Chapter 3: The Altar Had No Groom

The wedding took place in the chapel on the Emmanuel estate. It was small, private, and the strangest ceremony I had ever witnessed.

I walked down the aisle alone. No father to give me away. No friends in the pews. Just Evelyn in the front row, Mabel standing by the door, and a priest who looked like he wanted to be anywhere else in the world.

There was no groom at the altar. In his place was a single framed photograph of Victor Emmanuel propped against a vase of white lilies. The photograph showed a man with a sharp jaw, deep-set eyes the color of black coffee, and an expression that could freeze water. Even in a picture, he was intimidating.

The priest cleared his throat. "Do you, Shaznay Jackson, take Victor Emmanuel as your lawful husband?"

"I do."

He turned to the empty space beside me. "And do you, Victor Emmanuel, represented in absentia, take Shaznay Jackson as your lawful wife?" He paused for exactly two seconds of silence, then continued. "By the power vested in me, I pronounce you husband and wife."

No kiss. No applause. Evelyn nodded once, and that was it.

The ring they put on my finger was a simple gold band. It felt heavier than it should have, like it was made of lead instead of metal. I kept turning it on my finger as Mabel drove me to Victor's mansion thirty minutes later.

"The mansion has twelve rooms," Mabel said as we pulled through a set of iron gates. "But you only need to know three: the master bedroom where Mr. Victor rests, the guest room where you will sleep, and the kitchen."

"Does anyone else live there?"

"Just me and two other staff. A cook named Blessing and a nurse named Deborah who monitors Mr. Victor's condition through the night." Mabel paused. "It is very quiet, Madam. I hope you are comfortable with quiet."

The mansion was stunning from outside, all white stone and tall windows. Inside, it was cold. Not the temperature. The feeling. The air smelled of medicine and silence, and every footstep echoed on the marble floors.

Mabel led me up a wide staircase to the second floor. She stopped in front of a large wooden door.

"This is the master bedroom," she said. "Would you like to see him?"

My heartbeat picked up speed. I nodded.

Mabel opened the door, and I stepped inside.

The room was dim, the curtains drawn against the afternoon sun. Medical equipment lined one wall, beeping softly. And in the center of it all, on a massive bed with white sheets, lay Victor Emmanuel.

He was nothing like the photograph.

The picture downstairs showed a man full of power and life. The man on this bed was pale, still, and thin. His dark hair was longer than it should be, falling across his forehead. His cheekbones stood out too sharply, and his closed eyes had dark circles beneath them. Tubes ran from his arm to a drip stand beside the bed.

But even in this state, lying motionless, he was striking. His bone structure was the kind that artists tried to copy. His shoulders were broad beneath the hospital gown. If he stood up, he would tower over me.

I moved closer until I was standing right beside the bed. His chest rose and fell in slow, even breaths.

"So this is my husband," I said softly.

Mabel stood in the doorway. "I will give you a moment, Madam."

She closed the door behind her, and I was alone with Victor Emmanuel for the first time.

I pulled a chair to his bedside and sat down. Up close, I could see the faint stubble along his jaw and a small scar near his left temple. His lips were slightly parted, and his breathing was steady but shallow.

"I do not know you," I said. "And you do not know me. But here we are." I folded my hands in my lap. "I married you to save my father. I am not going to pretend it was anything else. But I am not here to steal from you. I am not here to hurt you. That makes me different from most of the people around you, I think."

His eyelashes did not flutter. His fingers did not twitch. Nothing.

I sat with him for a long time, watching the monitor beside his bed flash numbers I did not understand. His heart rate. His oxygen level. His blood pressure. All normal. All steady. All useless without a conscious mind behind them.

"The doctors say you will never wake up," I said. "Everyone keeps saying that. Your grandmother, the nurses, even Mabel." I paused and studied his face. "But nobody asked you, did they? Nobody asked if you were ready to go."

I stood up and walked to the window. I pulled the curtain open just a crack, letting a thin blade of sunlight into the room. It fell across the floor and touched the edge of his bed.

"I will come see you every day," I said. "Because nobody should die alone in a dark room. Not even a stranger."

I left the room and found Mabel waiting in the hallway with a gentle smile.

"He has not had a visitor besides doctors and his grandmother in months," Mabel said. "The rest of the family stopped coming after the first few weeks."

"What about his cousin? Benjamin?"

Mabel's expression changed. It was quick, barely noticeable, but I caught it. A flash of something dark crossed her eyes before she smoothed it away.

"Mr. Benjamin visits regularly," she said carefully. "Every week. He sits with Mr. Victor for exactly fifteen minutes. Always alone. He insists on privacy."

"That is... dedicated," I said slowly.

Mabel did not respond. She simply turned and walked me toward the guest room, and the silence between us was louder than any answer she could have given.

That night, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling. The house was so quiet I could hear the medical equipment beeping from Victor's room down the hall. A steady rhythm. Beep. Beep. Beep.

I turned on my side and closed my eyes. Sleep would not come. My mind kept circling back to Benjamin's voice from that night. "I suggested Shaznay's name." It was not chance that brought me here. It was not fate. It was a trap designed by the man I loved.

No. The man I thought I loved.

My phone lit up on the nightstand. A message from Benjamin: "Congratulations on the wedding, my love. I know this was hard. I am here for you. Always."

I stared at the text until the screen went dark. Then I deleted it.

Somewhere down the hall, the beeping of Victor's heart monitor continued its steady rhythm. And in the silence, I thought I heard something else. A sound so faint it could have been my imagination.

It sounded like a breath that was deeper than the others. Like someone taking in air on purpose, not because a machine told them to.

I sat up in bed and listened.

The sound did not come again.