CHAPTER 3: Run Along Ramona

Ramona’s POV

I stand in front of the mirror, staring at the stranger looking back at me. The dress is beautiful, that's what everyone says. But to me, it feels like a cage.

The fabric is biting my skin, it feels so heavy and stiff, squeezing my ribs so tight I can barely take a full breath.

Aunt Evangeline’s warm hands work at the back of the gown, pulling the ropes and fastening the eyelets. Each tug makes the dress feel tighter. I'm trying to take a deep breath but I can't. I feel the panic rising inside me.

“Aunt Eva… I can’t breathe,” I whisper, my voice small, like it doesn’t want to be heard.

Her hands pause for just a second. Our eyes meet in the mirror. And I see the pity in her gaze, the way her face softens. She knows, she just knows that I didn't want this. But just as quickly, she forces a big smile.

“Oh, my sweet girl,” she says gently, her voice warm. “You look absolutely breathtaking. When Malik sees you, his eyes will definitely fall off, Just look at you!”

I try to see what she sees. But all I can feel is the weight of the dress, the tightness in my chest, the pounding of my heart.

I turn my head slightly, looking out through the tall hotel window. The soft breeze makes the curtains dance, the faint sound of waves crashing against the shore.

The beachside setup is picture-perfect, white petals scattered along the aisle, rows of chairs lined up like soldiers, and soft music plays somewhere in the distance.

And there is my father.

Wearing his sharp grey suit, his silver wrist-watch glints as he shakes hands with “His Guests”. 

His smile is so wide, the kind he gives me only when I obeyed his instructions. He looks so happy. The proud father of the bride.

I grip the soft curtains, my hands trembling. My thoughts race with anticipation and uncertainty about what will happen today.

I flinch when Aunt Eva touches my shoulder,

“Mona, love, it’s going to be alright. Just breathe, okay? Today is your special day.”

Anytime I had a hard time with my dad, she or Gigi were the only people I could call and vent to.

I shake my head, my eyes burning from unshed tears, but I hold them back, not to ruin my makeup. I swallow, but the heavy lump in my throat stays right there.

“I don’t feel special, Aunt Eva,” I say, my voice cracking, tears burning at the corners of my eyes. “I feel trapped.”

For a second, she just looks at me, her smile fading. Even my dad's junior sister couldn't help me, no one dares tell him what to do with his family.

The soft music fills the air as I take my first step onto the white carpet. My father’s arm is tight around mine, his face beaming as he looks at the guests seated on either side, nodding at them like the proudest man in the world.

I can feel how his chest lifts with pride, the way his stride is slow but strong, as if he wants to savor this walk down the aisle.

His neat grey hair is so carefully combed, his quiet reminder to himself, I deserve this moment. I deserve grandkids before I leave this world.

The thought makes my heart clench so painfully I want to stop walking. But my feet keep moving, like they aren’t mine anymore.

Every eye is on me. Smiling and admiring. Like I am some angel who’d fallen straight from the clouds and landed on earth. But none of those smiling faces are my mates. They were my dad's carefully picked guests.

I raise my face, then I see him, Malik Harvey, my supposed fiancee.

Standing at the altar, polished and perfect in his tailored white suit, his smile fixed right on me. His eyes are wide, like he couldn’t believe I was real. 

My blood boils just looking at him.

That same mouth had told me I should get a boob job. As if I wasn’t enough. That same mouth had called it my privilege that I would become his wife. 

I clench my jaw, my feet pushing me forward. I remember the memory of our first sex two days ago. How he’d made it so painful. So empty. Like it was just a box he needed to tick off.

And now here he is, standing like some devoted fiancé.

I try to take a deep breath to soothe my panic, but the dress tightens around me again, the lace scratches my skin. But only one thought screams in my head:

Jonathan…I don't know how he will do it.

What if he doesn't even show up? What if I am walking straight into a life sentence? My steps slow, just for a second, as panic dawns on me.

Before I can sink too deep into my thoughts, we reach the altar. My father places my hand in Malik’s, his fingers linger for a second and he suddenly holds me tightly, his expression spells “I’ve done my part. Don’t mess this up.”

Malik beams at me, his eyes soft. “You look beautiful,” he whispers.

I try to smile for the cameras, but then he leans in closer, his breath brushing my ear.

“You didn’t wear the push up bra I gifted you?”

The words slapped me hard. My blood boils so hot I think my skin might burn through the dress. But I smile wider, for the cameras, for my dad, for the guests.

This is all the answer I need, the deal I made with Jonathan is exactly the right move.

I keep looking around. My eyes dart toward the guests, towards the distant water dancing, as if Jonathan would suddenly appear from nowhere.

Malik notices. His hand squeezes mine.

“Are you alright?” he asks quietly, fake concern lacing his voice.

“Yes,” I lie, my throat running dry.

The priest begins. His voice is deep and calm, as he speaks the words that would bind me to this creep forever.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in the sight of God and these witnesses, to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony…”

I'm really trying to listen but my fast racing heart wouldn’t let me. My palms grow sweaty but they are still cold and shaky.

And then, just as the priest speaks the words that feel like the edge of a cliff…

“Do you, Ramona Ivy Martins, take Malik Harvey as your lawfully wedded husband…”

That's when I start hearing the distant hum of a helicopter.

I brush it off thinking it was all in my head, But the sound grows louder, and louder, till it silences the soft music, the crowd starts to murmur.

The priest pauses, his words unanswered and his robes fly up from the breeze of the helicopter fans.

I turn my head, my heart stopping for just a second. Jonathan.

The wind from the helicopter blows through the wedding. The white petals scatter. The chairs move. Some flip over. People’s hair gets messed up.

Then I heard sirens. A fleet of black and shiny cars burst in. They look too expensive to be police cars but they have sirens blinking and wailing from the top. They surround the wedding, as if the whole place is under attack.

They move so precisely and so fast it looks like the military. The men jump out of the cars, all of them in helmets, all of them looking ready for battle.

From the helicopter, a voice booms through a speaker.

“Everyone freeze! This is a private operation. Stay exactly where you are, or risk being fired upon!”

The voice is loud and strong.

“What is going on?” my voice comes out faint.

The wind gets stronger and the beach sand flies everywhere. Some guests try to cover their faces. 

The ladies are holding their skirts, trying to keep them from flying up, the media people struggle to stand their camera, to get the best shot from the chaos that's being unleashed, a virality piece for them.

And me? I stand there in my gown, the fabric heavy and pulling at me, my eyes searching the helicopter, trying to see him.

Then the voice comes again, this time from the men on the ground.

“Ramona Ivy Martins! You are under arrest for secretly engaging Mr. Jonathan Brown, defrauding him, and making away with his property without fulfilling your end of the bargain! You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law!”

My heart nearly stops. “What is going on?”

The men start walking toward me. I freeze.

Then I hear another voice, “Wait!”

Everyone turns. That’s when I see a car. Black, polished and dangerous, it moves slowly across the crowd like a predator and we are its prey. 

The kind of car even a millionaire would look at twice.

It drives in like it owns everyone on the beach, like the huge, dark storm that takes over a sunny day, so dangerous but yet so good to behold.

Then he steps out…Jonathan.

Black shirt. Black suit. Everything about him is polished. His hair was wet and combed. His face, sharp and painfully handsome.

Despite the whole noise, I can hear the crowd. 

People gasp when he steps out of his car.

He looks like the storm itself had dressed up as a man.

My heart skips. He walks through the chaos like it doesn’t dare touch him, his hair flies and he has a little smirk on his cheeks.

“Run along, Ramona,” he says, his voice smooth and deep. The kind that could pull you in even if you knew it was trouble. “What are you still waiting for?!”

My heart flips, I don't know why but it did, hearing him call my name for the first time.

I look at Malik. He is bent over, trying to shield himself from the wind, his perfect hair is already a mess. My dad is no better, people surround him, struggling to brush sand off his eyes.

Then I look at Jonathan, and for a second, I freeze.

What am I doing? My brain isn't processing fast enough but my feet are.

I lift my dress, heavy as it is and my feet dragging towards him.

Am I being kidnapped? What will Dad do to me for this?

I run to him like my life depends on it.

I crash into his chest, His arms wrap around me, so strong and sure.

Then he lifts me up like I am a feather, like we are already husband and wife, just married.

I look into his eyes. And God help me, I get lost.

The men are still there, watching and waiting, still in their precision.

He carries me to the car, a man in a black suit opens the door, and he places me gently in the front passenger seat.

Then he walks to his side and slides in, the engine revs up and we speed off.

I look out through the window, the men quickly retreat into their cars, following us behind, the helicopter starts pulling back.

I look at Jonathan, my head still racing with so many questions it could blow off.

“You’re kidnapping me,” I say, breathless.

He glances at me, that dark little smile playing on his lips.

“Yeah, Sugarlips. That’s what you wanted, right?”