The Unwilling Wife

The organ music swelled, painting my white wedding dress in shades of blood red.

I was marrying Julian Thorne, a man who despised me, believing the lies that had ruined my reputation.

This wasn't a marriage; it was a sentence, orchestrated perfectly by my stepsister, Sophia, who had always wanted Julian for herself.

Everyone saw Eleanor Vance, the brilliant architect, as the luckiest woman alive, but my heart was a cold stone.

As the word "I do" escaped my lips-a whispered surrender-a blinding white light engulfed me.

I woke up in my old bedroom, the floral wallpaper still on the walls.

My phone read October 12, 2014-ten years ago, the day of my first wedding, the one that never happened.

Relief surged through me; I wasn't Julian Thorne's wife.

But then dread set in as Sophia's text buzzed on my smaller, older phone: "Julian's family is coming for dinner tonight, you have to make a good impression!"

It was all starting tonight, the very dinner where Sophia would introduce me to the Thornes, setting off the chain of events that would lead to my forced marriage.

The contempt in Julian's eyes was already there, seeing me as a social climber, exactly the image Sophia had carefully crafted.

I was trapped again, a ghost in my own life, burdened by a future I knew was coming: the Thorne family's imminent financial ruin, and my own career sacrificed to support them.

But this time, I wasn't the naive girl to be manipulated.

I knew all their secrets, and I would not spend another ten years as Eleanor Thorne.

I would fight.

The organ music swelled inside the grand cathedral, a sound so rich and heavy it felt like a physical weight pressing down on my shoulders. Sunlight, fractured into a thousand colors by the stained-glass windows, painted the white silk of my wedding dress in shades of blood red and deep blue. To everyone here, I was Eleanor Vance, the brilliant young architect, marrying into the Thorne dynasty. I was the luckiest woman alive.

But my heart was a cold, hard stone in my chest, and the smile on my face was a mask I had practiced for weeks. This wasn't a marriage; it was a sentence. I was trapped, a beautiful bird in a gilded cage, and the man waiting for me at the altar, Julian Thorne, was my keeper.

I reached the end of the aisle, my hand trembling as I placed it in Julian' s. He didn't look at me, his gaze fixed on the minister, his jaw tight. His touch was cold, impersonal, the grip of a man finalizing a business deal he found distasteful. I knew he despised me, believed the lies that had forced us here, the fabricated scandal that had ruined my reputation and bound me to him. My stepsister, Sophia, had arranged it all perfectly.

The minister' s voice droned on, a meaningless sound in the vast space. "Do you, Julian Thorne, take Eleanor Vance to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

His voice was clipped, devoid of emotion. "I do."

The words echoed in the silence. Now it was my turn. The whole world seemed to hold its breath, waiting. My mother sat in the front pew, her face pale, her eyes pleading with me not to cause a scene. She was sick, and the shame would be too much for her. I was her only hope.

"Do you, Eleanor Vance, take Julian Thorne to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

I opened my mouth, the word "no" a desperate scream trapped in my throat. But what came out was a whisper, a surrender. "I do."

The moment the words left my lips, a blinding white light filled my vision. It wasn't the flash of a camera, it was all-encompassing, erasing the cathedral, the guests, the cold grip of Julian's hand. A wave of nausea washed over me, a violent vertigo that stole my breath. The world dissolved into a screaming vortex of color and sound, and then, just as suddenly, it stopped.

I was standing in my old bedroom, the one in my mother's small house. Sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. The floral wallpaper, the one I' d convinced my mom to replace years ago, was still on the walls. My old drafting table was in the corner, covered in sketches for a university project.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand. I picked it up, my hands shaking. The screen was smaller, the design older. The date read October 12, 2014. Ten years. I had traveled back in time ten years. To the day of my wedding. My first wedding, the one that never happened. The one to David.

A choked sob escaped my lips. It wasn't a dream. It was real. I was free. I wasn't married to Julian Thorne.

But the relief was short-lived, replaced by a cold dread. I knew what was coming. I knew that in a few short months, Julian' s father, the celebrated Mr. Thorne, would make a series of reckless investments in a tech bubble that was about to burst. The Thorne family fortune, the one that seemed so unshakable, would collapse overnight, leaving them with mountains of debt. And in the original timeline, I, his despised wife, had been the one left to shoulder the burden, my own career ruined as I worked to support them all.

My phone buzzed again. A text from Sophia. "Are you ready? Don' t be late! Julian' s family is coming for dinner tonight, you have to make a good impression!"

The blood drained from my face. Tonight. It was all starting tonight. The dinner where Sophia, my sweet, manipulative stepsister, would introduce me to the Thornes, setting in motion the chain of events that would lead to the scandal and my forced marriage. She had wanted Julian for herself, but when he hadn' t been interested, she had decided to take my life instead.

A knock on my door made me jump. My mother' s voice, stronger and healthier than I' d heard it in years, called out, "Eleanor, honey? Are you okay? You' ve been quiet."

I took a shaky breath, trying to steady my voice. "I' m fine, Mom. Just getting ready."

This time would be different. I wouldn't let Sophia win. I wouldn't be a pawn in her game. I knew the future, and that was my only weapon.

Later that evening, the doorbell rang. My heart hammered against my ribs. I stood at the top of the stairs, looking down as my mother opened the door to reveal the Thorne family. Mr. and Mrs. Thorne, their daughter Chloe, and him. Julian.

He looked younger, his arrogance not yet hardened by the cynicism I knew so well. He wore a tailored suit, his expression bored as he scanned our modest home. His eyes flickered up and met mine. There was no recognition, just a flicker of appraisal, and then dismissal. To him, I was just Sophia's stepsister, an obstacle in his evening.

Sophia rushed forward, her smile dazzling. "Julian! You' re here! Let me introduce you to my sister, Eleanor." She turned and gestured for me to come down.

I descended the stairs, my steps slow and deliberate. When I reached the bottom, Julian' s gaze swept over me again, a little more interested this time. Sophia' s smile tightened almost imperceptibly.

"Eleanor Vance," I said, extending my hand. My voice was steady, betraying none of the turmoil inside me.

Julian took my hand. His grip was firm, his touch sending a jolt of unwelcome familiarity through me. "Julian Thorne," he said, his tone cool. He held my hand a fraction of a second too long, a small act of possession, of challenge.

As we moved into the living room, he walked beside me, his voice a low murmur meant only for me. "So, you' re the brilliant architect Sophia can' t stop talking about." There was a mocking edge to his words. "She said you were ambitious. I hope for your sake you' re as smart as she claims."

The contempt was already there, laid bare. He saw me as a competitor, a social climber, exactly the image Sophia had carefully crafted for him. I pulled my hand away, a cold resolve settling over me. He thought he knew who I was. He had no idea.

I spent the rest of the night as a ghost, a silent observer in my own life. I watched Sophia charm Julian' s parents, watched Chloe, his sister, look at me with open disdain. I listened to Mr. Thorne talk about his infallible business instincts, mentioning the very tech companies I knew would be his ruin.

When they finally left, I went straight to my room, the oppressive weight of the evening crushing me. I had escaped one prison only to find myself at the gates of another. But this time, I wasn't the naive girl who could be so easily manipulated. This time, I knew all their secrets, and I would not spend another ten years as Eleanor Thorne. I would fight.

The next morning, I woke up with the phantom feeling of a heavy diamond ring on my finger. I flexed my hand, the skin bare, and the reality of my situation crashed down on me again.

I was back, and everything was happening just as it had before. A week later, after a whirlwind of carefully orchestrated events by Sophia, the fake scandal hit the papers. A doctored photo, a paid-off witness. My engagement to David was shattered, my reputation was in tatters, and the Thorne family, to "save face," proposed the only possible solution: a marriage between me and Julian.

Just like that, I was living in the Thorne mansion. It was a palace of polished marble and cold silences, a place where I was tolerated but not welcomed. My days started with the chilling politeness of the staff and the oppressive quiet of the long hallways. I felt like a ghost haunting someone else' s life.

My first breakfast with the family as a resident of the house was an exercise in humiliation. I walked into the cavernous dining room to find them already seated. Mr. Thorne was hidden behind a newspaper, Mrs. Thorne was inspecting her manicure with a frown, and Chloe was scrolling through her phone, a smirk on her face. Julian' s chair was empty.

"Good morning," I said, my voice sounding too loud in the stillness.

Mrs. Thorne looked up, her eyes cool. "You' re late. We eat at eight o' clock sharp in this house."

"I apologize. I wasn' t aware," I replied, taking a seat as far from her as possible.

Chloe snickered. "I guess they don' t have schedules where you come from."

I ignored her, placing a napkin on my lap. A maid silently poured me coffee. The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable. I knew this was a test. In my first life, I had shrunk under their disapproval, desperate for a kind word. Not this time.

"Sophia is coming over for lunch," Mrs. Thorne announced, not looking at me. "She' s helping me plan the charity gala. Since you have nothing to do, you can assist her." It wasn' t a request.

I took a slow sip of my coffee. "I' m afraid I can' t. I have a meeting with a client about the museum annex project." It was a lie, but a necessary one. I had to establish my independence from the very beginning.

Mrs. Thorne' s perfectly sculpted eyebrows rose. "You have a job?"

"Of course," I said simply. "I' m an architect."

Chloe finally looked up from her phone. "For now. Mother, you can' t possibly let her keep working. What would people say? Julian' s wife, working like some commoner."

Before I could respond, a sudden commotion at the doorway saved me. A small dog, Chloe' s yapping Pomeranian, darted into the room, followed by a flustered maid. The dog ran circles around the table before leaping directly onto Chloe' s lap, knocking over her glass of orange juice. The juice went flying, splashing across the table and soaking the front of my white blouse.

The hot sting of the liquid was nothing compared to the sting of their reactions. The maid gasped in horror. Chloe shrieked, but not in concern for me. "Oh, my dress! This is silk!"

Sophia, who had arrived just in time to witness the scene, rushed forward. She completely ignored me, fussing over Chloe. "Oh, poor Chloe! Are you alright? Let me help you." She dabbed at Chloe' s dress with a napkin, shooting me a look that was a perfect blend of pity and admonishment. "Eleanor, you should have been more careful. You were sitting right there."

The implication was clear, in front of the staff and her family, Sophia had made it my fault. I was the clumsy oaf who had somehow caused this. Mrs. Thorne glared at me, her lips a thin line of displeasure. "Go and change. You' re making a scene."

My blouse was ruined, a sticky, orange stain spreading across the fabric. But I didn' t move. I looked directly at Chloe, my voice calm and even. "Your dog knocked over your juice, Chloe. It was an accident."

Chloe' s face flushed with anger. "Are you blaming my dog? You' re just clumsy!"

"I' m stating a fact," I said, standing up. I peeled the sticky fabric away from my skin. "Now if you' ll excuse me, I have to get ready for my client meeting."

I turned and walked out of the room, feeling their hostile stares on my back. Sophia followed me into the hall, her voice dripping with fake concern. "Eleanor, are you okay? Don' t mind Chloe, she' s just spoiled. But you should be more careful, you know. You need them to like you."

"I don' t need them to like me, Sophia," I said, turning to face her. "I just need them to leave me alone."

Her mask of sweetness slipped for a second, revealing the hard, calculating woman beneath. "You' re playing a dangerous game, Eleanor. You wouldn' t have any of this without me."

"That' s the one true thing you' ve ever said," I replied, my voice low.

I went upstairs to my room, a suite of rooms larger than my mother' s entire house, and stripped off the stained blouse. My hand was red where the juice had been hottest.

It was a minor burn, insignificant. But it was a start. A physical reminder of their contempt. I stared at my reflection in the mirror, at the woman with fire in her eyes. I was no longer the girl who cried over spilled juice. I was a fortress, and they had just fired the first shot against my walls. They would find them much higher and stronger this time.