Snatched at the Altar: I Changed Grooms

The more intense the bride's beating, the more it showed how reluctant her family was to let her go, and the harder the groom’s side had to fight to take her away.

I didn't dodge or fight back. Instead, I let them push me around, haul me off my stool, and land their blows whenever they pleased.

At first, it seemed like they were just going through the motions. But soon, the shoving took on a different tone.

Someone grabbed my arm and slammed me into the wall, while another drove punch after punch into my lower back. The blows were hard and solid, nothing like the customary tussle.

This was on purpose.

It hurt terribly, but I made no sound. I understood now what Patty meant when she said that I'd been tough since I was a child.

Just when I thought it would go on, someone stepped in front of me and shouted, "Enough!"

It was an unfamiliar voice, full of anger.

He stood before me, using his arms to ward off those still trying to rush forward.

"Knock it off! You're hitting too hard! She's a person, not a punching bag!"

Someone laughed sheepishly and explained, "Dude, this is the custom. The harder the tussle, the more precious the bride—"

"Custom my foot!" His voice shot up sharply. "Easy for you to say—she's not your wife! Are you telling me that you'd just stand there and watch if somebody was pounding on her like that?"

The room fell silent for a moment.

The stranger glanced back at me. In the dim light, I couldn't make out his face—only a vague silhouette. Then, he bent down and lifted me onto his back.

Behind us, someone still muttered, "Who's this hothead? It's only a bride heist. Why is he taking it so seriously?"

He strode out with me on his back. Some chased after us, some deliberately blocked the way, and some threw things at us.

His stride was quick and steady. One hand gripped the back of my knee, holding me secure in place so I wouldn't fall.

When we crossed the first mountain ridge, he stopped to catch his breath.

In the distance, torchlight flickered and swayed. It was the other bride heist party.

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

Before long, they drew closer. The torchlight flickered and lit up a few faces. At the very front, a man was carrying a woman on his back. He was drenched in sweat from running, yet he was smiling.

It was none other than Nicholas.

On his back, Tricia had her face buried in the curve of his neck, with both arms wrapped around him.

They were laughing and teasing each other.

The friends followed behind them egged them on.

"Kiss the bride! Kiss the bride!"

I lay on the stranger's back, quietly watching them draw near.

The torchlight flickered across my face.

Nicholas' gaze swept over and paused on me for just a moment, then slid past. He went back to laughing and joking with his friends.

Tricia leaned close to Nicholas' ear, cooing softly. He tilted his head to listen, his smile so tender that it stung my eyes.

My mind suddenly drifted back to three years ago, to when I'd returned to the village to visit my father, Joseph Melton, and had been staying at home for a few days.

The first time Nicholas came to the village looking for me, he had worn that same smile.

That day, he crossed two mountains. The soles of his shoes were worn through, the backs of his heels seeping blood.

I asked, "Don't your feet hurt?"

He scratched his head and grinned. "Of course not. For you, I'd gladly do anything."

He had grown up pampered and waited on his whole life. And yet, for me, he was willing to trek into these remote mountains.

He always said the journey wasn't far. But I knew the bus from town to the village only went as far as the foot of the mountain. The rest of the way was all on foot.

Once, when it rained, he showed up at the gate completely drenched. Yet, the bag of pastry he carried tucked against his chest was still dry.

I scolded him for being foolish, for coming even in the rain.

He pressed the bag into my hands, smiled, and said, "I didn't want you to get tired of waiting."

As I held the bag and stared at his dripping wet hair, I knew that he was the one I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.

But now, he was carrying Tricia on his back with the same smile he'd worn back then.

My vision blurred for a moment, then sharpened again just as quickly.

When had things started to change?

Probably around the time Dad passed away three years ago.

Back then, I'd felt like my entire soul had been hollowed out.

Nicholas had cleared his entire schedule and stayed with me in the village for half a month.