The Wedding Trap

SARAH'S POV

The TV kept looping it. 

*DAVID BLACKHAM ESCAPES FROM PRISON. CONSIDERED ARMED AND DANGEROUS.*

Ethan was already shouting into his phone. “I want every exit sealed. Now.”

My hands wouldn’t stop shaking, because 30 seconds ago my phone buzzed showing a photo. 

Ethan. Asleep in his own bed, bare chest, mouth open. 

And in the doorway behind him, a shadow of a man watching.

“He was here,” I whispered. “Last night. While we were kissing downstairs.”

Ethan threw his phone. “Call security!”

But it was too late. 

The front door buzzer went off. 

Not the building. The penthouse door. 

The door bell rang. All of us froze. Ethan pulled a gun from his drawer, the two security guards drew theirs too.

“Who is it?” Ethan yelled toward the door.

A voice muffled through the wood sounding calm and familiar. 

“Delivery for Ms. Miller.”

It wasn’t a delivery. Ethan motioned to the guard. The guard looked through the peephole. 

Then he shook his head. “No one there.”

Ethan opened the door anyway. 

The hallway was empty and quiet.

Just a white box on the floor. With a cream envelope on top. 

My name was written. In David’s handwriting.

Inside the box was an invitation card.

*David Blackham & Sarah Miller*

*You are cordially invited to witness our union*

*St. Catherine’s Cathedral. Saturday. 2PM.*

I laughed. It came out broken. “He can’t possibly do this.”

Ms. Reyes called 2 minutes later. “Sarah. Turn on channel 4.”

We did.

A judge in a live press conference. 

“Due to Ms. Sarah Miller’s current mental state and pending guardianship evaluation, the court has approved a ceremonial union with her legal husband, Mr. David Blackham. This is in the best interest of the unborn children.”

Unborn children I don’t have.

“He forged everything,” I said. “The pregnancy. The psych evaluation. Everything.”

“I know,” Ms. Reyes said. “But the court bought it. You have 48 hours, Sarah. On Saturday at 2PM, if you’re not at that altar, they can have you committed for refusing ‘medical and marital care.’”

Ethan slammed his fist on the table angrily .“Then we don’t go.”

“We have to,” I said. “But not the way he thinks.”

I looked at the invitation. At David’s name next to mine.

“If he wants a wedding,” I said. “Let’s give him one. 

But we’re setting a trap.”

Ethan frowned. “What kind of trap?”

“The kind where the whole world watches him get arrested at the altar,” I said. 

For the next 36 hours we moved. 

We leaked to the press that I’d “agreed to reconcile for the sake of the babies.”

We let David’s lawyers think I was broken. Scared and ready to give in.

Saturday came. 

St. Catherine’s was packed. Cameras. Flowers. White chairs. 

And at the front. A priest. And David in a black suit. His hair looking perfect. That same smile.

He saw me in the white dress and his eyes lit up. 

“You came,” he whispered as I walked down the aisle. 

“I came,” I said. 

The priest started. “Dearly beloved...”

David reached for my hand. 

The church doors slammed open. 

FBI. 

Cameras. 

And Ms. Reyes holding up a tablet.

“Stop the ceremony!” she yelled. “We have an evidence of fraud, forgery, and unlawful entry. David Blackham, you’re under arrest.”

David didn’t even look surprised. He just squeezed my hand. 

“You think this is the trap?” he said quietly to only my hearing. 

“Sarah. The trap was never the church.”

He nodded toward the back. 

Next on the big screen above the altar, a live feed started. 

Ethan’s penthouse.  Empty. 

And on the couch. 

A bomb with a timer. 

00:05:00

“While you were here playing bride,” David said. “I was

with the person you actually care about.”

The timer ticked down. 

00:04:59

I felt an instant cold in my body.