Chapter 2: The Bride’s Price

My friends looked shell-shocked, stuck in the hallway, hands in pockets or arms crossed—the kind of stunned silence you get when reality TV wedding disasters come true. Derek muttered under his breath, “You think this was your fiancée’s idea, too?” His voice was low, concern carved into the crease between his brows.

I shook my head so hard my glasses almost fell off. “No way.” Seven years together—ramen nights, late-night drives, all of it—I thought I knew her. Or maybe I just wanted to.

We’d been together since college. I tried to sound certain, but even to my own ears, doubt crept in.

Everyone pulled me outside to regroup. The air was cooler, the world felt more normal. My groomsmen huddled up by the porch, sneakers scuffing the concrete.

“Your mother-in-law just wants a payday, man.”

“But we can’t let Marcus cough up $70,000. That’s extortion.”

“If you ask me, forget it. Just take the bride and run.”

“Yeah, worst case, Marcus can bring a bottle of good bourbon and some wine later as an apology.”

Derek’s suggestion was only half a joke—in our crew, good whiskey fixed almost anything.

After hashing it out, I straightened my tie, wiped my palms on my pants, and took a deep breath before heading back into the living room, clinging to my last hope.

“Mom, is this security deposit really necessary?”

I tried to sound respectful, forcing myself to look her in the eye.

“Of course.”

She didn’t even blink, arms folded like she’d rehearsed this all night.

My brother-in-law pointed at the bedroom door behind him. “If you don’t pay, you’re not stepping in there today.” He played bouncer, blocking the way with a smug smirk.

Fine, fine, fine. We were almost an hour behind. I could hear the limo driver’s footsteps on the porch, probably texting his dispatcher about the world’s worst wedding gig.

Derek’s jaw was tight, the rest of the guys looked ready for a bar fight, not a wedding.

Suddenly, Derek stepped forward, and while my brother-in-law was distracted, dragged him away. The rest of the guys piled against the door. It was chaos—the kind of moment you see on viral wedding fail reels, not in real life.

My mother-in-law shrieked, “Stop them! Hurry!”

Some guests leapt to their feet, torn between breaking up the scuffle and just watching the show.

Seven or eight people rushed over to block us from taking the bride. It was a wild tangle—arms, elbows, shouting. I glimpsed the old Parker family Christmas portrait on the wall. The irony hit me like a slap.

My suit was wrecked—jacket ripped, boutonniere gone, and a smear of someone’s lipstick on my collar. My face stung from scratches. My heart jackhammered in my chest. For a second, I wondered if someone would call the cops.

Just as I was about to give up, there was a loud bang—the door burst open. For a moment, everyone froze.

The bridesmaids screamed in unison, one so loud she startled herself, clutching the bedspread.

Natalie, my fiancée, sat on the bed in her dress, startled by the chaos. She looked like a porcelain doll, wide-eyed, hands twisted around her veil, knuckles white as chalk.

I handed over the envelope for the bridesmaids’ “bride ransom”—a silly tradition I’d only ever seen on wedding prank reels. My hand shook as I passed it over. The bridesmaid looked at me, then at the envelope, unsure whether to laugh or throw it back.

Then I tried to explain, “Your parents said if I don’t pay $70,000, I can’t pick you up. I really have no other choice. Come on, let me carry you out—let’s go.” My voice was shaky, the desperation bleeding through.

But to my shock, Natalie just sat there, unmoving.

She didn’t reach for my hand or try to get up. She looked guilty—cheeks flushed, eyes darting between me and the floor.

She whispered, “Marcus, why don’t you just agree to their request?”

Seven years together, and now she wanted me to just roll over? My chest tightened, heat prickling behind my eyes.

Me: “What?”

My world shrank to just her face, her lips barely moving. The background faded. It was just me and her and the ugly truth between us.

She avoided my eyes, voice barely above a whisper. “I know my family’s request is a bit much, but I promise this is the last time. My parents didn’t have it easy raising me, either…” She twisted her wedding band nervously, knuckles pale.

My heart was a tangled mess. I wanted to shout, or maybe laugh at the whole absurdity, but all I felt was the pressure behind my eyes.

So she knew. She knew her parents would pull this on the wedding day, but she didn’t warn me. That betrayal cut deeper than any dollar sign.

What about my parents? No matter how well-off we looked, money didn’t grow on trees.

I pictured my dad’s forced smile, my mom’s worried eyes as she balanced her checkbook. None of this was easy for them, either.

I bit my tongue so hard I tasted blood.

Suddenly, my brother-in-law broke free from Derek and stormed in, shoving me hard. The bridesmaids shrank back. I staggered, glasses and phone hitting the floor.

He kicked my phone away, then stomped my glasses, shattering them. The sound echoed. My phone spun under the bed.

Natalie panicked. “What are you doing? You broke his glasses—apologize to your brother-in-law!”

She jumped up, voice trembling, but her brother just sneered.

I glared at him, my voice shaking. “What’s your problem?”

He replied smugly, “Why should I apologize? Who told him to use force first?” Arms folded, trying to look tough, but I saw a flicker of fear in his eyes.

My friends had had enough. “If your family hadn’t blocked us, would we have needed to do this?”

“The limos have been waiting for over an hour. We can’t wait forever, right?”

Their voices were raw, patience worn thin. Some started pacing, checking watches.

My father-in-law tried to take control. “And you think you’re in the right?”

My mother-in-law snapped, “Marcus, is this how your parents raised you? Look what you’ve done to our door!”

Her voice rose above the noise, freezing everyone. Shame prickled at my skin.

I closed my eyes, forcing myself to breathe. Not now. Not here.

“Mom, I was in a hurry. I’ll pay for the door, but I really can’t do the security deposit. Please, just let me take Natalie.”

My voice trembled. I was begging, and everyone knew it.

“No way!”

Her answer slammed down like a judge’s gavel.

Finally, a few relatives spoke up—voices hesitant, but the tide turning.

“Sis, stop making things so hard for the groom. $70,000 is really too much…”

“Why ruin such a happy day?”

“I bet the groom’s parents are getting anxious by now.”

My mother-in-law’s face flushed with anger and embarrassment. She exploded: “No! Without the security deposit, forget the wedding! Go home right now!”

Her words rang through the house. For a moment, nobody dared move.