The Idiot Bride And Her Crippled Tyrant

The custom crystal perfume bottle shattered against the mahogany door frame.

Shards of glass exploded across the Persian rug. The heavy scent of crushed roses and pure alcohol flooded the second-floor bedroom of the Long Island estate.

"I am not marrying a cripple!" Cora screamed. Her voice tore through the room, raw and shrill.

Mavis rushed through the doorway, her high heels crunching on broken glass. She reached out, her fingers digging into Cora's bare arms.

Cora shoved her mother backward with brutal force. Mavis stumbled, her back hitting the edge of the vanity with a dull thud.

Cora snatched a plastic bottle of sleeping pills from the nightstand. She clawed at the childproof cap, her fresh acrylic nails slipping uselessly against the stubborn plastic ridges. Her face twisted with rage. She hurled the sealed bottle against the wall, watching it bounce harmlessly off the wallpaper. "I'll find a way to end it! I swear I will!" she shrieked, her chest heaving with dramatic sobs. "I am not spending the rest of my life pushing a wheelchair for a man whose dick doesn't even work!"

Out in the wide hallway, Howard paced. The thick soles of his Italian leather shoes thudded against the hardwood floor. He was a heavy, broad-shouldered man with a florid face and thinning hair slicked back with too much pomade. He bit down hard on the end of his unlit cigar.

His phone vibrated in his palm. Another voicemail from a Wall Street creditor. The notification flashed red.

Hearing his daughter's hysterical screech, Howard snapped. He kicked the half-open bedroom door. It slammed against the wall, the hinges groaning.

"You will marry him!" Howard roared. The veins in his neck bulged against his tight collar. "You will put on that white dress, and you will save this family's cash flow!"

Cora flinched. Her knees gave out. She collapsed onto the thick carpet, her chest heaving. Black mascara ran down her cheeks, streaking through her flawless foundation. The pill bottle rolled across the floor and stopped at Howard's shoes.

Mavis dropped to her knees. She was lean and sharp-featured, with cold blue eyes and a perpetual expression of calculation. She wrapped her arms around Cora's shaking shoulders and snapped her head up, glaring at her husband. "There has to be another way, Howard. You can't feed her to that monster."

Howard yanked at his silk tie, loosening it violently. "The Branch family specifically asked for a Battle daughter. If we break this contract, the bank seizes this house by Friday. We are dead."

Mavis's eyes darted toward the window. Her breathing slowed. She lowered her voice. "They asked for a Battle daughter. They didn't specify which one."

Howard stopped pacing. He stared at his wife.

"Areli," Mavis whispered.

"The bastard?" Howard's brow furrowed deep. "She's been rotting on that farm in Pennsylvania for ten years. The car crash scrambled her brain. She can't even string a sentence together. Finn Branch is a violent psychopath. A retard will insult him."

Mavis let out a short, cold laugh. "Finn Branch is a paralyzed cripple. The Branch family just needs a warm body to stand next to his wheelchair for the cameras. A brain-damaged mute is better. She won't complain. She won't fight back. She's a perfect puppet."

Cora stopped crying. She wiped the black streaks from under her eyes with the back of her hand and scrambled up from the floor, her silk robe clinging to her legs. "Mom is right. Send the idiot. She only deserves my garbage anyway."

Howard's phone vibrated again. A text message from the bank. Final Notice.

Howard pulled the cigar from his mouth and pressed the unlit end hard into the crystal ashtray on the dresser until the tobacco leaves snapped.

"Fine," he gritted out. "Get her."

He turned on his heel and marched out of the room. "Get the car ready!" he shouted down the sweeping staircase to the butler. "I'm going to Pennsylvania."

Cora watched her father's broad back disappear down the hall. She kicked a large shard of glass out of her way, walked to her vanity mirror, and picked up a makeup wipe.

Mavis stood up, smoothing the wrinkles from her skirt. She stepped behind Cora, her eyes hard in the mirror's reflection. "Not a word of this to anyone. As far as the press is concerned, Areli is the legitimate, beloved daughter of this house. Understood?"

Five hours later, the black Maybach exited the smooth asphalt of the interstate and hit the dirt roads of rural Pennsylvania.

The heavy car bounced violently. The undercarriage scraped against sharp rocks with a metallic shriek.

The driver slammed his foot on the brake. Sweat dripped down his temples. "Mr. Battle, the suspension can't take this. The road is completely washed out ahead."

Howard shoved the heavy car door open. His two-thousand-dollar leather shoe sank instantly into a deep, wet puddle of mud mixed with fresh cow manure.

The stench hit the back of his throat. He gagged, pressing a silk handkerchief over his nose and mouth.

He dragged his feet through the thick sludge toward the rotting wooden cabin at the end of the path. The roof sagged. The porch steps were splintered.

By the broken wire fence, a girl in a faded, torn floral dress crouched in the dirt. Her back was to him.

Howard stopped. He cleared his throat, loud and irritated.

The girl turned her head slowly.

Two thick streaks of black mud were smeared across her cheeks. Her dark hair was matted and tangled. Her eyes were wide, vacant, and completely out of focus.

Her dirty fingers were wrapped tight around a large, grey toad. The toad kicked its legs, trying to escape.

The girl looked at Howard. She opened her mouth and let out a loud, hollow giggle. Saliva pooled at the corner of her lips.

Howard's stomach contracted violently. He took a fast step back, his heel slipping in the manure. He barely caught his balance.

The girl dropped the toad. It plopped into the mud and hopped away. She stood up, her shoulders slouched. She tilted her head to the side, her mouth hanging open.

"Da-da?" she slurred, the word thick and clumsy on her tongue.

Howard stared at the filthy, feral creature standing in front of him. He saw the empty eyes. He saw the drool.

She was exactly as he remembered. A harmless, useless idiot.

A cold, calculating smile stretched across Howard's face.