The Unwanted Wife's Return (Ex-Husband Wants Me Back) novel The Wrong Bride

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HANNAH'S POV:

BEGINNINGS:

"What's going on?" I asked quietly, pulling off my headphones as I walked into the living room.

My parents and my younger sister, Janet, were seated on the white couches. Janet had this pleading look on her face as she stared at them. The second I stepped in, all three of them turned to look at me. My heart started pounding.

My mother glanced at Janet, then back at me. Her expression was cold. "We're withdrawing you from school. Go freshen up. You're getting married to Elijah Martinez tonight."

I frowned and confused. The words didn't make sense. "What? What are you talking about?"

I looked back and forth between Janet, who had a strange, unreadable expression, and my parents.

My father's jaw clenched. "Do you think this is a joke, Hannah? Our company is days away from bankruptcy. The Martinez family agreed to help us, but only on one condition. One of our daughters has to marry their son."

The room felt like it was spinning. "I... I don't understand. Why me? Why now?"

"Because Janet is too young," my mother said simply, as if that explained everything. "She's only eighteen. She's still a child with her whole life ahead of her. But you..." She paused, looking me up and down with barely concealed disappointment. "You're older. More mature. And frankly, you don't have much going for you anyway."

The words hit me like a physical blow. I actually took a step back.

"But I don't want to marry him either! I don't even know him," I tried to explain, my voice rising with panic.

"Don't be selfish!" my father snapped, slamming his hand on the armrest. "Your sister has a future. Dreams. This is your chance to finally do something useful for this family instead of just taking up space."

His words shattered something inside me. "I always do everything for this family! I cook, I clean, I help with everything you ask, and you treat me like I'm nothing!"

Janet shifted uncomfortably on the couch, but her eyes held something. Something cold. "Hannah, please don't make this harder than it has to be. We're all making sacrifices here."

"What sacrifices are you making, Janet?" I turned to her, desperate for some solidarity, some understanding. "You get to stay here, finish school, live your life. I'm the one being sold off like property!"

"Enough!" my mother hissed, standing up. "This discussion is over. You will do this, Hannah. For once in your life, you will be useful to this family."

Before I could respond, my father's phone rang. He answered it, his face going from tense to completely pale in seconds.

"What happened?" my mother asked, her voice rising with alarm.

He stood up shakily, loosening his tie with trembling fingers. "The investors... they pulled out. All of them. Without the Martinez deal, we're finished."

And just like that, he collapsed.

The screams came from everywhere. Janet dropped to her knees beside him, wailing dramatically. My mother panicked and yelled for someone to call the doctor. I just stood there, frozen, watching my entire world spin out of control.

Time moved strangely after that. Minutes felt like hours. The doctor came, checked my father's vitals, and administered medication. A heart attack, he said. Stress-induced. He needed rest and absolutely no more stress.

I was still standing in the same spot, tears streaming down my face, when two of our security guards suddenly grabbed me by the arms.

"Wait, what are you doing?" I tried to pull away, but their grips were iron-tight.

They dragged me toward the stairs. I kicked, screamed, fought with everything I had, but they didn't even slow down.

"This is what's best," my mother's voice floated up from below, cold and detached. "You'll be saving your family, Hannah. Isn't that what you've always wanted? To finally matter?"

They threw me into my room and I heard the lock click from the outside. I pounded on the door until my fists hurt, screaming until my voice went hoarse.

Through the wood, I could hear Janet's voice, calm and measured. "This is what she needs to do, Mom. For all of us."

"I know, sweetheart," my mother responded, her tone almost affectionate. The type of warmth she never used with me. "You're such a good girl for understanding."

I slid down the door, wrapping my arms around myself, and cried until there were no tears left.

By the time the door opened again, the sun had started to set, painting my room in shades of orange and red. Two maids walked in without a word. Not even a greeting. Not a trace of sympathy in their eyes.

They yanked my clothes off like I was a doll, something without feelings or dignity. I was too exhausted to fight. They dressed me in a pale ivory dress that felt more like a burial shroud than a wedding gown. They applied makeup to my face with rough, uncaring hands.

When they finally let me look in the mirror, I didn't recognize myself. My eyes were red and swollen. My face was painted to hide the evidence of my tears, but it couldn't hide the emptiness in my eyes.