"ᴡᴇᴅᴅɪɴɢ ᴘʀᴇᴘᴀʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴs"

-----

There was no warmth in the morning light.

Only silence.

And the sting around her wrist.

Aera sat at the edge of the bed, her fingers ghosting over the faint, purplish bruise Rayden had left the night before. The skin throbbed with the memory of how his grip had tightened when she hadn't answered. His eyes were like ice—calm, unmoved, cold. Not a flicker of guilt. Not a single word of regret. Just a man who believed control was his love language.

She didn't cry. Not now. Not again. She was too used to being silent when it hurt.

But her body remembered.

Her mind whispered back every moment from the past—when her father had yanked her by the hair for not speaking fast enough, when her brother had thrown her against the wall for spilling tea. Pain was never new. But somehow, coming from Rayden... it cut deeper.

Not because he loved her.

But because, foolishly, part of her still wanted him to.

Downstairs, the mansion buzzed with preparations. The living room smelled of fresh roses and crisp money. A wedding planner flitted through the room, clipboard in hand, barely keeping up with Rayden's mother's sharp tongue.

"I don't understand," she snapped, arms folded across her blouse. "Why haven't we met her parents yet? A wedding isn't just about two people—it's about families."

Aera stood awkwardly near the staircase, back straight, palms hidden in her sleeves.

Rayden was seated on the couch, legs crossed, calm as a storm waiting to break.

"They're not attending," he said flatly, not looking up.

"Why?" his father asked, irritation brewing under the surface. "Are they... ashamed? Or are we the ones who should be?"

Aera stiffened.

Rayden finally looked up, his jaw tightening. "They're dead to her. Isn't that reason enough?"

His voice was soft. Controlled. But every syllable landed like a slap.

His mother looked at Aera for a long moment. "You could've told us."

Aera's voice caught in her throat. She didn't respond. She couldn't.

Rayden stood. "This discussion is over."

And like that, it was.

Two days later, Aera stepped out of the black SUV in front of an expensive bridal boutique, the kind she never dreamed she'd enter. The air smelled of flowers and pavement, and her stomach churned with nerves. A female assistant greeted her with forced cheer, escorting her inside while Rayden remained in the car, too occupied with a call to bother.

She tried on gowns like a mannequin. Lace. Satin. Embellished. Minimalist.

But nothing looked like her. Nothing felt like her.

She was staring blankly at her reflection in one of the oversized mirrors when she felt a light bump on her shoulder.

"Oh! I'm so sorry, dear."

Aera turned.

A woman—elegant, soft-eyed, with a slight baby bump peeking through her pastel dress—stood smiling apologetically.

"No... it's fine," Aera murmured.

The woman chuckled. "Big day coming up?"

Aera gave a tight nod.

"Ah... I can tell. You have that haunted bridal look. Don't worry, it'll pass." The woman winked and gently rubbed her belly. "I remember mine... I was a wreck before my wedding. Now I'm just waiting to meet this little angel."

Something in her tone—light, nostalgic, a little broken—made Aera pause.

"You're... excited?" Aera asked quietly.

The woman smiled, almost sadly. "Of course. New beginnings... they're scary, but beautiful."

Aera looked away. Her reflection stared back, foreign and pale.

The woman touched her arm gently. "You'll be fine. You look like someone who survives storms."

And then she walked away.

Aera didn't know her name. Didn't know that she'd just brushed past a ghost from Rayden's past—a ghost who carried both the weight of his past mistakes... and his blood.

That night, Rayden returned late. His suit jacket was slung over one shoulder, his eyes unreadable as always.

"Did you find a dress?"

Aera nodded, her arms crossed over her chest.

"Good."

He poured himself a glass of whiskey. The room was dim. Silent.

Then, out of nowhere—

"Next Sunday. The wedding."

Her breath caught. So soon?

She nodded again.

"Anything to say?" he asked, walking closer.

She swallowed. Her wrist still ached. "No."

He reached for her chin. Tilted it up.

"Then stop looking like I dragged you into this," he said softly.

His touch wasn't gentle. But it wasn't cruel either.

It was something else entirely—like he was holding a puzzle he couldn't figure out... and didn't want to admit he cared enough to try.

Aera turned her face away.

He left her there in the silence.

But in the dark, when the lights went out, Aera curled on the bed, her hand over her bruised wrist.

And she whispered to herself, "If this is love... why does it feel like captivity?"

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞:

This chapter sets the stage for something deeper. Aera and Rayden are spiraling into a storm of past traumas, unspoken pain, and forced promises. The woman Aera met? She's going to change everything.

Will Aera survive this marriage... or will she shatter before Rayden even realizes he's the reason?

Let me know what you think. 💬 Should Aera run? Should Rayden break first?

—Puffy ♡

CONTACT ME ON MY PERSONAL INSTA :-

• lavender_4435

WATTPAD INSTA:-

• authorr_puffy