Substitute Bride

The mahogany doors towered over her, carved and cold, like the gates of a prison.
Chloe Adams gripped her bouquet until the stems bit into her palms. White roses. Not her choice. Nothing today was.

This wasn’t the wedding she’d rehearsed in her head since she was sixteen.
No Rose giggling beside her as bridesmaid, adjusting her veil and whispering, _“You’re gonna cry, I know it.”_
No father to walk her down the aisle.
No friends packing the pews, throwing rice and hope.
She’d wanted to pick her own gown. Lace, off-shoulder, something that made her feel like more than a transaction.
Wishful thinking.

Now she was just the replacement.
The debt payment.
The substitute bride.

A tear threatened. She killed it with a blink. Smudged mascara was a luxury she couldn’t afford.
Not when she had to survive him.

The doors groaned open without her touching them.
The sound rolled through the empty church like thunder in an empty sky.
Her heels clicked against marble. Each step echoed, announcing her walk to the slaughter.

He was already at the altar.
Liam Reigns.
Even from a distance, he was ruinous. Black suit cut to kill, raven hair styled like he hadn’t just sold his soul that morning. And those eyes — emerald, sharp, dissecting her with every step she took.
She hated that her breath caught.
Hated that part of her still noticed how handsome the devil was.

She climbed the three steps to the altar on legs that didn’t feel like hers.
He extended his hand. A perfect gentleman. A perfect lie.
To the world, Liam Reigns was the dream: billionaire heir, philanthropist, the man mothers told their daughters to pray for.
To Chloe, he was the cage. Steel bars wrapped in cologne and promises.

Her fingers shook as she placed her hand in his.
His grip was firm. Unyielding. Claiming.
For one disorienting second, she imagined it was real. That the warmth of his palm meant safety. That the way he looked at her meant anything but possession.
Then he smiled.
Barely. A twitch at the corner of his mouth that didn’t reach his eyes.

The priest cleared his throat, eager to start and faster to finish.
His voice bounced off the hollow walls.
“Liam Reigns, do you take Chloe Adams to be your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do you part?”

The silence after the vow was deliberate. Calculated.
“Yes,” Liam said. His voice was velvet over a blade.
“I do. I will cherish her. Love her. Be loyal to her… till death.”
That smirk again. Small. Lethal.

“Chloe Adams,” the priest turned to her, and she felt the weight of God and ghosts in the room.
“Do you take Liam Reigns to be your lawfully wedded husband? To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do you part?”

Her tongue went dry. The words were stones in her mouth.
“Y-yes.”
The stutter betrayed her.
“I do.”
A lie before God. Would He forgive her? Would He even listen in a church this empty?

“This is a commitment of forever,” the priest said, almost in a rush.
“You may now kiss the bride.”

Liam didn’t hesitate.
One hand seized her waist, pulling her flush against him.
The other caught her chin, tilting her face up.
She saw her own terrified reflection in his eyes.
She moved to turn her head, to deny him this last piece of her.

His whisper stopped her cold.
Lips brushing her ear, for her alone:
“This is what you owe me and Rose. It’s too late to run.”

Rose.
Her best friend’s name on his mouth felt like a slap.
Her knees nearly gave out.

The kiss wasn’t a kiss. It was a brand.
Slow, deep, punishing.
He took his time, like he wanted her to memorize every second of her surrender.
Her hands went numb at her sides.
The bouquet nearly slipped.
She tasted betrayal. She tasted salt.
She didn’t know if it was his or hers.

When he finally released her, the air rushed back into her lungs in a broken gasp.
The priest had already closed his Bible.
The witnesses — two men in black suits she didn’t know — were gone.
It was done.
Mrs. Liam Reigns.

---
The car ride was a funeral.
She pressed her forehead to the window, letting the cold glass numb her skin.
The city blurred past. Streetlights. Strangers. A life she no longer had.
She didn’t look at him. Couldn’t.
If she did, she might scream, or beg, or worse — believe that flicker of something human she’d seen when he said _till death._

“Driver missed my stop,” she said finally, her voice hoarse.
She didn’t turn. Didn’t dare.
“Can you—”
“You don’t have a stop anymore.”
His voice was flat. Final.

She turned then, slowly.
“What?”
“You’re Mrs. Reigns now.”
He didn’t look up from his phone.
“You live in the Reigns mansion. With me.”

“But I— my things, my—”
“Already moved.”
He cut her off without lifting his eyes.
“Your apartment is cleared. Your lease is terminated. There’s nothing to go back to.”

Chloe stared at him.
At the sharp line of his jaw, the casual cruelty of his profile.
“You can’t just—”
“I just did.”
Now he looked at her. Emerald fire.
“Did you think I’d marry you and leave you in some roach-infested flat? You’re a Reigns. Act like it.”

She flinched.
Not at the insult to her old life, but at the truth: there was no old life.
He’d erased it.

She turned back to the window.
Chewed the inside of her cheek until she tasted copper.
Swallowed the scream building in her throat.

The Reigns mansion loomed ahead, lit up like a palace, like a warning.
An inescapable cage.
And she’d just walked in, signed the contract in front of God, and handed him the key.

Somewhere in that house, Rose’s ghost was waiting.
And Chloe was finally about to find out why she owed Liam Reigns her life.

“Let go of me!” Chloe’s back hit the mattress hard. The air punched out of her lungs. “I went to the wedding,” she gasped, scrambling up on her elbows. “I did what you wanted. What else do you want from me? What?” Liam stood over her, his shadow swallowing the bed. His tie was gone. His jacket too. Only the predator remained. “Are you playing innocent?” His voice was low, dangerous. “Or do you prefer it when I force you?” “I don’t—” “This is your debt, Chloe.” He said it like he was commenting on the weather. Detached. Absolute. “And I intend to collect. One payment at a time.” Her eyes squeezed shut. The fight drained out of her. Tears came hot, fast, shameful. “I’m sorry, Rose,” she whispered to the ceiling, to the ghost between them. “I didn’t know it would end like this.” --- *Two Months Earlier* Pain twisted in Chloe’s gut like a knife. She curled around a pillow in her bedroom, teeth gritted, sweat beading on her forehead. The AD shoot in Spain was tomorrow. Six a.m. flight. Director Shaw was a tyrant and her agent, Mark, was worse. Canceling wasn’t an option. Showing up like this wasn’t either. There was only one person who could save her. Her hand fumbled for her phone. She dialed before she could talk herself out of it. Rose answered on the second ring. “Best, you okay? You sound like death.” “Rose, it’s bad,” Chloe rasped. “Can you do me a favor? A huge one.” “Anything for you. Always.” “It’s the Spain AD. I can’t fly. I can’t even stand. Will you go for me? Please?” She hated how desperate she sounded. Hated it more because it worked. A pause. “Chloe… you know what Spain’s like this time of year. Wildfires. Heat waves. It’s not—” “I know. That’s why it’s perfect for the shoot. Golden hour lasts forever. And Shaw can’t find a replacement this late. It’s a career-maker, Rose. Please. I’m begging.” Rose sighed. Chloe could picture her, rolling her eyes but already caving. “You know I can’t say no to you. But on one condition.” “Name it. Anything.” “Promise me you’ll see a doctor. Right after this call.” “I will. I swear. Daisy’s on her way now.” The lie slipped out too easy. “Now go pack or you’ll miss the flight.” Rose laughed. “Bossy. Fine. But you owe me tapas when I get back.” “I’ll buy the whole restaurant. Love you, best.” “Love you more, idiot. Feel better.” Chloe ended the call and pressed the phone to her chest. “What would I do without you,” she whispered to the empty room. She kissed the screen. Relief let her sleep. A few hours of dreamless, painless dark. She woke to a quiet house and a calmer stomach. Hope made her hungry. She padded downstairs, grabbed cookies from the kitchen, and flopped onto the couch. The remote was cool in her hand. She turned on the TV for noise. The noise stopped her breathing. “—breaking news. At 4:50 PM local time on September 3rd, Flight GH-217 bound for Barcelona crashed shortly after takeoff. 200 souls on board. Eight survivors have been pulled from the wreckage, but intense fires are hampering rescue efforts—” The plate slipped. Cookies and ceramic exploded across her hardwood floor. “That’s…” Her voice didn’t sound like hers. “That’s Rose’s flight. Right?” The question hung in the air. No one answered. “No. No, it can’t be.” Her hands shook as she grabbed her phone, scrolled back to Mark’s text from yesterday. The e-ticket. Flight GH-217. Departure: 4:30 PM. September 3rd. Reality hit like a truck. Chloe’s fingers tangled in her hair and _pulled._ The neat curls she’d spent an hour on that morning turned wild. A sob tore out of her, raw and ugly. She slid off the couch and onto the fluffy rug, folding into herself as if she could disappear. The phone vibrated against her thigh. She answered without looking. “Chloe? Chloe, it’s Daisy. Are you okay? Where are you? I just saw the news about Rose—” “I— I’m n-not okay,” Chloe choked out. Each word was a shard of glass. “Daisy, I’m not—” “I know, honey. I know. God, I know.” Daisy’s voice cracked, then steadied. “She’s my best friend too. Listen to me. Stay where you are. I’m leaving the office now. I’ll be there in an hour. Don’t move, okay?” Chloe could only hum. A broken sound. The three of them — Chloe, Rose, Daisy. College roommates turned sisters. After graduation, Daisy got snapped up by VellCorp as a financial manager. Eighty-hour weeks turned her into a ghost. Chloe and Rose chose acting. Same agencies, same auditions, same ratty apartment for two years before Chloe’s toothpaste commercial went viral. They were the trio. Unbreakable. Until today. Chloe cried until her throat was sandpaper. Memories ambushed her: Rose teaching her to contour, Rose sneaking her into a wrap party, Rose holding her hair back after her first heartbreak. She cried until the tears stopped and exhaustion took her. The doorbell ripped her from sleep. She dragged herself to the door, unlocked it, and collapsed into Daisy’s arms before the other woman could speak. Seeing Daisy made it real again. The sobs started fresh, violent. She buried her face in Daisy’s blazer, soaking it, ruining it. She didn’t care. Daisy didn’t either. She just held on. One hand cradled the back of Chloe’s head, the other rubbed circles on her back. “I’ve got you,” she murmured, over and over. “Let it out. I’ve got you, Chloe. Cry. Just cry.” And Chloe did. Because if Daisy broke too, there’d be no one left to be strong. So Daisy stayed stone. She swallowed her own grief, locked it behind her teeth, and let Chloe shatter. “It’s okay, dear,” Daisy whispered into her hair. “Cry all you want. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.” Chloe heard her. Took it as permission. She wailed, a sound so lost it didn’t seem human. She let two months of friendship, of laughter, of _Rose_ pour out of her onto Daisy’s shoulder. Daisy held her tighter. Outside, the September sun set. Inside, Chloe’s world had already gone dark. Two months later, she’d understand why Liam Reigns called it a debt. Two months later, she’d wear Rose’s punishment like a wedding ring.

Let go of me!”
Chloe’s back hit the mattress hard. The air punched out of her lungs.
“I went to the wedding,” she gasped, scrambling up on her elbows. “I did what you wanted. What else do you want from me? What?”

Liam stood over her, his shadow swallowing the bed.
His tie was gone. His jacket too.
Only the predator remained.

“Are you playing innocent?”
His voice was low, dangerous.
“Or do you prefer it when I force you?”

“I don’t—”
“This is your debt, Chloe.”
He said it like he was commenting on the weather. Detached. Absolute.
“And I intend to collect. One payment at a time.”

Her eyes squeezed shut.
The fight drained out of her.
Tears came hot, fast, shameful.
“I’m sorry, Rose,” she whispered to the ceiling, to the ghost between them.
“I didn’t know it would end like this.”

---
_Two Months Earlier_

Pain twisted in Chloe’s gut like a knife.
She curled around a pillow in her bedroom, teeth gritted, sweat beading on her forehead.
The AD shoot in Spain was tomorrow. Six a.m. flight. Director Shaw was a tyrant and her agent, Mark, was worse.
Canceling wasn’t an option. Showing up like this wasn’t either.

There was only one person who could save her.

Her hand fumbled for her phone.
She dialed before she could talk herself out of it.
Rose answered on the second ring.

“Best, you okay? You sound like death.”
“Rose, it’s bad,” Chloe rasped.
“Can you do me a favor? A huge one.”
“Anything for you. Always.”

“It’s the Spain AD. I can’t fly. I can’t even stand. Will you go for me? Please?”
She hated how desperate she sounded.
Hated it more because it worked.

A pause.
“Chloe… you know what Spain’s like this time of year. Wildfires. Heat waves. It’s not—”
“I know. That’s why it’s perfect for the shoot. Golden hour lasts forever. And Shaw can’t find a replacement this late. It’s a career-maker, Rose. Please. I’m begging.”

Rose sighed.
Chloe could picture her, rolling her eyes but already caving.
“You know I can’t say no to you. But on one condition.”
“Name it. Anything.”
“Promise me you’ll see a doctor. Right after this call.”
“I will. I swear. Daisy’s on her way now.”
The lie slipped out too easy.

“Now go pack or you’ll miss the flight.”
Rose laughed.
“Bossy. Fine. But you owe me tapas when I get back.”
“I’ll buy the whole restaurant. Love you, best.”
“Love you more, idiot. Feel better.”

Chloe ended the call and pressed the phone to her chest.
“What would I do without you,” she whispered to the empty room.
She kissed the screen.
Relief let her sleep.
A few hours of dreamless, painless dark.

She woke to a quiet house and a calmer stomach.
Hope made her hungry.
She padded downstairs, grabbed cookies from the kitchen, and flopped onto the couch.
The remote was cool in her hand.
She turned on the TV for noise.

The noise stopped her breathing.

“—breaking news. At 4:50 PM local time on September 3rd, Flight GH-217 bound for Barcelona crashed shortly after takeoff. 200 souls on board. Eight survivors have been pulled from the wreckage, but intense fires are hampering rescue efforts—”

The plate slipped.
Cookies and ceramic exploded across her hardwood floor.

“That’s…”
Her voice didn’t sound like hers.
“That’s Rose’s flight. Right?”

The question hung in the air.
No one answered.

“No. No, it can’t be.”
Her hands shook as she grabbed her phone, scrolled back to Mark’s text from yesterday.
The e-ticket. Flight GH-217. Departure: 4:30 PM. September 3rd.

Reality hit like a truck.
Chloe’s fingers tangled in her hair and _pulled._
The neat curls she’d spent an hour on that morning turned wild.
A sob tore out of her, raw and ugly.

She slid off the couch and onto the fluffy rug, folding into herself as if she could disappear.

The phone vibrated against her thigh.
She answered without looking.
“Chloe? Chloe, it’s Daisy. Are you okay? Where are you? I just saw the news about Rose—”
“I— I’m n-not okay,” Chloe choked out.
Each word was a shard of glass.
“Daisy, I’m not—”
“I know, honey. I know. God, I know.”
Daisy’s voice cracked, then steadied.
“She’s my best friend too. Listen to me. Stay where you are. I’m leaving the office now. I’ll be there in an hour. Don’t move, okay?”

Chloe could only hum. A broken sound.

The three of them — Chloe, Rose, Daisy.
College roommates turned sisters.
After graduation, Daisy got snapped up by VellCorp as a financial manager. Eighty-hour weeks turned her into a ghost.
Chloe and Rose chose acting.
Same agencies, same auditions, same ratty apartment for two years before Chloe’s toothpaste commercial went viral.
They were the trio. Unbreakable.
Until today.

Chloe cried until her throat was sandpaper.
Memories ambushed her: Rose teaching her to contour, Rose sneaking her into a wrap party, Rose holding her hair back after her first heartbreak.
She cried until the tears stopped and exhaustion took her.

The doorbell ripped her from sleep.
She dragged herself to the door, unlocked it, and collapsed into Daisy’s arms before the other woman could speak.
Seeing Daisy made it real again.
The sobs started fresh, violent.
She buried her face in Daisy’s blazer, soaking it, ruining it.
She didn’t care.
Daisy didn’t either.

She just held on.
One hand cradled the back of Chloe’s head, the other rubbed circles on her back.
“I’ve got you,” she murmured, over and over.
“Let it out. I’ve got you, Chloe. Cry. Just cry.”

And Chloe did.
Because if Daisy broke too, there’d be no one left to be strong.
So Daisy stayed stone.
She swallowed her own grief, locked it behind her teeth, and let Chloe shatter.

“It’s okay, dear,” Daisy whispered into her hair.
“Cry all you want. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Chloe heard her.
Took it as permission.
She wailed, a sound so lost it didn’t seem human.
She let two months of friendship, of laughter, of _Rose_ pour out of her onto Daisy’s shoulder.

Daisy held her tighter.
Outside, the September sun set.
Inside, Chloe’s world had already gone dark.

Two months later, she’d understand why Liam Reigns called it a debt.
Two months later, she’d wear Rose’s punishment like a wedding ring.

---

The present crashed back in.
The weight of Liam on the bed beside her.
The silence in the Reigns mansion pressing against the windows.

His hand was still gripping her wrist.
Not hard enough to bruise.
Just hard enough to remind her she wasn’t free.

He watched the tears fall.
Didn’t wipe them.
Didn’t look away.

“When you begged her to go to Spain,” he said quietly, “you didn’t just send Rose to her death.
You sent _my_ Rose.”

Chloe’s breath hitched.
_My Rose._

So that was it.
That was the debt.

Not money.
Not contracts.
A person.

And now Chloe was supposed to pay it.
One payment at a time.