But a groomsman stopped him.
“Don’t forget, Ryan, this is part of the wedding tradition we agreed on!”
Ryan’s hand dropped back.
He looked torn, biting his pale lips, muttering softly:
“Emily, just endure it. This is our family custom. Every woman marrying into the Millers has to go through this…”
His words fell like a final judgment.
Tears streamed down my face.
For the first time, I saw through this man completely.
“I’m not marrying you!” I screamed.
But before I could finish, a foul mouth sealed mine.
All my rejection and resistance turned into muffled sobs.
As they violated me, they laughed:
“Spank the bride’s ass, and she won’t fall sick for three years!”
“Touch the bride’s cleavage, and her career will soar high!”
My bridesmaids weren’t spared either—they were assaulted too.
All except Sophia.
It all ended when one groomsman merely touched Sophia’s hand, and Ryan snapped at him:
“Stop it, Nick! Don’t go too far!”
I was left broken, my dress torn to shreds, barely covering me.
Meanwhile, Sophia remained untouched, just sitting in Ryan’s arms with a few fake tears, trembling like a frightened flower.
To her, he spoke only in gentle comfort: