2

There were no cascading white orchids, no symphonic orchestra—just a dozen rows of gold-gilded chairs occupied by low-tier gossip reporters and distant, estranged relatives who had only come for the free champagne and the free show.

"Is that really her?" a woman in the third row whispered, her voice carrying easily across the echoing room. "Look at the dress. It looks like she bought it from a clearance rack. I suppose it’s matching energy for a groom who can't even stand up."

"Shh, she’ll hear you," her companion giggled, snapping a photo on her phone. "Not that it matters. Everyone knows her father threw her to the wolves to save his own skin."

Elena kept her chin parallel to the floor, her eyes locked straight ahead on the empty altar. She could hear every venomous word, every click of a camera shutter. She gripped her bouquet of cheap, wilting white roses so tightly her knuckles turned white.

"Miss Hunt," a cold, clinical voice cut through her thoughts.

Elena blinked and looked down. Standing at the side of the altar was a man in a sharp grey suit, holding a leather briefcase. He wasn't a priest.

"I am Arthur Pendelton, the head legal counsel for the Vance family," the man said, adjusting his glasses. He didn't offer a smile or a hand to shake.

"Where is Adrian?" Elena asked, her voice steady, though her heart hammered against her ribs. "Where is my... where is the groom?"

The lawyer offered a dry, dismissive sigh. "Mr. Vance's health has taken a sudden turn for the worse this morning. His respiratory system is frail, and the stress of public appearances is highly detrimental to his condition. He will not be attending."

A collective gasp, followed by an immediate wave of muffled laughter, rippled through the small crowd behind her.

"He didn't even show up!" a reporter whispered loudly into a recording device. "The crippled heir of the Vance family stands up his substitute bride on their wedding day!"

Elena closed her eyes for a brief second, swallowing the lump of humiliation in her throat. She looked back at the lawyer. "So, what happens now? Do we reschedule?"

"Reschedule?" The lawyer let out a short, mocking chuckle. "The Vance family does not rearrange its calendar for convenience, Miss Hunt. The marriage license must be signed today to finalize the corporate merger your father so desperately needed. You will complete the vows."

"Alone?" Elena asked, a tremor finally threatening to break her composure. "You want me to marry a ghost?"

"You will marry the name," Arthur Pendelton corrected coldly. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, velvet box. He flipped it open. Inside lay a single, plain gold band. "Take the ring box, Miss Hunt. Stand before the officiant, recite your vows to the empty space, and sign the registry. Let's not waste any more time."

Elena stared at the vacant ring box. It was a metaphor for her entire life—empty, hollow, and handed to her by people who despised her.

"Go on, Elena!" a distant cousin shouted from the back, laughing openly now. "Don't keep the invisible man waiting! We want to see the kiss!"

"I wonder if he even knows he's getting married, or if he's too drugged up on painkillers to care!" another voice chimed in.

Elena’s hand trembled as she reached out and took the velvet box. She turned toward the elderly marriage officiant, who looked at her with a mixture of pity and profound boredom.

"Do you, Elena Hunt," the officiant began, his voice droning through the microphone, "take Adrian Vance to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health..."

Elena looked at the empty space beside her. For a moment, she imagined a man standing there—a broken, bitter man in a wheelchair, hiding from a world that mocked him just as much as it mocked her. In a strange, twisted way, they were both the trash of their respective families.

"I do," Elena said, her voice ringing clear and loud, drowning out the whispers in the room.

"By the power vested in me, and upon the signing of the legal documents, I now pronounce you husband and wife," the officiant murmured. "You may... well, you are wed."

There was no applause. Only the blinding flash of a dozen camera phones recording her ultimate disgrace. Elena picked up the fountain pen and signed her name on the marriage certificate: Elena Vance.

"The car is waiting downstairs," the lawyer said, snatching the document before the ink was even dry. "Your belongings have already been sent ahead to Mr. Vance’s private residence. Good day, Mrs. Vance."

Two hours later, the city lights faded into total darkness.

The sleek black sedan drove past the neon-lit skyscrapers of the metropolitan center, heading deep into the secluded, heavily forested hills on the outskirts of the city. Rain lashed violently against the windows, blurring the outside world into a dark, chaotic smear.

The car finally ground to a halt before a set of massive, towering iron gates. Beyond them stood a sprawling, gothic-style stone mansion. It looked less like a home and more like a fortress meant to lock something in—or keep the world out.

The driver didn't say a word. He simply unlocked the doors.

Elena pushed the door open, shielding her head with her cheap veil as she ran through the torrential downpour toward the grand, heavy wooden entrance. The moment her feet crossed the threshold, two imposing guards dressed in black tactical suits stepped out from the shadows of the foyer.

"Mrs. Vance?" one of them asked, his face completely expressionless.

"Yes," Elena breathed, shivering from the cold rain. "Where is my husband? Where is Adrian?"

"Mr. Vance is resting," the guard replied curtly. "We have strict orders to escort you to the bridal suite immediately."

"Can I not see him first? Even for a moment?"

"No," the guard said, his tone leaving absolutely no room for argument. "Follow us."

Elena was led up a sweeping, dusty stone staircase and down a long, dimly lit corridor. The mansion was suffocatingly quiet, save for the rhythmic howling of the wind outside. Finally, the guard stopped in front of a pair of double oak doors at the very end of the hall.

He pushed the doors open, revealing a vast, dark bedroom. A massive four-poster bed stood in the center, draped in heavy, dark velvet curtains. The only light came from the occasional flash of lightning illuminating the tall, arched windows.

Elena stepped inside, her wet heels clicking softly against the hardwood floor. "Is someone going to turn on the lights?"

The guard didn't answer. Instead, he gripped the handles of the heavy doors and pulled them shut.

The loud, echoing thud of the doors closing sent a jolt of panic through Elena's chest. Instantly, she heard the sharp, metallic of a heavy deadbolt turning from the outside.

Elena lunged forward, grabbing the brass handles and rattling them violently. "Wait! Open the door! Why are you locking me in?"

Silence answered her.

Elena let go of the handles, her breath catching in her throat as she slowly turned around to face the pitch-black bridal.