The One-Legged Bride and The Hidden Billionaire

The sound of my prosthetic leg hitting the pavement is the only thing I can hear.

Click. Click. Click.

It is the loudest noise in the world, echoing off the buildings like a drumbeat marking the start of something I am not sure I am ready for.

But I am already here. I cannot go back now.

My breath catches in my chest as I stand on the curb.

The familiar streets of my hometown are quiet this morning, just like they always are.

The world does not know I am about to make the biggest decision of my life, and somehow that feels both terrifying and liberating.

I step forward again.

Click. Click.

I try to walk faster, my heart thumping in my ears.

"Eliaca."

I stop, frozen, like I have just been caught doing something I was not supposed to. But I know that voice.

I turn, heart racing. There she is. My mother, standing across the street with her arms crossed, her face unreadable.

The look in her eyes is all too familiar. It is the one she always gives me when I am doing something she does not approve of.

"Where are you going?" Her voice is calm, too calm, as if she already knows I cannot answer her honestly.

I hesitate. "Just out," I say, trying to sound casual, but the words come out tight.

"Out?" She raises an eyebrow. "And what is 'out' supposed to mean, Eliaca?"

I am already feeling the weight of her gaze, the invisible chains that bind me to her.

I can feel her disappointment in the pit of my stomach, like a stone dragging me down.

She is always disappointed. Always expecting more. Always waiting for me to be something I am not.

"I just need some air," I mutter, my words barely above a whisper.

Her lips tighten. "You are never going to change, are you?"

The words hit me harder than they should, but I am not about to let her see it.

I turn away before I can lose control, before she sees the tears that are threatening to spill over.

I do not look back. I cannot.

Click. Click. Click.

I keep walking, ignoring the sudden tightness in my chest.

I need to go.

The world keeps moving around me, oblivious to the storm inside my head.

People pass by without noticing me, as if I am just another face in the crowd.

No one cares that I am about to lose everything I have ever known. No one cares that my family expects me to fail.

"Eliaca?"

I hear the voice again, sharp this time.

I do not have to turn to know who it is. My sister, Vanessa. Her tone is full of concern, the kind that makes my stomach twist into a knot.

I take a deep breath and stop. I do not turn to face her, but I know she's there.

I can feel her eyes on me, just like I can feel the weight of my mother's disappointment from a mile away.

"Are you okay?" she asks, her voice softer now.

I do not want to talk to her. I cannot. Not now.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

There is silence for a moment, just the sound of the traffic in the background.

But I know she is still standing there, waiting for me to say something, anything that would make everything feel okay.

"You know Mum is not happy about this," Vanessa says. I can hear the worry in her voice.

I close my eyes, letting the noise of the world drown her out for a second. "I do not care. I am not her, Vanessa.

I cannot keep living this life. I cannot be the person she wants me to be."

I feel her move closer, her footsteps slow and deliberate. I finally turn to face her, and her eyes are filled with something between sadness and confusion.

"What are you saying, Eliaca?"

"I am saying I cannot stay here. I am leaving. I need to find something for myself. Something that is not about them. About you."

The words come out sharper than I intend, but I cannot take them back.

Vanessa's face falls, her lips parting as if she is about to argue.

But she does not. She just stands there, looking at me with those eyes; eyes that still think I am her little sister, the one who needs protection, the one who cannot possibly make it on her own.

"You are not going to make it," she finally says, the words cutting deeper than I expect.

"Do you think you can just walk away from everything and be fine? You will fail. You will end up coming back."

I want to scream at her, tell her she does not know anything.

But I do not. I swallow the frustration, push it deep down.

"I do not care if I fail," I say quietly. "At least I will know I tried."

She stares at me for a long moment. I can see the hurt in her eyes, but I cannot back down now. Not when I have come this far.

"Do not say I did not warn you," she mutters before turning and walking away.

Click. Click. Click.

I watch her walk back to the house, feeling a strange mix of relief and guilt. I cannot stay here.

Not in this place, not with the expectations, the judgment.

I need to breathe. I need to be free.

I keep walking.

I find myself standing in front of the bus station before I even realize it.

The sign above the entrance flashes in neon lights, the words Tickets Sold Here blinking in my face. My chest tightens again, but I push the fear aside.

I pull out my phone, my hands shaking as I scroll through the bus routes.

My destination is clear in my mind, but everything else is a blur. I cannot go back to my family. I cannot stay here.

A bus pulls into the station, the roar of its engine making my heart race. I stare at the door, frozen in place.

I have always hated the idea of leaving. The uncertainty. The not knowing what comes next.

But now, the uncertainty is all I have.

I step toward the bus, my leg clicking loudly with every step.

The door slides open, and I step inside. The air inside is cool, a stark contrast to the heat of the street.

The driver gives me a quick look, but he does not say anything.

I walk down the aisle, find an empty seat by the window, and sit down.

I do not know where I am going. I do not know what I am doing. But I know I cannot stay.

The doors close behind me, and the bus lurches forward.

As we pull away from the station, I press my forehead against the window, watching my old life fade into the distance.

For the first time in years, I feel like I am finally moving forward.

The bus ride is quiet. Too quiet.

The hum of the engine fills my ears, but it is not enough to drown out the noise in my head.

I keep staring out the window, watching the world blur past in flashes of green, brown, and gray.

The scenery changes, but my thoughts remain the same: jumbled, lost.

Where am I going? I don't have a destination, not really.

I just know I need to be somewhere else. Anywhere but not back home, anywhere but not under the weight of their expectations.

I glance around the bus. A few passengers sit scattered around, but no one seems to notice me.

They are all too absorbed in their own worlds. I wish I could be like them; detached, lost in thought but I am not.

I am here, trapped in my own head, caught in the limbo between what I was and what I hope to become.

I shift in my seat, the prosthetic leg pressing uncomfortably against the side of the chair.

Every move reminds me that I am not like everyone else. I am different.

I can feel the weight of that difference every time someone looks at me. I feel their pity, their hesitation.

I am always the girl with the disability, the one who cannot quite fit in, no matter how hard I try.

I stare out the window again, trying to push those thoughts away.

I need to focus. I need to move forward.

But the truth is, I do not know how to keep moving when I do not even know where I am going.

The bus swerves around a bend, and I nearly lose my balance.

I grab the seat in front of me to steady myself, feeling the cold metal beneath my fingertips.

My heart skips a beat. I am alone. Completely alone. And for the first time in my life, it feels terrifying.

"Are you alright?"

The voice startles me. I turn my head sharply to see the bus driver looking at me through the rearview mirror.

He is an older man with a grizzled face and tired eyes. He must have seen me almost lose my balance.

I nod quickly, a tight smile forming on my lips.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I say, my voice coming out more strained than I would like.

The bus driver does not say anything else, but I feel his gaze linger.

I turn back to the window, my fingers twitching nervously against the seat.

Focus, Eliaca. Just focus.

I know I cannot keep running. But what else is there to do? I do not have a plan.

I do not have a destination. All I have is the uncertainty that swirls around me like a storm, ready to consume me whole.

The bus takes another sharp turn, and I see a sign flash by: Next Stop: Riverdale.

Riverdale. It sounds like a place from a movie; peaceful, small, and safe.

Maybe that is what I need.

Maybe it is not about finding an exact destination, but about finding some peace, some kind of quiet where I can figure things out.

I do not know how long I have been on the bus. An hour? Two? The sun is beginning to dip low in the sky, casting long shadows across the road.

The colors outside are changing, turning from bright daylight to soft, golden hues. The sun feels like a warm blanket, but I know that warmth will not last. Night is coming.

I glance at my phone, my finger hovering over the screen. I should call my mother. Let her know I am okay, but... I cannot. I cannot go back. Not yet. Not while I am still choking on the weight of her disappointment.

Another half-hour passes, and I feel the tension in my shoulders start to relax. Maybe I am actually doing this. Maybe I am really leaving.

The bus slows down as we approach Riverdale. The houses are small, spaced out like a picture-perfect town from an old postcard.

It is not a place I would ever imagined myself living in, but the peacefulness of it draws me in. I want to believe that this is the start of something new, something better.

The bus pulls into the station, the brakes screeching as it comes to a halt. I take a deep breath and step off the bus, feeling the cool evening air on my skin.

The sound of the city is gone, replaced by the stillness of this sleepy little town. For a second, it feels like I have entered a different world.

I take a few steps forward, my prosthetic leg clicking on the pavement, and stop at the entrance to the station.

There is a small diner across the street. It is glowing with warm light, the kind of place where everyone knows your name. I could go in, sit down, pretend like I belong here, pretend like I am not running from something.

But I cannot. Not yet.

Instead, I find myself walking down the street, my footsteps echoing in the quiet night. The air smells different here, fresh, almost like the promise of something new.

I pass a few houses, some with lights on, some dark. I am not sure what I am looking for, but I keep walking, lost in my thoughts.

Until I see him.

A man standing by the side of the road, his back to me. He is tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a jacket that looks like it is seen better days. He does not turn when he hears my footsteps, does not acknowledge me at all. But there is something about him that catches my attention.

I hesitate. My instincts scream at me to turn around, to walk the other way. But my feet do not move. I take a step closer, drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

"Excuse me," I call out. My voice sounds strange in the silence.

The man turns. His eyes are hidden under the brim of his cap, but I can feel them on me, weighing me, sizing me up. I take a step back. My heart starts to race again.

"Are you lost?" he asks, his voice low, rough.

I swallow hard. "No, I am not lost. Just... walking."

He does not respond right away. Instead, he just stands there, studying me. His presence is overpowering, like a storm waiting to break.

I take another step back, but before I can turn around, he speaks again.

"Are you sure about that?" he asks. There's something in his tone that sends a chill down my spine. Something unsettling.

I do not answer. Instead, I turn and walk away as fast as I can without running.

I don't know why, but I feel like I have just made a mistake.

The sound of my boots crunching against the gravel echoes in the still night.

I glance around, feeling like a foreigner in my own skin.

Riverdale is not what I expected. It is quieter, too perfect. Like something out of a dream, where everything looks serene, but underneath, it is all just a facade.

I have been walking for what feels like hours, and my feet ache from the uneven ground.

The streets are empty now; even the diner has gone quiet.

The lights in the houses flicker in the distance, giving off an eerie glow.

My legs are getting tired, but I push forward, determined to not let fear dictate my actions.

I am not running anymore. I am just trying to find something.

Something that makes sense in this disorienting world.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, a sharp, insistent buzz.

I hesitate before pulling it out, but a part of me already knows who it is.

I take a deep breath and swipe the screen. My mother's name flashes in bold letters.

I almost do not pick up. Almost.

But then, the phone rings again.

With a sigh, I press the answer button, my fingers trembling.

"Eliaca," her voice is cold, clipped, like a reminder of everything I have been running from.

"Where are you? Your father is asking about you."

I close my eyes, trying to suppress the wave of anger rising within me.

My father. Always the voice of reason, the one who tells me what to do.

But he never understood me. Never understood how it feels to be constantly measured by impossible standards.

"I am fine," I say, my voice quiet, careful. "I just needed some time alone."

There is a pause on the other end. I can hear her breathing, her sigh.

It is the sound of someone who is already made up her mind. Someone who does not listen.

"You cannot keep running forever," she says. "You know that, right?"

I want to snap at her. Tell her how I have been running from her my entire life.

But I do not. Not today. Not here.

"I am not running," I finally reply, my voice barely above a whisper.

"I am just trying to figure things out."

"Figuring things out?" Her voice sharpens.

"By disappearing for days? Eliaca, you have responsibilities. You cannot just leave everything behind."

I clench my jaw, trying not to let the tears rise. "You have never let me do anything for myself. You have always made my choices for me."

I can feel the heat of my words radiating through the phone.

She does not respond right away, and for a moment, I wonder if she is actually listening.

But then she speaks again, her tone softer this time.

"I am just worried about you," she says. "You are my daughter. I want the best for you."

I laugh, but it is hollow. "The best for me, huh? Is that what you think this is? Telling me what to do with my life, giving me no room to breathe?"

There is another long pause. I can hear the rustling of papers in the background.

My father, probably giving her instructions on how to handle me like some broken toy.

"I will come home soon," I mutter. "I just need a little more time."

She exhales. "Do not wait too long, Eliaca. Do not make the same mistakes I made."

Her words hang in the air like a bitter scent. I do not respond.

Instead, I hang up, slipping the phone back into my pocket with shaky hands.

I stand there for a moment, feeling the weight of the conversation pressing down on me.

The familiar ache gnaws at my chest. They do not get it. They never will.

I turn around and start walking again, my thoughts spiraling. The town is still, empty. Too quiet.

I do not know what I was expecting, but it was not this, this silence that makes everything feel like a dream. Or a nightmare.

A chill runs down my spine. I need to get out of here. Fast.

I do not know where I am going, but I just need to move. Keep moving.

My steps quicken, and the gravel crunches beneath my feet like a warning. That is when I saw it.

The streetlight flickers, its glow momentarily cutting through the darkness.

And standing under that light, I see a figure.

I freeze.

It is him. The man from earlier. The one I could not forget.

He is standing a little further down the road, his hands shoved in his pockets, staring straight ahead like he is waiting for something or someone.

I take a step back. Then another.

But my foot catches on a rock, and I stumble forward, almost falling flat on my face. I catch myself, my heart racing.

I feel like I am in a scene from a movie, running from something, but there is nowhere to hide.

The man does not move. He does not even acknowledge the sound of my stumble.

It is like I am invisible to him.

I take a deep breath and square my shoulders. I have to keep moving.

I will not let him intimidate me.

I start walking in the opposite direction, trying to keep my pace steady, my breath even. But my mind is racing.

What does he want? Why is he always there?

I glance back once, and for a split second, I swear I see him watching me.

I am not sure what it is about him. There is something off about him.

His presence feels wrong, like he is not supposed to be here.

It is not just his size or the way he stands still, motionless.

There is a darkness around him, like an aura of secrets, and I cannot shake the feeling that he has been waiting for me.

I reach the end of the street and hesitate. The next street is dark, the streetlights barely flickering.

I turn to look back, and to my surprise, the man is gone. Completely gone.

I let out the breath I did not realize I was holding.

But then I hear it.

A low, gravelly voice behind me.

"Running again?"

My heart skips a beat, and I whip around to find him standing in the shadows just a few feet away.

He is not supposed to be there. He should not be able to move that fast.

I swallow hard, my throat dry. "What do you want?"

He steps closer, his face now visible in the dim light. His eyes are dark, unreadable, like he is staring straight through me.

"I think you know what I want," he says, his voice low, almost a whisper.

I take a step back, my instincts screaming at me to run. But my legs are frozen. I cannot move.

He steps closer again, his gaze never leaving mine. "The question is... what do you want?"

My pulse is thundering in my ears now. The air feels thick, heavy.

"I want to be left alone," I manage to say, my voice shaking.

He smiles slowly, like he is enjoying this. But it is not a warm smile. It is dangerous. Like he knows something I do not.

"I do not think you want that," he says, his voice barely above a murmur. "You are not as invisible as you think you are."

I take another step back, but my foot hits something behind me, and I stumble.

My heart races in my chest, panic surging through me.

I barely catch myself, but the man does not move, does not speak.

I do not know what he wants. But one thing is clear: I am in over my head.