Chapter 2

Soon enough, my bedroom door was kicked open.

A crowd stormed in, their footsteps thundering in the dark.

Someone grabbed my arm, and hands were pulling and grabbing at me from all sides.

I felt fists hit my shoulders and back—not too hard, not too soft. It was the custom to block the door.

The rougher they were with the bride, the more it showed her family was reluctant to let her go, and the more fiercely the groom had to fight for her.

I didn't try to avoid or resist.

I let myself be pushed and pulled, let them drag me off the stool, and did nothing as the blows landed.

At first, it felt like going through the motions, but soon the atmosphere shifted.

Someone dug their fingers into my arm and shoved me against the wall, while others swung punch after punch at my waist.

The hits were harsh and intentional—nothing like the traditional door-blocking custom.

This was no accident.

It hurt like hell, but I didn't make a sound.

Now I had gotten what my stepmother meant when she said I was always tough.

Just when I thought it would keep going, someone shielded me and shouted, "Enough."

It was an unfamiliar voice, angry and sharp.

He stood protectively in front of me, holding back the ones still trying to push forward with his arm.

"Enough already. Do you have to hit her that hard? She's a person, not a punching bag," he said.

Someone laughed nervously and tried to explain, "Hey, man, it's tradition; the rougher we are, the more valuable the bride is supposed to be."

"What kind of tradition is that?" he snapped, his voice rising. "Easy for you to say, since it's not your wife. If it were, would you stand there and watch?"

For a second, the whole place went quiet.

He glanced back at me, but in the dim light, I couldn't make out his face—just a vague outline.

Then he bent down and hoisted me onto his back.

Someone behind us grumbled, "Who's this idiot? It's a wedding snatch; does he really have to make such a fuss?"

The man carried me on his back and marched out of the room.

Some people chased after us, some purposely blocked our path, and others started tossing stuff at us.

He was sure-footed and quick.

He kept a firm hold on the back of my knee, making sure I wouldn't slip off.

When we finally made it over the first ridge, he stopped to catch his breath.

Off in the distance, flickering lights marked another crew out for a bride.

Through the bushes, I could faintly hear their laughter and chatter floating over.

Soon, that group was getting closer.

The flickering firelight lit up a few faces.

Leading the way was a guy carrying a girl on his back, sweat pouring down his face, but with a smile tugging at his lips.

It was Edward.

Zoe, clinging to his back, had her face buried in his shoulder and her arms looped around his neck.

They were laughing and goofing around.

The guys following behind started egging him on, shouting, "Kiss her!"

I hung quietly on the stranger's back, watching them come closer.

The firelight swept across my face.

Edward's gaze landed on me, lingering for a heartbeat.

Only for a heartbeat.

Then he looked away, going right back to laughing and messing around with his buddies.

Zoe was draped over Edward's back, saying something in a soft, teasing voice. He turned his head to listen, his gentle smile so dazzling it almost stung to look at.

Suddenly, I remembered three years ago, when I went back to the town to visit my dad and stayed for a bit.

The first time Edward showed up in the town looking for me, he wore that same smile.

That day, he trekked across miles to see me.

His soles were torn up, and his heels were bleeding.

I asked him, "Doesn't your foot hurt?"

Edward scratched his head and grinned, saying, "Pain? For my wife, I don't mind at all."

He was the kind of rich kid who never had to lift a finger, always living the easy life, but he was willing to brave the wilds for me.

Edward always said it wasn't that far.

But I knew the bus only got one to the base of the town—the rest was all walking.

One time, it was pouring, and he showed up at my front gate, drenched from head to toe—but the snacks he was hugging close were still dry.

I told him he was crazy for coming in the rain.

Edward stuffed the snacks into my hands, grinning and saying, "Didn't want you to wait too long."

He didn't want me to wait too long.

Holding those snacks, staring at his drenched hair, I thought he was the one for life.

Yet now, he was carrying Zoe on his back, flashing that same smile I remembered from back then.

For a moment, my vision went blurry, but I quickly snapped back to reality.

When did everything start to shift?

It probably started back when my dad died three years ago.

I felt totally empty, like someone had sucked the life right out of me. Edward put everything on hold and stayed with me in the town for two weeks.

The day he had to leave, he took my hand and said gently, "Riley, you looked so pale after the funeral. If my mom sees you like this, she'll definitely give you a hard time. I really don't want you to go through that.

"Just stay here in the town for now and focus on getting better. Didn't you always want to run the family business anyway?

"Let me smooth things over back home first, then I'll come back for you."

I looked at him and nodded.

I was so exhausted from trying to mend things with Laura—nothing ever seemed to work.

Back then, I really believed he had my best interests at heart.

He couldn't stand the thought of me going back and dealing with all those cold stares.

But later, I realized distance didn't make us miss each other; it made it easier for him to love someone else.

Last year, when Laura turned sixty, Edward came to bring me home.

As soon as I walked in, I spotted Zoe, my stepsister, who claimed she was working in the city.

She was in the living room, arranging fruit with practiced ease.

Edward hesitated for a moment while changing his shoes and explained, "Zoe's workplace is close to our house, so she's staying here for a while."

He didn't look the least bit guilty, and I didn't say another word.

When my stepmother brought Zoe into the family by marrying my dad, both Zoe and I were already adults.

We never really had much of a connection.

All these years, we only crossed paths during the holidays.

I couldn't really say how I felt about Zoe staying here.

When I walked in, Zoe called out in a sweet voice, "Hey, Riley. Don't overthink it. I'm crashing here for a bit. I'll move out as soon as I find a place."

I nodded and didn't say anything.

Back then, I never imagined that I, Edward's wife, would end up waiting alone in an empty house in the town for three whole years.

Meanwhile, Zoe, who was supposedly out working, had actually been crashing at the Quinns for three years.