5. Take My Place, Burn in Hell

“Please. Just walk me down the aisle, Dad.”

His jaw twitched. The man hated surprises, especially the kind that made headlines. But after a long pause, pride warring with protocol, he offered me his arm.

Victory. Check.

We started walking.

And oh, the sounds. The rustling. The whispered names. The not-so-subtle gasps. The frantic clicking of a hundred camera shutters.

Some stood, confused. Some sat frozen in morbid fascination. No one understood what was happening. But no one looked away.

Ezra was waiting at the altar like a perfect mannequin. White tuxedo. Chiseled features. Confusion just beginning to curl his brow.

He saw the dress first.

Then my face.

Then the panic.

He gave me that smile, the one he always used in front of people. The darling, be reasonable smile. The don’t ruin the optics smile.

 I didn’t smile back.

The music faded. The officiant stepped forward, clearing his throat like any of this was normal. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today—”

“Save it,” I said clearly, voice cutting through the twilight like a scalpel. “I’m not saying the vows.”

The crowd moved like it had a heartbeat. A collective rustle. Gasps. Heads swiveling.

Ezra blinked. “Lorraine—”

I stepped forward, calm, composed, already past the point of no return. “I won’t marry a liar. Or a coward. Or someone who thinks it’s okay to fuck my sister and still expect me to play the blushing bride.”

A shocked exhale swept the courtyard like wind through dry leaves.

And there she was.

Meredith.

Standing just a few feet from him. Dressed in blush satin. Hair curled into soft perfection. My maid of honor.Her face went slack with horror.

Guilt.

But not denial.

And Sebastian, my dear older brother, was standing stiff near the front row, looking like someone had knocked the wind out of him. His brows drew together in stunned confusion, but he didn’t speak.

Of course he didn’t.

At least not until Ezra jumped in, desperate.

 “Jesus, Lorraine,” he said with a forced chuckle. “Not this again.”

Gasps were still echoing, but now uncertainty started to bloom. Doubt. An undercurrent of judgment shifting directions.

Ezra turned toward the crowd, laughing lightly, the kind of laugh meant to soothe an audience. “She’s just... upset. We had a fight this morning, wedding nerves, you know? She’s always had an active imagination.”

The smearing began.

Meredith stepped forward, voice soft, pleading. “Lorry, please don’t do this. You’re my sister. You must be confused. You said you’d been having nightmares again, remember?”

My eyes narrowed. “Oh, we’re doing that now.”

Sebastian finally moved. He stepped forward, voice low, trying to calm the brewing storm. “Lorry... maybe we should talk in private. All of us.”

I didn’t look at him. “Still playing referee, Seb?”

“Come on,” he said gently, but his gaze flicked between us. Between the truth bleeding out and the sister he wasn’t ready to condemn. “This isn’t the time for theatrics. We’re family.”

“We were.” I said it without looking at him. “Until silence became your loyalty.”

Meredith pressed her palms together, trembling just enough to look sympathetic. “You need help, Lorry. This isn't the way.”

Ezra shook his head. “She’s been under pressure, okay? The wedding, the company merger, everything. She's not well. This is all... delusion.”

I took a slow, measured step forward. “Right. Of course. I imagined your naked body in a hotel bed next to hers. Probably dreamed the receipts too.”

“Receipts?” Ezra scoffed. “What receipts? This is insane.”

Meredith turned to the crowd now, voice quivering as she leaned into the role. “She’s always hated me. Ever since we were kids. She said I stole things from her... toys, friends, even dates. But this?” Her eyes brimmed with crocodile tears. “This is too far.”

Some guests murmured. The tide threatened to shift again.

Ezra gave a wounded little sigh and touched his chest. “I love you, Lorraine. God, I chose you. But this, this meltdown in front of everyone, it’s cruel. And sad.”

I smiled. Slow. Ice cold.

Then slipped a hand into my bouquet and pulled out the first photo. Then the next.

And the next.

They fluttered to the floor like poisoned petals.

 Glossy images. Meredith’s flushed face. Ezra’s bare chest. A hotel bed. Twisted sheets. Tangled limbs. His hands in her hair.

 The betrayal was cinematic.

Gasps snapped through the air like breaking bones.

 Sebastian froze, eyes locked on the images. His mouth parted slightly—no denial, no defense—just heartbreak. He looked between the two of us like a child suddenly aware his parents were monsters.

Ezra lurched forward, voice rising. “Those are fake! Photoshopped! Anyone can fake photos!”

And there it was. The final refuge. Gaslighting.

I raised a hand. A gesture for Sadie who hid somewhere around here to bring out the ultimate proof of the betrayal.

Every screen at the venue flickered to life.

They were meant to show our love story—our baby pictures, proposal, vacations.

Instead?

High-definition hotel security footage. Ezra. Meredith. Hallways. Kisses. Hands. Doors closing. Lights flickering. Frame after frame of betrayal.

My mother fainted. Someone screamed. The crowd split like oil on fire.

Sebastian moved to catch our mother before she hit the ground, calling out for help. But even then, his eyes never left the screen.

Ezra spun on me, red-faced and wild. “You vindictive little bitch—”

I smiled. Genuinely. “Now that sounds more like you.” Then I turned to the officiant. “I think we’re done here.”

“We can still salvage this.” My father’s hand closed around my elbow. Firm. Heavy. He dragged me slightly to the side like we were discussing centerpieces and not the decapitation of my dignity. “We’re not canceling this. Our family name is already tied to the Borken. The merger is finalized next quarter. A broken engagement would tank the stock and hand our competitors a feast.”

“You’re talking about my wedding like it’s a business transaction, Dad.”

“Because it is.” He turned to Ezra’s parents. “The partnership doesn’t need to fall apart. Your son is still married into my family. The name still joins. Lorraine or... Meredith.”

Meredith’s head shot up. Sebastian looked between them all, face tightening.

“You can’t be serious,” he said hoarsely. “You’d offer either of your daughters like bartering chips?”

Our father shot him a hard look. “You’ve had your fun playing neutral, Sebastian. Time to grow up.”

Ezra’s mother lifted one shoulder in a lazy shrug. “Frankly, I don’t care which daughter it is. As long as the headlines change by tomorrow and the shares hold steady.”

Then, Ezra’s father chuckled. “Two birds, one stone, I suppose.”

I felt like the ground had cracked beneath me.

Sebastian took a step toward me, eyes wide, voice low. “Lorry... I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t. But this... this is too much.”

I didn’t answer. He’d already answered, just never out loud.

“Snap out of your delusion, Lorraine.” Ezra looked at me like he was offering a lifeline, when all I saw was a noose. “If you don’t, Meredith takes your place at the altar. The merger happens either way.”

My throat burned.

Meredith wouldn’t meet my gaze.

My father’s silence was its own betrayal. His hand rested on my shoulder like he was guiding a pawn across a chessboard, while Sebastian was still standing there, torn between loyalty and shame.

I inhaled slowly, letting the weight of it all settle. They didn’t want a daughter. Or a bride. Or even a woman.

They wanted a symbol.

A tool. A pliant name to paste into headlines and boardrooms.

I looked Ezra dead in the eyes and smiled. “You’re right. I’d rather be alone forever than be with a cheating coward like you.”

Ezra’s smirk twitched. “So be alone forever. Be miserable.”

Then—

A slow, deliberate clap broke through the tension.

Once. Twice. Three times.

Heads twisted toward the sound, a ripple of unease sweeping through the courtyard. The murmurs died. Even the screens, still playing scenes of betrayal in grainy security footage, seemed to pause.

And then he stepped into view.

From the back of the courtyard, just past the last row of shocked, murmuring guests, he emerged.

The stranger.

Still in that black suit that I had gripped just minutes ago in the bride room, when he kissed me with such hunger. His presence was just as quietly commanding as before.

He stopped halfway down the aisle. Not too close. Not too far. Just enough to make Ezra’s jaw tighten and every attention turn.

“Touching,” the stranger started with an amused tilt in his voice. “The corporate spin. The family loyalty. The generational greed. Bravo.”

I stared at him, frozen.

What. The. Hell.