Chapter 3

Chapter Three

The morning of the wedding dawned crisp and clear, with golden sunlight streaming through the stained-glass windows of St. Catherine's Cathedral. The air alone was heavy with anticipation as the invited guests were seated at the pews, murmuring about who Damien Cross, mystery bride would be.

Damien sat rigidly in his wheelchair at the altar, his hands folded in his lap to hide their trembling, despite knowing the outcome of today, reliving it, was painful.

The elegant black tuxedo had been tailored to perfection, as it suited him perfectly, his hair styled as well, after a lot of fussing from his parents as usual but he felt exposed nonetheless, as he was acutely aware of every whisper, every glance, that came from his assembled guests.

His parents had spared no expense for what they believed would be the happiest day of their son's life, and the cathedral was adorned with cascading white roses and trailing ivy that transformed the old church to something out of a fairytale.

Derek stood beside him as his best man, impeccably dressed but  he was too tensed up, to enjoy the moment. His eyes kept scanning the crowd, weary of the guests and looking for people who might end up ruining today.

Unlike Damien, he did not have the foreknowledge that the bride would humiliated Damien, but still he was preparing for whatever humiliation was about to unfold.

"Still time to make a run for it," Derek murmured under his breath, his voice pitched so low only Damien could hear. "I've got the car running outside."

"In case you've forgotten, I don't exactly run anywhere these days," Damien replied with bitter humor, though his eyes remained fixed on the massive wooden doors at the back of the cathedral. 

In his previous life, those doors had remained stubbornly closed as the minutes ticked by, each second stretching into an eternity of shame.

"You know what I mean." Derek's jaw tightened as he noticed more guests filtering in, some faces familiar from high society events, others strangers drawn by curiosity and the hope of a scandal. 

"This whole thing feels like a setup, Damien. The mystery, the secrecy, the timing—"

"What timing?" Damien asked, though he was already dreading the answer.

"Word is that Marcus Whitmore is getting married on the twenty-eighth. Two days after this circus. Convenient coincidence, don't you think?"

Damien's blood ran cold. He had forgotten about Marcus's wedding date in his previous life, but now the pieces fell into place with sickening clarity. 

Marcus and his bride-to-be Sadie Blake  would be free to attend this ceremony, to witness whatever humiliation awaited him.

 The thought of facing Marcus Whitmore in his current state, vulnerable and exposed at the altar, made his stomach churn.

"Speaking of which," Derek continued, his voice dropping even lower as his eyes were fixed on something near the back of the cathedral, 

"looks like we've got some uninvited guests."

Damien followed Derek's gaze and felt his heart sink. Marcus Whitmore had indeed arrived, as he guided a woman into their given pew.

 Even from a distance, Damien recognized the elegant brunette as Gwen Hartley, society darling and Marcus's constant companion and Sadie Black, best friend.

"They're here to gawk," Damien said quietly, his hands clenching into fists despite his efforts to remain calm. 

"Like spectators at a gladiator match, waiting to see how badly I bleed."

Derek's expression darkened, and his hand moved instinctively toward Damien's shoulder before stopping himself. 

"Say the word, and I'll have security escort them out."

"No." Damien forced his voice to remain steady, drawing on the hard-won wisdom of his previous life. 

"Let them stay. Let them watch. They'll get their show either way."

The organ music swelled suddenly, filling the cathedral with the opening notes of the bridal march. A collective hush fell over the assembled guests as all heads turned toward the massive doors at the back of the cathedral. 

Damien's breath caught in his throat, his heart hammering against his ribs as he prepared himself for the inevitable—the doors remaining closed, the music trailing off into uncomfortable silence, the whispers growing louder as realization dawned.

But the doors opened.

A figure appeared in the entrance, backlit by the morning sunlight that was pouring in through the opened doors.

She was draped in white silk that seemed to glow with its own inner light, her face hidden behind layers of delicate lace veiling. The dress itself was a masterpiece of craftsmanship.

Derek sucked in a sharp breath beside him. "Is that—? That's the Marchetti design. The one that went for twenty billion at auction last month. It was supposed to be unwearable, just a collector's piece."

But someone was wearing it now, and wearing it beautifully. The mysterious bride moved down the aisle with graceful confidence, her steps steady and not faltering one bit. 

Damien found himself holding his breath, hardly daring to believe what he was seeing. She was actually here. She was actually walking toward him. After years of rejections and humiliations, someone had not only chosen him but had followed through on that choice.

The bride reached the altar, and Damien caught a glimpse of delicate hands beneath the lace gloves, hands that trembled slightly as she took her place beside him.

 The officiant, Father McKenna, smiled warmly as he began the ceremony, his voice carrying clearly through the now-silent cathedral.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to witness the union of Damien Cross and his chosen bride in holy matrimony..."

The words washed over Damien like a dream. He responded when prompted, his voice steady despite the chaos of emotions churning within him. 

Beside him, the bride's voice was clear and strong as she spoke her vows, though he couldn't shake the feeling that there was something familiar about her tone.

"By the power vested in me," Father McKenna continued, "I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride and reveal her face to your family and friends."

Damien's hands shook as he reached for the delicate lace veil. This was the moment of truth, when he would finally see the face of the woman who had chosen him. With infinite care, he lifted the layers of lace and pushed them back.

The collective gasp from the congregation was audible throughout the cathedral.

Sadie Blake smiled back at him, her green eyes bright with an emotion he couldn't quite identify. Her auburn hair was styled in an elegant updo that showcased the graceful line of her neck, and her makeup was flawless, but it was her expression that took his breath away. There was no pity there, no resignation or disgust. Instead, she looked almost... triumphant.

"Hello, husband," she said softly, her voice carrying just enough to be heard by those in the front pews.

The silence that followed was deafening. Then chaos erupted.

"Sadie!" Marcus Whitmore's voice cut through the air like a whip as he shot to his feet, his face flushed with fury and disbelief. "What the hell is this? What kind of sick joke—"

"This is no joke," Sadie replied calmly, never taking her eyes off Damien's face. 

In one fluid motion, she lowered herself gracefully so that she was at his eye level.

"I chose Damien Cross to be my husband. I chose him because I wanted to choose him."

And then, before anyone could react, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his.

The kiss was soft, and gentle. When she pulled back, Damien stared at her in stunned silence, his mind reeling as he tried to process what was happening.

Derek stepped forward, his face a mask of confusion and suspicion. 

"Where is the real bride?" he demanded, his voice carrying clearly through the cathedral. 

"What kind of elaborate punishment is this? Did Marcus put you up to this?"

"The real bride is right here," Sadie said firmly, rising gracefully to her feet without breaking eye contact with Damien. "I am exactly where I want to be, married to exactly who I want to be married to."

"You're lying!" Gwen Hartley's  voice pierced the air as she pushed past confused guests to reach the altar. 

Her perfectly composed facade had cracked, revealing something ugly underneath. "You're supposed to marry Marcus! Everyone knows that! You've been planning it for months!"

"Plans change," Sadie replied with serene calm, though Damien caught the slight tightening around her eyes. 

"People change. I fell in love with Damien Cross, and I chose to marry him."

Marcus had fought his way to the front of the congregation, his handsome face twisted with rage and humiliation. "You think this is funny?" he snarled, advancing on Damien's wheelchair. "You think you can humiliate me like this? Steal my bride, make me look like a fool in front of everyone?"

"Marcus, stop," Sadie commanded, moving to place herself between him and Damien. "This has nothing to do with you. This is about what I want, what I've chosen—"

"What you've chosen?" Marcus laughed bitterly, the sound sharp and cruel in the sacred space. "You've chosen a cripple over me? A broken man who can't even stand up for his own wedding? You've lost your mind, Sadie."

The word hit Damien like a physical blow, just as it had in his previous life. But this time, he wasn't alone with his humiliation. This time, Sadie Blake—his wife—stepped forward with fire in her green eyes.

"Don't you dare speak about my husband that way," she said. "Don't you dare come into our wedding and show such disrespect."

"Your husband?" Marcus sneered. "This isn't a marriage, Sadie. This is charity work. You've condemned yourself to a lifetime of taking care of an invalid who will never be able to give you what a real man could."

That was when Marcus lunged forward, his hands reaching for Damien's throat.

 But Sadie was faster, throwing herself between them without hesitation.

The crack of Marcus's hand striking her cheek echoed through the cathedral like a gunshot.

"Sadie!" Damien's anguished cry was lost in the sudden chaos as Gwen screamed, Derek cursed, and several guests rushed forward to intervene.

But Marcus wasn't finished. His face contorted with rage, he pulled something from his jacket.

 "If I can't have you," he snarled at Sadie, "then no one can."

The blade flashed in the cathedral's golden light as he drove it toward Damien's chest. But once again, Sadie was there, throwing herself across Damien's lap, her arms wrapping protectively around him as the blade meant for his heart found her side instead.

Her gasp of pain was soft, almost lost in the screams and shouts that filled the cathedral. But Damien heard it, felt the warmth of her blood seeping through the expensive silk of her wedding dress as she collapsed against him.

"Sadie," he whispered, his hands instinctively moving to cradle her, to try to stem the flow of blood that was already staining the white fabric crimson. "Sadie, stay with me."

She looked up at him, her face pale but her eyes still bright with that same mysterious determination. "I told you," she whispered, her voice growing weaker but her grip on his hand remaining firm. "I chose you. I'll always choose you."

Around them, chaos reigned as Derek tackled Marcus, as guests screamed and fled, as someone called for an ambulance. But in that moment, all Damien could see was his bride—his wife—bleeding in his arms because she had chosen to protect him.

For the second time in two lifetimes, Damien Cross held a dying woman in his arms, but this time, the woman had died for him rather than because of him.

"Don't leave me," he whispered against her hair, his voice breaking. "Please, Sadie. Don't leave me."