The Ashbourne Bride

Adele's corset felt so tight that she struggled to breathe, yet she remained silent as the seamstress adjusted the pearl buttons at her wrists. Her mother delicately draped an antique veil over her face, her fingers trembling with hope. Like a statue, Adele stood motionless—elegant, calm, and beautifully unreadable, just as instructed.

"Adele," her mother whispered, smoothing the silk gown's bodice. "You look exactly like the Ashbourne bride. He will be pleased."

"Pleased," echoed dull and flat in her mind. It was never about emotion, but always about meeting expectations.

She barely recognized herself in the mirror. The delicate diamond necklace that had belonged to her grandmother, the pure ivory of the dress, and the graceful curve of her collarbone all harmonized perfectly, too perfectly. It felt as though this moment had been orchestrated long before she was born.

Henry Ashbourne, her soon-to-be husband, was wealthy, esteemed, and unwavering. Ten years her senior, she had known of him since childhood. Although Adele belonged to the Wesley family, a line of nobility, the Ashbournes had always lingered on the edges of social gatherings. Their influence had quietly faded—a title without fortune, manners that couldn't warrant respect.

The Ashbournes wielded power, while the Wesleys clung to their noble name.

On the night of their engagement, Adele's father had proclaimed, "He will take care of you." But he had also called it an agreement, a blessing, a promise. Deep down, Adele understood the truth: it was a business partnership and a lift up. The Ashbournes needed it far less than the Wesleys did.

Her father faced bankruptcy, and Henry Ashbourne was the answer. 

Adele didn't protest. She said what was expected, saying all the right things, smiling, and nodding. She did it every time. For her parents. For the family name. For everything that wasn't love.

The wedding ceremony took place in the Ashbourne estate chapel, where tall stained-glass windows bathed polished pews in golden light. The scent of lilies filled the air.

As she walked down the aisle, her mother broke down in tears. Her father beamed with pride, holding his head high. Adele floated forward, her face veiled and her hands slightly trembling, as all eyes were on her.

Henry stood at the altar—tall, calm, and as unreadable as a marble statue. He extended his hand, and she placed hers in his.

Their vows were recited with perfect clarity—no hesitation, no emotion.

The priest pronounced, "You may kiss the bride."

Henry leaned in and gave her a swift, formal kiss on the cheek.

After a blink, it was over.

Adele Wesley had transformed.

Now, she was Adele Ashbourne.

As the guests erupted in applause and the music swelled, she cast her gaze around. Familiar faces among neighbors and nobility blended into the background. Yet one face was noticeably absent.

Jason.

The youngest Ashbourne brother. Her childhood companion. The one who dared her to climb trees and sneak books from the manor library, the one who could make her laugh, and saw the sorrow hidden in her eyes.

He wasn't there.

His absence stung far more than any truth she tried to accept.

Still, she turned away.

She accepted Henry's arm when he offered it.

She was now married, perhaps soon to be a mother.

The Ashbourne bride.

And duty had no room for longing.