The Woman at the Wedding

CHAPTER FOUR

Lena’s POV 

“ Damien Vale was not the only person waiting for your sister that morning.”

The woman’s words kept ringing in my ears long after the call ended.

I stood on the pavement, staring at my phone.

Who was she?

How did she know about Vivienne’s wedding?

And why had she waited three years to contact me?

“Lena!”

Ethan’s voice pulled me out of my thoughts. He hurried across the road towards me.

“What happened? Who were you talking to?”

“A woman.”

“What woman?”

“The one I saw standing outside Damien’s office. She called me, and she knew about Vivienne’s wedding.”

Ethan looked around the street. “Where is she?”

“She disappeared before I could reach her.”

I showed him the folded paper.

He read the two words written on it.

ASK DAMIEN.

Then his eyes moved to the date beneath them.

“That’s the date Vivienne disappeared.”

“I know.”

“Did the woman say anything else?”

I told him about the phone call.

For a moment, Ethan said nothing. He read the paper again, as if the words might change if he stared at them long enough.

“Someone else was waiting for Vivienne that morning,” he repeated.

“That’s what she said.”

“Did she tell you who?”

“No. She hung up before I could ask.”

Ethan rubbed his forehead.

“This is getting dangerous.”

“It’s been dangerous since someone sent me that email.”

“Then perhaps we should be careful about what we do next.”

I looked at him.

“Are you telling me to stop?”

“No. I’m telling you that whoever is behind this might be watching you. We need to think before we act.”

I knew he was right, but that did not make it easier to accept.

For three years, I had searched for a clue that could take me closer to Vivienne. Now that I had found one, I was being warned from every direction.

I folded the paper and put it inside my bag.

“We’re going back to the apartment,” I said. “I want to find out who sent that email and whether this woman was telling the truth.”

Ethan nodded, but he kept looking over his shoulder as we walked to the car.

Neither of us noticed the man standing on the other side of the street, watching us leave.

That evening, I spread every document I had collected about Vivienne’s disappearance across my living room floor.

The police reports were incomplete. The newspaper articles repeated the same information. The Vale family’s statement said nothing useful, and every person I had contacted over the years seemed to remember less than they should.

I had spent so much time looking at the same information that I could almost recite it from memory.

Still, I checked everything again.

The wedding date.

The time Vivienne was last seen.

The names of the guests.

The names of the people who had worked at the venue.

I stopped when I reached a copy of the original guest list.

There was a name I had never paid attention to before.

Carlos Vale.

Damien’s father.

I knew who he was, of course. Everyone who followed the business world knew the Vale family. Carlos rarely appeared in public without his wife, Celeste, and he had a reputation for being a man who expected everyone to obey him.

But why had I never tried to speak to him?

I picked up my phone and searched for recent photographs of the family.

Carlos looked much like Damien, though his face was harder. His dark eyes seemed to hold a warning even when he smiled for the cameras.

Beside him stood Celeste Vale, elegant and composed.

I remembered seeing her at Vivienne’s engagement party. She had been polite, but there was something distant about her. She had barely spoken to my sister, even though Vivienne was supposed to become part of their family.

At the time, I had assumed it was because the Vales were wealthy and used to a different kind of life.

Now I was not so sure.

My phone rang.

Ethan’s name appeared on the screen.

“Did you find anything?” I asked as soon as I answered.

“I found the company connected to that email.”

I sat up straight.

“And?”

“It’s a private security firm. It provided security services for several Vale properties.”

“Can you find out who sent the message?”

“Not yet. The information attached to the email is limited, and I don’t want to give you a name without proof.”

I looked at the guest list.

“Ethan, do you remember Carlos Vale being at the wedding?”

“He was on the guest list.”

“I know that. I’m asking whether anyone actually saw him there.”

There was a pause.

“Why?”

“Because the woman told me Damien wasn’t the only person waiting for Vivienne that morning.”

Ethan was quiet for a moment.

“Are you thinking about his father?”

“I don’t know what to think anymore.”

“Don’t contact Carlos yet. We have nothing solid.”

“I wasn’t going to call him.”

That was true.

I was going to find another way to get answers.

After ending the call, I returned to the guest list and checked the names one by one. Most belonged to relatives, business partners, or friends of the Vale family.

Then I noticed something strange.

Several names had been crossed out in the copy I had received from the wedding planner. There were no explanations beside them, and the ink looked different from the rest of the writing.

I took a closer look.

One name had been crossed out so heavily that I could barely read it.

I adjusted the light on my desk and leaned closer.

Adrian Cross.

I did not recognize the name.

But someone had clearly wanted it removed from the list.

I wrote it down beside Carlos’s name.

Two people connected to the Vale family.

Two questions I could not answer.

And one wedding that nobody seemed willing to discuss.

I was about to search for Adrian Cross when a knock sounded at my door.

I froze.

Ethan had left less than an hour ago. I was not expecting anyone else.

The knock came again.

“Who is it?” I called.

“Delivery.”

I approached the door but did not open it immediately.

“Who sent it?”

“Miss Lena Ashford?”

“Yes.”

“I have a package for you.”

I checked the peephole.

A young delivery worker stood outside holding a small brown envelope. I opened the door only after checking the hallway.

“Do I need to sign anything?”

“No, miss.”

He handed me the envelope and left.

I closed the door and examined it.

There was no return address.

My name had been written across the front in neat black letters.

Inside was a single photograph.

I pulled it out slowly.

It showed Vivienne standing outside a building I did not recognize. She was wearing the same coat she had worn during the week before her wedding.

I remembered that coat because I had borrowed it once, and she had refused to let me keep it.

But it was not the coat that made my hands tremble.

Someone stood beside her.

A man whose face was turned away from the camera.

I studied the photograph, trying to recognize his height, his clothes, anything that might tell me who he was.

Then I noticed the date printed in the corner.

It was the day before Vivienne disappeared.

My breath caught.

I had never seen this photograph before.

Where had it come from?

Who had taken it?

And why had someone waited three years to send it to me?

I turned the photograph over.

A short message had been written on the back.

You are asking the wrong person about your sister.

I read it several times.

Then I looked at the man’s hand in the photograph.

He was holding Vivienne’s wrist.

I could not tell whether he was guiding her somewhere or stopping her from leaving. The image was too unclear.

But Vivienne’s face was visible.

She was not smiling.

She was looking directly at the camera.

And she looked frightened.

My phone slipped from my hand onto the table.

For three years, I had searched for signs that Vivienne had been in trouble before she disappeared. I had questioned people, followed rumours, and begged strangers to remember something useful.

Now I was holding proof that someone had been with her the day before her wedding.

Someone whose identity had been hidden from me.

I reached for my phone and called Ethan.

He answered on the second ring.

“Lena?”

“Come back. Now.”

“What happened?”

I stared at the photograph.

“Someone sent me a picture of Vivienne.”

“What?”

“It was taken the day before she disappeared. She’s standing beside a man, and she looks terrified.”

“Don’t touch anything else. I’ll be there soon.”

The call ended.

I placed the photograph on the table and forced myself to look at it again.

The more I studied Vivienne’s face, the more certain I became that something had happened before the wedding.

Something I had never known about.

A few minutes later, Ethan arrived. I showed him the photograph, and his expression changed as soon as he saw it.

“Where did this come from?”

“I don’t know. Someone delivered it.”

He examined the front and back, then looked at me.

“We need to take this to the police.”

“And tell them what? That an unknown person sent me a photograph?”

“It’s evidence, Lena.”

“I know, but I want to understand why someone is sending it now.”

Ethan looked at the message again.

You are asking the wrong person about your sister.

He lowered the photograph.

“Whoever sent this wants you to suspect someone.”

“Or they want me to stop trusting Damien.”

“Those are two different things.”

“Exactly.”

I took the picture from him and looked at the man beside Vivienne.

I could not see his face.

But I could see a small silver ring on his hand.

A ring shaped like a wolf.

I had seen that symbol before.

It was engraved on the gate outside Damien Vale’s mansion.

My heart began to pound.

Before I could say anything, Ethan’s phone rang. He glanced at the screen and answered.

“Yes?”

He listened.

Then his face went pale.

“What do you mean the photograph has already been reported missing?”

I stared at him.

He slowly lowered the phone.

“What is it?” I asked.

He looked at the photograph in my hand.

“Lena, the person who called me says this picture was taken from a private collection belonging to the Vale family.”

My stomach tightened.

“Whose collection?”

Ethan swallowed.

“Carlos Vale’s.”

I looked down at Vivienne’s frightened face.

The photograph had come from Damien’s family.

But the message told me I was asking the wrong person.

For the first time, I wondered whether the man who could help me find my sister was not Damien at all.

But his father.