Part 2
### Chapter 1: Chapter 1
Married by Fate is a contemporary slow-burn romance centered around a wrong-groom marriage. Bella, a wedding planner, loses the man she loves on the day of their wedding when he mysteriously disappears. His younger brother, Ethan—an architect who has spent his life living in Alexander’s shadow—becomes the groom instead. What begins as a forced marriage slowly turns into an emotional journey of healing, friendship, and unexpected love, while the truth behind Alexander’s disappearance threatens to change everything they thought they knew.
Bella Hayes was supposed to marry the man she loved. Instead, she married his younger brother. When Alexander Calloway vanishes on their wedding day without a single explanation, Ethan steps into his place to save two families from ruin. Bound by vows neither of them wanted, Bella and Ethan are forced into a marriage built on heartbreak, resentment, and unanswered questions. But as secrets begin to unravel, Bella realizes the biggest mystery isn't why Alexander disappeared... it's why Ethan agreed to take his place.
Complete Chapters 18
Rating 4.9 ( 35 reviews ) Age Rating 13+
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Chapter 1
The quiet rustle of ivory satin broke the silence of the suite as Sophie adjusted the heavy train of Bella’s dress, her hands working with meticulous care to keep the hem off the polished hardwood.
“You’re actually getting married,” Sophie whispered, her tone hovering in that sweet, fragile space between utter disbelief and overwhelming excitement. “I still can’t believe it.”
Bella didn’t answer right away. She was too busy looking at the stranger in the floor-length mirror.
The dress hugged her waist before cascading into weightless layers of lace and tulle, catching the warm overhead glow. Tiny pearls stitched along the bodice shimmered like dew, and the sheer veil rested softly against her neatly pinned chestnut curls.
For a single second, her lungs locked.
The day she had sketched in notebooks as a little girl, the day she had rehearsed in her mind a thousand times over. After two years of certainty, she was finally going to become Mrs. Calloway.
Sophie stepped up beside her in the mirror, her expression softening as she reached out to tuck an errant strand of hair behind Bella’s ear. “So...” she murmured, a teasing spark lighting her eyes. “You really love Alexander, don’t you?”
A soft, effortless smile touched Bella’s lips—not the tight, jittery smile of a bride battling last-minute second thoughts, but the calm radiance of a woman who knew her heart was entirely safe.
“I do,” Bella said. She looked down at the diamond sparkling on her left hand, the metal cool against her warm skin. “We’ve been together for two years, and he still treats me like it’s our first date.”
Sophie raised a skeptical eyebrow, though her smile remained. “That’s rare.”
“I know,” Bella admitted, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks. “He never forgets the little things. The exact coffee order I had the morning we met. My favorite peonies. The ridiculous way I get anxious before every single wedding I plan... He remembers every bit of it.” She took a shallow breath, her voice dropping to a tender whisper. “He loves me more than I ever thought someone could.”
“I’ve never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you,” Sophie said quietly. “It’s like the rest of the room just empties out.”
Bella lowered her eyes, unable to hide the blush blooming across her face. “Neither have I.”
Through the heavy oak doors of the bridal suite, the distant hum of the world blared on. Laughter echoed through the grand hotel lobby as guests began to stream in. Downstairs, the string quartet was running through the procession one last time, the faint strains of a cello drifting up through the floorboards. The air in the room was thick with the rich, sweet scent of hundreds of fresh white roses.
Everything was perfect. Exactly as she had designed it.
Being a professional wedding planner had made organizing her own ceremony a brilliant nightmare. She had obsessed over every linen, every satin ribbon, every flickering pillar candle and place card. But she hadn’t done it out of neurosis; she had done it because today wasn’t just another event to manage.
A soft, tentative knock at the door broke the spell.
The door swung inward, and Emma Hayes froze on the threshold, her eyes instantly brimming with unshed tears. “Oh...” She pressed a trembling hand against her heart, her breath catching in her throat. “Bella... you look beautiful.”
Bella turned, her chest tightening with affection. “Mom...”
They met in the middle of the room, sinking into a careful, fierce embrace that smelled of familiar lavender perfume and hairspray.
Emma pulled back just enough to scan her daughter’s face, blinking rapidly. “I’ve imagined this day since the very second you were born.”
“Please don’t cry yet,” Bella laughed softly, fan-waving her hand in front of her face. “You’ll ruin my makeup, and then I’ll ruin yours.”
“No promises,” Sophie chimed in with a grin, handing Emma a stray tissue from the vanity.
Laughter washed over the three of them, light and genuine. For the first time all morning, the lingering buzz of adrenaline in Bella’s chest settled into complete, unshakeable peace. She wasn’t scared. She wasn’t second-guessing the path beneath her feet. She loved Alexander Calloway with everything she had, and in less than an hour, she would walk down that aisle and become his wife.
She stood at the center of her perfect world, entirely unaware that miles away from the grand hotel, far beyond the sound of the rehearsing musicians and the scent of white roses, the groom’s car was nowhere near the altar.
Three hours had bled away into three agonizing, interminable hours.
The grand reception hall, which had once buzzed with lighthearted warmth and bright laughter, had descended into a tense, suffocating quiet. Guests huddled in small clusters, exchanging muted whispers and anxious glances while trying—and failing—not to stare at the hollow, abandoned altar.
The groom still hadn’t arrived.
Richard Calloway paced a relentless track across the marble floor of the foyer, his phone pressed so tightly against his ear his knuckles had turned white. Every few minutes, the call would drop to voicemail; he’d end it with a furious flick of his thumb and dial again, his expression hardening with every unanswered ring.
“Where the hell is he?” Richard growled under his breath, his voice laced with a raw, dangerous fury that barely masked his underlying panic. “Where the hell are you, Alexander?”
A few feet away, Evelyn Calloway looked as though she might collapse into her pristine silk dress. Tears tracked through her makeup as she frantically dialed her eldest son’s number for what felt like the hundredth time.
“Alexander...” she sobbed, holding the speaker to her ear with trembling hands. “Please... please, darling, just answer...”
Every single attempt ended in the same cruel, hollow tone. No answer. No text. No signal. Just nothing.
“It’s not like him, Richard,” Evelyn wept, looking up at her husband with desperate, bloodshot eyes. “You know him—he would never do this to her. He wouldn’t do this to us. Something terrible has happened.”
Richard didn’t answer. For the first time in his life, the formidable businessman looked entirely powerless, staring blankly at the dark screen of his phone as the weight of the silence crushed him.
Inside the bridal suite, the air was thick, heavy, and cold.
Bella sat motionless in front of the vanity mirror, a ghost trapped in silk and lace. Her dress was still immaculate. Her makeup remained meticulously intact. But the radiant, effortless light that had filled her eyes just hours ago was completely gone, replaced by a hollow, unseeing stare.
In her lap, her fingers clutched the stems of her white rose bouquet so tightly that the thorns bit into her skin.
Breathe, she told herself. Just keep breathing.
He’s coming. He has to be. Alexander wouldn’t leave me here. He loves me. He wouldn’t do this... would he?
With every tick of the clock on the mantle, the desperate lie became harder to sustain.
Lily knelt beside the vanity, wrapping her warm hands around Bella’s freezing fingers. “Hey...” she murmured softly, her voice aching with sympathy. “Don’t jump to the worst-case scenario yet, okay? Maybe his phone died. Maybe there was a pileup on the highway. There has to be a reasonable explanation for this.”
Bella forced a faint, fragile smile—a instinctive mask that crumbled the moment it reached her eyes. “I know,” she whispered.
By the cracked doorway, Daniel Hayes stood frozen. His usual healthy color had completely drained, leaving his face a sickly pale. He stared out into the grand hallway, praying with every fiber of his being for someone—anyone—to round the corner with news. Good news. Bad news. Any news.
His little girl was sitting in there, dressed as a bride. Hundreds of expectant guests were waiting outside.
And the man who was supposed to protect her heart had simply vanished into thin air.
Daniel pressed a heavy, shaking hand against his chest, inhaling slowly as a dull, tight pain flared behind his ribs.
Emma rushed to his side in an instant, her hand landing gently on his arm. “Daniel... sweetheart, look at me.”
“I’m fine,” he breathed out, lying quietly through pale lips.
He wasn’t. Nobody was. The entire foundation of the day was splintering under the weight of the unknown.
Outside the suite, the cruel hum of gossip continued to ripple through the venue like wildfire.
“Is someone going to call it? Is the wedding over?”
Inside the room, amidst the soft rustle of silk and the suffocating perfume of white roses, Bella lowered her head. She closed her eyes tight and silently begged the universe for the heavy oak doors to burst open. For Alexander to run in, breathless and apologetic. For someone to step forward and tell her that this nightmare was all just a terrible, absurd misunderstanding.
The only answer to her prayers was the agonizing, heavy sound of absolute silence.
Five brutal, agonizing hours since the ceremony was supposed to begin.
The grand venue had become an oppressive tomb. Most of the guests had long given up the polite pretense that this was a minor delay. Curious, venomous whispers echoed off the high ceilings, while outside the heavy glass doors, a small army of reporters gathered, eager to broadcast the Calloway family’s public humiliation to the world.
Inside one of the private executive lounges, both families stood locked in a suffocating silence.
It was Daniel Hayes who finally broke it. His exhausted eyes drifted to Bella, pale and broken in her silk dress, before settling squarely on Richard Calloway.
“I think...” Daniel’s voice cracked, thick with unshed tears and sheer exhaustion. “We have to cancel the wedding.”
Silence swallowed the room again. No one challenged him.
Daniel swallowed hard, drawing himself up as best he could. “My daughter has suffered enough today.”
Emma squeezed her eyes shut, unable to stop the warm tears tracking down her worn cheeks. Beside them, Richard Calloway clenched his jaw so tightly his teeth threatened to grind down to the bone. He had spent decades forging the ironclad reputation of the Calloway name—and in a single afternoon, it was crumbling into dust before his eyes.
“There is no ‘but,’ Richard,” Daniel continued, his tone hardening with a father’s protective rage. “We are taking Bella home.” He turned toward the quiet figure sitting near the window. “Come on, sweetie. Let’s go.”
Bella slowly stood from her chair. Her legs felt hollow, like paper pushed against a strong wind. Her fingers lost their grip, and the heavy bouquet of white roses slipped, landing with a soft, final thud on the marble floor.
She took one fragile step toward her father.
The voice was cool. Aged. Yet loaded with an authority so absolute it froze every soul in the room where they stood.
Every head snapped toward the entrance.
Margaret Calloway moved slowly into the lounge, her hand resting heavily on her carved wooden cane. Despite the wrinkles framing her face, her spine was a rigid line of steel, her presence commanding immediate, instinctual submission.
She stopped in the exact center of the room.
“This wedding...” Margaret said, her dark eyes sweeping across the frozen faces around her, “...will happen.”
A stunned silence fell over the room.
Emma frowned, stepping forward with cautious disbelief. “Margaret... what are you saying? How can it happen? The groom isn’t here.”
Margaret didn’t look at Emma. Instead, her sharp gaze cut to Richard, then to Evelyn, before drifting toward the long hallway outside.
“There is a groom,” the matriarch stated quietly.
The room held its collective breath.
The silence that followed was terrifying.
Richard’s eyes widened in genuine shock. “What on earth are you talking about, Mother?”
Evelyn shook her head, backing away a step as if struck. “No... absolutely not...”
Margaret’s cold expression didn’t so much as flicker. “The Calloway family gave its word to this union today. A promise was made. We will keep it.”
“You can’t possibly be suggesting—” Daniel began, his face flushed with sudden horror.
“I am,” Margaret interrupted, her voice an immovable wall. “Ethan will marry Bella.”
The lounge exploded into chaos.
“What?!” Emma gasped, clutching her chest.
“That’s completely insane, Mother!” Richard snapped, stepping into her space.
“Have you lost your mind?!” Evelyn cried, her tears turning to frantic rage. “You can’t just substitute one son for another!”
In the middle of the storm, Bella felt the remaining blood drain entirely from her face. A high-pitched ringing filled her ears, drowning out the roaring arguments around her.
She couldn’t have heard that right. It was impossible.
Ethan Calloway—Alexander’s reclusive, distant younger brother. The man who had barely spared her a dozen words in the entire two years she had been with Alexander. The man who looked at her not with warmth, but with a cold, piercing indifference every time they happened to share a room.
He was supposed to be her husband?
It sounded like a cruel, absurd joke born of desperate madness.
And yet, as the arguments raged on around her, Margaret Calloway stood at the center of the storm, unyielding and ice-cold—a woman who had already written the next chapter, regardless of who bled in the process.
1 Chapter 1 2 Chapter 02 3 Chapter 03 4 Chapter 04 5 Chapter 05 6 Chapter 06 7 Chapter 07 8 Chapter 08 9 Chapter 09 10 Chapter 10 11 Chapter 11 12 Chapter 12 13 Chapter 13 14 Chapter 14 15 Chapter 15 16 Chapter 16 17 Chapter 17 18 Last Chapter
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### Chapter 2: Chapter 2
Ethan Calloway sat alone on a weathered wooden bench, a thin curl of grey smoke drifting up into the cool evening air. He brought the cigarette to his lips, taking a slow, measured drag before exhaling a plume toward the stars.
He hated gatherings like this. He hated the performative smiles, the endless small talk, the suffocating scent of overpriced white roses.
And more than anything, he hated this specific wedding.
Not because he was against the concept of marriage, but because tonight, his golden-boy older brother was marrying the only woman Ethan had spent the better part of two years actively avoiding. Every family dinner, every holiday, every brief encounter—he had trained himself to look past her, to keep his distance, to treat her with a cool, unbothered indifference.
He took another long drag, watching the ember glow in the dark.
Heavy, frantic footsteps crushed the gravel path nearby.
Noah Brooks stumbled around the corner, clutching his side and panting as if he’d just sprinted a marathon.
Ethan didn’t even bother turning his head. “You know,” he said, his voice smooth and lazy, “I came all the way out here specifically to avoid the nonsense inside. Whatever crisis is happening in there, spare me.”
Noah bent at the waist, resting his hands on his knees while he fought for breath. “You have... absolutely zero idea... what’s going on in there.”
Ethan casually flicked the ash from the tip of his cigarette into the grass. “Now what?” He sighed, resting his head back against the bench. “I barely talked myself into showing up for this circus in the first place.” A faint, cynical smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “And don’t tell me my perfect big brother suddenly realized he has a younger sibling and sent you to fetch me.”
Noah finally straightened up. He didn’t laugh. He didn’t offer a witty comeback. He just stood there, looking at Ethan with an expression that was far too grim for a wedding night.
“Alexander’s gone,” Noah said flatly.
Ethan’s brow furrowed slightly. “What?”
The silence between them stretched, thick and heavy.
Ethan stared at his friend, waiting for the punchline—waiting for Noah to crack a smile and tell him Alexander had just been held up by a late-running client or a flat tire on the highway.
Noah’s face remained stone-cold.
“The ceremony was supposed to kick off five hours ago,” Noah said, his voice dropping an octave. “They’ve turned the venue upside down. The Calloways have called him a hundred times. His car isn’t in the lot. No one knows where the hell he is.”
Ethan slowly pushed himself off the bench, his lazy demeanor vanishing instantly. “What do you mean, disappeared ?”
“I mean exactly what I said.” Noah rubbed the back of his neck, sounding just as bewildered as he was tense. “He never showed up.”
Ethan let out a sharp, disbelieving bark of laughter. “Very funny. Did Richard hire you to come pull my leg?”
The humor died in Ethan’s throat.
His pulse gave a single, hard thud against his ribs. Alexander? Abandoning his own wedding? It was absurd. Alexander was the prodigal son. The responsible, untouchable, meticulously disciplined lawyer who never made a misstep in his life. He was the pride of the Calloway name.
He wasn’t a coward who ran out on his bride.
“He wouldn’t do that,” Ethan said quietly, his voice dangerously low. “Not to her.”
“That’s why everyone inside is losing their damn minds,” Noah countered, gesturing vaguely toward the towering, brightly lit windows of the main hall. “The guests are turning into a mob of gossiping vultures. The media has practically breached the front gates. And Bella...” Noah hesitated, softening his tone. “...Bella’s been sitting in that room, fully dressed in her gown, for five hours.”
Ethan’s jaw set into a hard, rigid line.
He hadn’t permitted himself to look directly at her all day. Not when she walked in, not through the prep, not once. He didn’t know if it was out of some twisted sense of loyalty to his brother... or the simple, terrifying fear of looking into her eyes and seeing a happiness he knew he’d never be the one to give her.
He dropped the half-smoked cigarette to the gravel and crushed it beneath the heel of his shoe.
“So...” Ethan slid his hands into his tailored trouser pockets, his dark eyes locking onto Noah’s. “What does any of this mess have to do with me?”
Noah swallowed hard, opening his mouth, then closing it again. For the first time since he had run down the garden path, the words seemed to catch in his throat.
Because he knew that the moment he spoke the matriarch’s command aloud, the quiet, isolated life Ethan Calloway had built for himself would shatter into a million pieces.
The double doors smashed open, the loud crack against the wood sending a jolt through the quiet room.
Ethan’s voice thundered off the high ceiling, heavy with dark, furious disbelief. He strode into the lounge, his long coat sweeping around his legs, his face a hard mask of cold anger.
His sharp gaze pinned the old woman sitting near the window. “Have you completely lost your mind?”
Margaret Calloway didn’t flinch. She sat with effortless composure, her posture regal despite the storm that had just breached the doorway. “No,” she said, her voice smooth and unhurried. “I have simply made a decision.”
Ethan let out a harsh, bitter laugh, running a hand through his dark hair. “A decision? You’ve decided I should step in and marry my brother’s fiancée?”
Richard Calloway pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a weary sigh. “Ethan, listen—”
“No, Dad,” Ethan snapped, cutting his father off without a second glance. His eyes never left Margaret. “I want an explanation. From her.”
Margaret slowly pushed herself up from her armchair, her knuckles white against the carved handle of her wooden cane. “Why shouldn’t you marry her?”
Ethan stared at her as if she were speaking a foreign language. “What?”
She took a deliberate step toward him, the faint thud of her cane echoing in the quiet. “Tell me. Give me one valid reason why you cannot marry Bella.”
Silence descended on the room, heavy and suffocating.
Ethan turned his head away, his jaw working as he stared blankly at the wall.
Margaret’s voice grew sharper, cutting through the stillness like a blade. “What is it, Ethan? Are you not man enough to fix this? Or...” Her eyes narrowed, searching every line of his rigid face. “...is there someone else you love?”
The question hit him like a physical blow, catching him completely off guard.
“No,” he said, the word pulled from him before he could stop it.
Ethan clenched his fist so tightly his nails bit into his palm. “It isn’t about me!” His voice dropped to a low, raw murmur. “Bella loves Alexander. Not me. She never has.”
The admission seemed to drain the air from the room.
“She spent two years building a life with him,” Ethan continued, his tone thick with unspoken pain. “She was supposed to become his wife tonight. I can’t just step into my brother’s shoes. I won’t do it.”
Margaret’s expression didn’t soften by a fraction. “She has already agreed.”
Ethan’s head snapped back to her. “...What?”
For the first time in his life, the composed, sharp-witted architect looked entirely speechless. The color drained from his face as he stared at his grandmother.
“No,” he muttered, shaking his head in immediate denial. “No. She wouldn’t.”
“I spoke to the girl myself,” Margaret replied, her tone unreadable. “She understands the stakes. She knows exactly what this marriage requires, and she still agreed.”
Ethan scoffed, a dark, disbelieving sound escaping his throat. “You’re telling me that the woman who has spent two years worshipping Alexander... agreed to marry me within five minutes of him vanishing? It doesn’t make a damn bit of sense.”
“It doesn’t have to,” Margaret said softly. “Life rarely grants us the luxury of understanding every turn it takes.”
Ethan’s chest rose and fell in uneven, ragged breaths. His mind reeled, fiercely rejecting every word she offered.
Why? It wasn’t love—he knew that better than anyone. And Bella was far too proud to accept pity.
Which meant there was only one terrifying answer left: she wasn’t marrying him to save herself. She was sacrificing herself to save her family from ruin, to cover the disgrace left behind by the golden child.
And somehow, knowing that cut deeper than any rejection ever could.
Margaret met his furious, agonized gaze without flinching. “I will not force you into this, Ethan,” she said quietly, letting the heavy silence linger between them for a long moment. “But before you give me your final refusal...” She paused, her dark eyes flashing with something unreadable. “...go talk to Bella.”
Ethan’s brow furrowed into a deep scowl. “What difference will that make?”
“Go and find out.” Margaret gestured vaguely toward the corridor with her head. “She’s waiting in the bridal suite.”
Ethan stood frozen for a long, agonizing second, his pulse hammering in his ears. Then, letting out a sharp, ragged exhale, he turned on his heel.
He shoved through the double doors and marched down the dimly lit hallway, every step feeling like a march toward a firing squad.
1 Chapter 1 2 Chapter 02 3 Chapter 03 4 Chapter 04 5 Chapter 05 6 Chapter 06 7 Chapter 07 8 Chapter 08 9 Chapter 09 10 Chapter 10 11 Chapter 11 12 Chapter 12 13 Chapter 13 14 Chapter 14 15 Chapter 15 16 Chapter 16 17 Chapter 17 18 Last Chapter
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Read it. Hear it. Feel it.
Experience this story in a whole new way. Available on the Inkitt app.
Authors can write and upload their manuscripts on Inkit for free and writers retain 100% of their copyrights while writing on Inkitt
Readers can read all books for free, without any ads and give the authors feedback.
Books that perform well based on their reader engagement are published on our Galatea app.
--------------------------------------------------