Chapter 4

Beckett's expression shifted.

"Sloane... Sable has never been to a wedding. With her condition, this might be her only chance."

She walked slowly toward us, eyes fixed on my dress.

"It's beautiful." Her fingers hovered over the lace. "Could I... try it on? Just for a few photos?" Her voice dropped. "I might not live to have my own wedding. I just want to know what it feels like..."

Beckett looked at me.

"Please. It's just a few pictures."

I took the dress off the hanger and handed it to her.

What else could I do?

Twenty minutes later, Sable walked down the aisle in my wedding dress.

The organist played. The photographer snapped photos. Beckett waited at the altar.

My dress. My aisle. My groom.

She looked like the bride. I looked like a guest.

When she reached him, Beckett pulled out a velvet box.

My heart stopped.

The Calloway ring. Red ruby, passed down three generations. He told me once: "Only the wife of the family head can wear this."

"Just for the photos," he said, not meeting my eyes. "To make it look real."

He knelt in front of her and slid the ring onto her finger.

Sable stared at it, tears welling in her eyes.

"Elise..." she whispered. "Can you see this? Someone loves me too..."

I stood at the back of the chapel, watching another woman wear my future.

"I want to pray at the statue," Sable said softly. "For my sister. And for my baby."

She walked toward the stone Virgin Mary near the candles.

I don't know what happened next.

Her elbow caught the candelabra. It crashed into the statue. The statue tilted. Candles scattered across the floor.

And flames caught the dress.

Sable screamed.

Beckett rushed forward, throwing his jacket over her, smothering the fire. He pulled her into his arms.

"Are you okay? The baby—what about the baby?"

Sable sobbed against his chest. "I don't know... I just wanted to pray... how did this happen..."

She glanced down at the burned hem.

"Oh... it's ruined..."

Her voice was light. Careless. Like she was talking about a broken cup.

Beckett didn't even look at the dress. He was already checking her arms, her face, her belly.

"Are you hurt anywhere? I'm taking you to the doctor. Now."

He scooped her up and headed for the door.

I leaned against the wall, blood dripping from my arm where the statue had struck me.

"Beckett... help me..."

He didn't turn around.

"The butler will handle it. Sable can't be stressed—she could die!"

Then he was gone.

I stood alone in the silence.

Slowly, I walked to where the dress lay crumpled on the stone floor. The hem was burned black. Smoke still rose from the lace.

I knelt down and picked up a charred piece of fabric.

My hands were shaking.

Three months. Every stitch, every detail—I had imagined walking toward him in this dress. Starting our life together.

Now it was ash.

I looked up at the empty chapel. The shattered statue. The scattered candles. The altar where he had knelt for her.

This wedding was never going to happen.

I finally understood that now.

I bandaged my arm myself later.

The cut wasn't deep, but it wouldn't stop bleeding. I wrapped it tight and sat on the edge of the bed, exhausted.

A knock at the door.

The butler stood in the hallway, holding two cream-colored cards.

"Madam, your wedding vows. You didn't take them to the chapel today."

I stared at the cards for a long time.

Then I opened Beckett's.

"Sloane, from this day forward, you are my only wife.

I will protect you, cherish you,

In sickness and in health, in poverty and in wealth.

There is only you in my heart.

I swear by the Calloway name,

You are my one true love.

—Beckett"

My hands started to shake.

I tore it in half. Then again. And again.

The pieces fell into the trash like snow.

Then I opened my own.

"Beckett, I vow to be your wife,

To walk beside you for the rest of my life.

I believe in your promises,

And will love you with everything I have.

No matter what happens, I will be here.

—Sloane"

I walked to the fireplace and struck a match.

Watched the flame catch the corner of the paper.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I'm breaking my promise. But you broke yours first."

The fire ate through my words, my vows, my future.

When it was done, only a small scrap remained in the ashes.

I checked my phone. The bank had sent a confirmation—my accounts were liquidated, the funds transferred overseas. Everything was ready.

I packed only what I needed. Passport. Documents. A few clothes.

Everything Beckett had given me over five years—jewelry, dresses, gifts—I left behind. Untouched.

I booked a one-way ticket. Deleted my accounts. Blocked his number.

The boat was waiting at the dock.

I didn't look back at the villa. Or the chapel. Or the rose garden.

Beckett, you were wrong.

There would be no place for you in my world anymore.

Beckett finally remembered Sloane two hours later.

He had been at the clinic on the other side of the island, watching Sable sleep. The doctor said she was fine. The baby was fine. She just needed rest.

It was only when the adrenaline faded that he thought of Sloane.

Her arm. The blood. The way she had called his name.

He ran to her room.

The door was open. The bed was empty.

Her closet hung open—half the clothes were gone. Her suitcase was missing.

He tore through the room, searching for any sign of her.

He grabbed his phone. Called her.

The number you have dialed is not available.

He tried again. And again.

Blocked.

He called the butler.

"Where is she?!"

A pause. Then the butler's voice, trembling.

"Sir... Madam is gone. The maids saw her leave with a suitcase. She took the boat to the mainland."

Beckett's phone slipped from his hand.