Chapter 3 Wedding

The organ music swelled, a triumphant, traditional march that echoed against the vaulted ceiling of St. Jude’s Cathedral.

The heavy oak doors swung open.

A collective gasp sucked the air out of the room. It wasn't the soft, admiring gasp reserved for a blushing bride. It was the sharp, jagged intake of breath that happens when people witness a car crash.

I didn't walk in to "Here Comes the Bride." I didn't walk in wearing white.

I wore black.

It was a sleek, backless evening gown I had pulled from the depths of my closet—the one Gavin had forbidden me from wearing because it was "too aggressive." It clung to my frame like a second skin, absorbing the light, a void of darkness in the sea of pastel florals and cream suits. My hair was slicked back, severe and sharp. My lips were painted a dark, blood red.

I stepped onto the white runner.

At the end of the aisle, Gavin stood frozen. His perfect "waiting groom" smile had shattered, replaced by a look of confusion that was rapidly curdling into fury. Beside him, Chloe, my maid of honor, looked like she was about to faint. Her bouquet of white roses trembled in her hands.

I began to walk.

I didn't look at the guests. I could hear their whispers, a rising tide of scandal.

"Is that... is she wearing black?"

"Is this a funeral?"

"Look at her face. She looks terrified."

They were wrong. I wasn't terrified. For the first time in ten years—or perhaps, for the first time in ten minutes, depending on how you looked at time—I was entirely fearless.

I reached the altar. I didn't take Gavin’s extended hand. I stood across from him, my chin raised.

"Isla," Gavin hissed, his voice low enough that the microphone didn't catch it. His fingers twitched at his sides. "What the hell is this? Where is the dress? You’re making a scene."

"I thought it was appropriate," I said, my voice carrying clearly in the sudden silence of the church. "Black is the color of mourning, isn't it?"

The priest, a kindly old man who had baptized me, looked between us nervously. "Dearly beloved," he stammered, trying to salvage the moment. "We are gathered here today..."

"Skip to the end, Father," I interrupted.

The crowd murmured louder this time. My father, sitting in the front row, half-rose from his seat, his face a mask of purple rage. "Isla! Sit down and stop this madness!"

I ignored him. I turned to Gavin.

"Do you take me?" I asked. "Do you take Isla Vane, and her trust fund, and her family connections, and the seat on the board that comes with this marriage? Do you take the money?"

Gavin’s eyes narrowed. He stepped closer, invading my space, trying to use his height to intimidate me just like he had for a decade. "You are having a breakdown," he whispered, his tone dripping with fake concern. "We are going to finish this ceremony, and then I am going to get you a doctor."

"You didn't answer the question," I said.

I turned to the congregation. I scanned the faces—friends, business partners, family. Witnesses to my execution.

"Gavin can't answer," I announced, my voice steady and cold. "Because he isn't marrying me. He’s marrying the Vane Corporation."

I pointed a finger at Chloe. She flinched, taking a step back.

"And he’s doing it while sleeping with my sister."

The explosion of noise was instantaneous. Shouts, gasps, chairs scraping against the stone floor. Chloe dropped her bouquet.

"She's lying!" Chloe screamed, her voice shrill. "She's crazy! Dad, do something!"

"Am I?" I looked at Gavin. "Check his pocket. The inside jacket pocket. The left side."

Gavin froze. His hand instinctively flew to his chest, covering the spot.

I knew exactly what was there. In my previous life, I had found it three years into our marriage—a second phone. A burner. Full of texts, photos, and plans. He had carried it on our wedding day to coordinate with Chloe during the reception.

"Show them, Gavin," I challenged. "If I'm crazy, show them your phone. Show them the texts you sent Chloe ten minutes ago about how you couldn't wait to get the 'boring cow' out of the way so you could celebrate."

Gavin didn't move. He couldn't. His face drained of color, leaving him looking gray and sickly under the cathedral lights. He looked at the crowd, then at his parents, then at me.

He saw the knowledge in my eyes. He saw the ancient, dark hatred of a woman who had already died by his hand.

"I... I don't have to listen to this," Gavin snarled. He turned to the priest. "This is insane. I’m leaving."

"Good," I said.

I reached out and grabbed the lapel of his expensive tuxedo jacket. I yanked him down until his ear was level with my lips.

"Run," I whispered. "Run as fast as you can. But you can't run from what's coming. I know everything, Gavin. I know about the offshore accounts in the Caymans. I know about the falsified audit reports for the Northwood merger. And I am going to burn your life to the ground."

I shoved him away.

He stumbled back, looking at me like I was a demon that had crawled out of hell.

I turned to the stunned crowd.

"The wedding is cancelled," I said calmly. "But please, enjoy the open bar. I’m sure my father will need a drink."

I turned on my heel and walked back down the aisle, the click of my heels echoing like gunshots, leaving the wreckage of my past life behind me.