Chapter 5: Before the Vows

I didn't go back to the bridal suite.

I went downstairs.

The hotel was getting busier by the minute.

Staff moved through the corridors carrying flowers, trays, garment bags, and boxes. Somewhere nearby, someone was laughing.

The wedding was still happening.

At least, everyone else believed it was.

I walked toward the ballroom and stopped before I reached the doors.

Through the opening, I could see the decorations.

White roses.

Long tables.

Candles waiting to be lit.

Our photographs were displayed near the entrance.

Darian and me.

Seven years of memories arranged neatly for everyone to admire.

I looked at one of the photographs.

We were standing beside a lake.

I remembered that day.

I'd been cold, and Darian had taken off his jacket and put it around my shoulders.

I had thought, This is the man I'll grow old with.

I looked away.

I couldn't stand there anymore.

I turned and found my sister coming toward me.

“Arielle.”

I stopped.

Her eyes moved over my face.

“Where have you been?”

“I needed some air.”

She looked toward the ballroom, then back at me.

“The ceremony starts in a little over an hour.”

“I know.”

“Mom is looking for you.”

“I know.”

She stepped closer.

“What's wrong?”

I almost told her.

The words were right there.

Darian cheated on me.

He lied to me.

He put our home up as collateral.

He made me sign something I didn't understand.

But I wasn't ready to say all of it aloud.

Not yet.

“I need you to do something for me.”

Her expression changed.

“Anything.”

“Go to my room and get the folder from my suitcase.”

“What folder?”

“The blue one.”

She frowned.

“What's in it?”

“Just get it.”

She studied my face for a few seconds.

Then she nodded.

“Okay.”

She started to leave.

“Wait.”

She turned.

“If Darian asks where I am, don't tell him.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“Arielle, what happened?”

“I'll explain.”

“When?”

“When I know exactly what I'm dealing with.”

She didn't argue.

She walked away.

I pulled out my phone.

There was another message from Darian.

Where are you?

I didn't reply.

Another came almost immediately.

Please come back upstairs. We need to talk.

I stared at it.

We had talked.

He had simply never told me the truth.

I opened my banking app instead.

The account was still open.

Our joint account.

I looked at the balance.

For the first time in seven years, I wondered how much of that money was actually safe.

My finger hovered over the screen.

I didn't know enough to move anything.

And I wasn't going to make a decision with money I didn't fully understand.

But I could protect myself.

I opened the account settings.

There was an option to change my access preferences.

I stopped.

If Darian had used my name without telling me, I needed professional advice before doing anything else.

I searched for a solicitor who handled financial and property matters.

I found one through the firm's website and called the number.

A woman answered.

“Good morning. How can I help?”

“I need urgent advice about a personal guarantee.”

There was a short pause.

“Are you a guarantor?”

“I believe so.”

“Do you have a copy of the document?”

“Yes.”

“Then I would recommend bringing it in as soon as possible.”

“How soon?”

“If you've discovered this today, today would be best.”

I looked at the ballroom.

Today.

Everything in my life was supposed to change today.

Instead, I was arranging a legal appointment.

“I can come this afternoon.”

“That should be fine.”

I thanked her and ended the call.

My hands were steadier now.

Not because I felt better.

Because I finally had something I could do.

A few minutes later, my sister returned with the blue folder.

She handed it to me.

I opened it.

My passport copy.

Bank statements.

A few old contracts.

And the original document Darian had given me six months ago.

I pulled it out.

I had barely looked at it when I signed.

Now I read every page.

My name appeared more than once.

Personal guarantee.

Director's declaration.

Security agreement.

I turned another page.

Then another.

My sister was watching me.

“Arielle?”

I didn't answer.

I had reached the final page.

There was a section for signatures.

Darian's signature was there.

Mine was underneath it.

And beside our signatures was a date.

Six months ago.

But there was something else.

A handwritten note in the margin.

"I recognized Darian's handwriting immediately. I'd seen it a thousand times, on cards, on grocery lists, on the note he'd left beside my coffee the morning he proposed. This was the same handwriting. But the words were different."

Keep this between us until after the wedding.

I stared at it.

My sister leaned closer.

“What is it?”

I handed her the page.

She read the note.

Then she looked at me.

“Why would he write that?”

“I don't know.”

But I was beginning to think I knew.

The wedding wasn't simply the day Darian planned to marry me.

It was the day he needed me to remain exactly where I had always been.

Trusting.

Quiet.

Available.

I folded the document carefully and placed it back inside the folder.

Then I looked toward the ballroom.

People were beginning to take their seats.

My mother appeared at the far end of the hallway.

She smiled when she saw us.

“There you are.”

My sister looked at me.

I knew what she was asking without saying it.

What are you going to do?

"What was I going to do? I had no idea. But I knew what I wasn't going to do. I wasn't going to walk down that aisle and pretend.”

I watched my mother walk toward us.

Then I looked at the ballroom.

The flowers.

The guests.

The aisle.

The man was waiting somewhere upstairs for me to come back.

I had spent seven years preparing to become Darian's wife.

But I had never prepared for the possibility that becoming his wife could cost me everything I had built for myself.

My mother reached us.

“Sweetheart, it's almost time.”

I looked at her.

“Mom, I need to tell you something.”

Her smile faded.

“What is it?”

I took a breath.

“I don't think the wedding is going to happen.”

"My mother stared at me. Her hand went to her chest, as if she'd been struck. She didn't ask why. She didn't argue. She just looked at me and said, 'Okay.'"

My sister reached for my hand.

And for the first time that morning, I said the truth out loud.

“I can't marry him.”