. A deep, silent, cold darkness swallows me whole, and I am grateful for it.