The Disposable Bride

The biting maritime wind whipped across the open sea vessel deck. It sliced into Cecelia Adler’s naked flesh. Her body shook against the rusted metal of the deck pole. Rough ropes bound her wrists tight behind her back, digging deep into her skin. Three days of relentless physical and psychological torment had worn her down to a bruised, shivering shell. Her captors had dragged her onto the deck and stripped her bare. The remnants of her wedding gown lay in tatters at her feet. They exposed her bare breasts, her stomach, and her most private vulnerabilities to a harsh camera lens blinking with a steady red recording light. These men were bitter corporate rivals of the Croft family. They were broadcasting her degradation worldwide on a livestream to humiliate the heir, Desmond Croft, through his future wife.

Today was supposed to be her wedding day. Instead, Desmond had abandoned her at the altar. He took their bridal car straight to the airport with no explanation other than Vivian Mercer, his childhood sweetheart, needing him to pick her up. Stripped of his protection, Cecelia had been snatched up outside the church by his enemies.

Freezing saltwater sprayed across her bruised thighs. A burly abductor stepped forward. He held a thick satellite phone out, jabbing a finger against the speakerphone button.

"Desmond Croft, pay us a ransom of five million dollars, and we will release your fiancée! Otherwise, we will toss her into the ocean to feed the circling sharks." The kidnapper sneered, practically spitting the ultimate threat into the receiver.

The response through the crackling speaker carried no warmth. There was no panic, and no hesitation.

"What does it have to do with me whether a defiled woman like her dies or not?" Desmond scoffed.

The cruel declaration shattered Cecelia’s soul. The breath left her lungs in a hollow gasp.

A defiled woman. She repeated the words over and over in her mind.

She never imagined hearing him say something so venomous. For three years, she had contorted herself into a submissive, pathetic replica of Vivian. She poured her energy into pampering his ailing grandmother, Agatha Thorne. She centered her entire existence on making Desmond's life easier. But above all else, she had strictly preserved her physical purity. Desmond was a notorious germaphobe. Everyone in Morvale knew he hated contact. She had not let another soul brush her hand. She remained docile, obedient, and willing to give up her very life if he asked it of her. She guarded her virginity with fervent devotion to prove her loyalty.

She thought he would at least feel sorry for her in this state. To him, she was just a defiled object not worth opening his wallet for.

The line went dead. The abductor let out a string of furious curses, his face twisting in enraged disbelief at the apathy from the groom.

"Throw the bitch over."

Rough hands grabbed her bare shoulders. They shoved her hard off the edge of the metal deck.

Gravity yanked her down fast. Cecelia hit the freezing ocean surface. The impact knocked the wind out violently. Frigid saltwater rushed into her mouth, flooding her lungs. The sheer weight of the wild ocean dragged her deeper into the crushing black void. Her limbs flailed against the suffocating pressure, tangling in the deep currents.

Bitter tears of repentance mingled with the saltwater stinging her eyes. She had forsaken the identity she took pride in. She willingly became a substitute just to marry him. And her reward was drowning naked in the freezing sea as a public spectacle.

If granted another life, she prayed with her fading conscience that she would walk far away from Desmond Croft.

Darkness swallowed her vision as the agonizing pressure in her chest peaked.

Suddenly, the crushing, suffocating pressure of the ocean shifted.

The freezing black water vanished. The roar of the sea morphed into the sudden, sharp clatter of crystal wine glasses. Sharp bursts of derisive laughter echoed in her eardrums.

Cecelia broke the surface of clear water. She gasped for a frantic long breath, coughing the liquid from her lungs.

She blinked, shaking the water from her eyelashes. The harsh maritime wind was gone. She was soaking wet, but she was no longer bare. A heavy, dripping evening gown clung tight to her skin. Bright underwater lights illuminated the crystal-blue swimming pool around her.

She was treading in the middle of the Croft estate pool.

She stared blankly at the men and women standing next to the edge. They wore high-society attire, holding champagne flutes, pointing down at her with amused, scornful smiles. The warm glow of the estate lights bathed the opulent courtyard.

This was the night of their engagement party. Three years prior.

The sensory details clicked into place in her mind. Desmond firmly believed she had manipulated his grandmother, Agatha, into forcing this betrothal. He despised her for tying him down. To punish her, he decided to humiliate her right here in front of Morvale's elite.

He had stood right at the edge of this very pool, holding his custom platinum engagement ring. He sneered and tossed it into the deep end without a care.

"I'll marry you if you manage to retrieve that ring."

In her previous life, she thought he meant those words. She jumped in without hesitation, even though she could barely swim back then. She floundered in the deep end, nearly drowning before her fingers blindly scraped the metal on the tiled floor. When she finally grabbed it and climbed out in a drenched, miserable state, Desmond gave her zero respect. Vivian had called him right at that moment, claiming self-harm. Desmond walked out halfway through the party, leaving Cecelia behind mid-celebration as the ultimate laughingstock of the city.

Cecelia looked down now. Her numb fingers uncurled in the water.

Resting heavy in her pale palm was the platinum band.

Her mouth curved into an icy, bitter smile.

Did she really want this life again? She asked the question silently to herself.

Above her, the crowd leaned in. The mocking chatter rippled through the wealthy onlookers.

"No way! She really jumped into the water? That is nuts!"

"Did she really have to stoop so low to please him? So what if it was Mr. Croft's ring? She actually went into the pool to pick it up?"

A man holding a champagne flute snickered, leaning over the edge to get a better look at her soaked dress. "Everyone knows how desperate Cecelia Adler is to get Mr. Croft's attention. Diving into the pool is nothing. I'm sure she would not say no even if Mr. Croft told her to strip herself and dance here right in front of everyone."

A fresh ripple of laughter ran through the crowd, echoing across the water.

"You have managed to find the ring even though the pool is so deep. You should hurry and show it to Mr. Croft right away."

"That is right. Without it, Mr. Croft might even call off the engagement. Crawl out and give it back to him!"

They waited for her to wade to the stairs. They wanted to watch her present the prize to the man who treated her like dirt.

Cecelia did not move toward the stairs. She stood impassive in the waist-deep water.

The icy sting of her past life's death lingered in her bones. The memory of the freezing ocean, her bare chest exposed to the maritime wind, and Desmond’s cold apathy burned in her mind.

Under the stunned gaze of the crowd, Cecelia slowly raised her left hand.

The matching female engagement ring sat heavy on her ring finger. Her face remained devoid of all expression. She reached over and slid the matching engagement ring off her wet skin.

She placed it against Desmond's ring resting in her right palm.

She extended her arm over the surface of the pool.

Cecelia flicked her wrist, casually hurling both rings straight back into the deep water.

A soft splash sounded as the dual pieces of heavy metal hit the surface and sank rapidly to the bottom.

The surrounding laughter dropped instantly.

The guests stood frozen in shock.