Chapter 3

Sophia’s heels clicked softly against the marble floor. Her hand rested stiffly on Gray’s arm as he led her down the aisle, her face blank and void of emotion.

She didn’t look at him, didn’t trust herself to. If she did, she might yank her hand away and run.

His grip was tight, just like his plans for her life. He didn’t even bother pretending to be gentle.

They had been waiting for the groom in the bridal room, but Edward had been taking too long. So, impatiently, Gray forced her to march to the altar before the groom, saying the bride had no reason not to go first.

Her wedding dress, which was both beautiful and heavy, dragged behind her like a chain. She kept her eyes straight ahead, forcing herself to move even though every instinct screamed for her to turn and run.

The church was filled with unfamiliar faces, dressed in their finest and packed into polished wooden pews. Some craned their necks to get a better look at her, while others whispered behind cupped hands.

Sophia was certain they were judging. Who wouldn't judge a bride who walked down the aisle before her groom?

White lilies and roses lined the aisle; their scent hung in the air, almost suffocating. Trumpets blared from the choir loft, shrill and overwhelming, drowning out the sound of her own ragged breath.

The worst part wasn’t the staring faces, or even the heavy steps—it was the gaping hole at the altar.

The groom still hadn’t arrived—this was a cruel joke that made her throat tighten.

Sophia bit down hard on the inside of her cheek, tasting blood.

She hated Gray. She hated Edward. She hated them all.

But most of all, she hated herself for not having a choice to object to the wedding.

When she reached the front, she let go of Gray’s arm without looking at him. Her hands hung stiffly at her sides, her fingers twitching with the urge to tear the whole place apart.

As she stood in front of the altar, trembling under the weight of a hundred stares, Gray leaned in close, his breath hot against her ear.

“Be a good girl and don’t mess this up,” he hissed.

Sophia stiffened. Her jaw clenched as she turned her head just enough to glare at him, her eyes burning with hate. But she said nothing. What could she say?

Her fists curled tightly at her sides. She forced herself to stand still, silent, obedient—for now.

Soon, the trumpets faded into an awkward silence. The priest shifted behind the altar, his hands fidgeting nervously with his Bible. The guests sat stiffly in their seats, waiting, whispering. Minutes dragged by, long and suffocating.

Still no Edward.

Sophia could feel the tension thickening in the air. Her chest tightened painfully, and she blinked hard against the sting building in her eyes.

She wouldn’t cry. Not here. Not in front of all these curious guests.

Just then, she saw Gray answering a phone call, his face turning a dark, furious shade of red. His lips tightened into a hard, bitter line as he listened.

He ended the call sharply, stuffing his phone into his jacket pocket as if that could make the bad news vanish.

Without hesitation, he strode up to the priest, leaned in, and muttered something in a low, biting whisper.

The priest’s face fell instantly. Sophia watched the drama unfold, still unsure of what was happening.

After a pause, the priest stepped forward, clearing his throat with a strained smile.

“Everyone,” he began, raising his voice above the growing murmurs, “there is bad news. Due to unforeseen circumstances… the groom will not be joining us today…”

For a moment, there was stunned silence in the room. Even the babies, who had been bawling earlier, were now silent.

Then the church erupted. Gasps, muttered curses of disbelief, angry whispers turning into loud complaints. Guests began rising from their seats, shuffling toward the exits in hurried waves of perfume and rustling fabric.

A few stayed behind though, gawking at Sophia as if she were some tragic spectacle put on display.

Sophia stood frozen, staring blankly ahead. She didn’t even feel the first tear slip down her cheek—or the second.

But soon they were falling faster than she could wipe them away. Each one seemed to burn with the weight of her humiliation.

Edward had just betrayed her for the second time.

She turned slightly, catching Gray’s furious face out of the corner of her eye, his hand balled into a fist at his side. He was trying so hard to act composed, but Sophia could see that he was seething, embarrassed alongside her.

Good, she thought bitterly. Let him choke on it.

But the satisfaction was hollow. The crushing weight of shame pressed in from all sides as the church slowly emptied, leaving her behind—disgraced and abandoned at the altar.

Sophia shook her head in denial. No, this didn't happen. She sniffled a few times, fighting to suppress her agony and the storm of emotions rising inside her.

She wasn't crying because she actually wanted the wedding to be held. In fact, she was a little relieved. She was only shattered because she had been forced into this marriage, and when she had finally complied, Edward chose to humiliate her like this.

He had no respect for her, nor did he care about her feelings. That was the only logical explanation for this stunt he pulled on his own wedding day.

She couldn’t take it anymore. The weight of all the whispers and stares came crashing down on her shoulders.

A painful sob tore from her throat, and without thinking, she turned on her heel and fled down the aisle.

“Sophia!” Gray barked, his voice echoing through the hall.

“How convenient, Sophia! Run while everyone watches!” her cousin Anna mocked after her.

But she didn’t stop. She didn’t even look back.

The heavy fabric of her wedding dress tangled around her legs as she stumbled through the doorway, but she didn’t care. She needed to get out—away from their judgment and shame, away from the stifling air of the church, the cloying scent of perfume and flowers that only made her feel dizzy.

Her vision blurred with tears as she fled through the streets, ignoring the startled looks from passersby.

Horns honked. People gawked. Someone even pulled out a phone, probably recording the runaway bride in her crumpled white dress, mascara streaking down her cheeks.

But it didn't matter to her.

She had no idea where she was going. She simply had to go away. Away from the church. Away from that life.

Absorbed in the weight of her devastation, she dashed across the street without looking—

—and a blaring car horn pierced through the air.

The loud screech of tires followed, and the rush of wind.

In a fraction of a second, Sophia caught a glimpse of the car rushing toward her.

She gasped and tried to steady herself, but her foot caught the hem of her dress. Tripping over the fabric, she pitched forward and fell hard onto the pavement, her forehead striking the rough ground with a sickening scrape.

Pain exploded across her skull. Warm blood streaked down her face, merging with her tears. Slowly and faintly, she rolled onto her back and stared up at the bright late morning sky. For a moment, she just lay there, dazed, the world spinning around her.

For a second, she wished she was actually going to die.

In a panic, the driver rushed out of his car and sprinted toward the motionless Sophia.

“Miss! Oh my God, are you okay?” he cried out, his voice filled with panic.

Sophia froze momentarily. That voice—she had heard it somewhere before. She forced herself to look at him, blinking through the haze.

Her vision focused on the man standing above her, his eyes wide in shock. It was him. The same man she had met at the nightclub the night before.

And then, she remembered his name.

Liam.