Elara, Say I Do!

The pastor proceeded with the ceremony, delivering the usual words.

He spoke of unity, of love, of sacred vows, of two souls coming together willingly, joyfully, expectantly.

Elara stood silent, her expression calm, her face serene, yet beneath the fabric and lace of the wedding gown, beneath the carefully concealed bruises and burns, war raged inside of her.

The pastor continued, reading scripture, smiling gently, looking from groom to bride, while the crowd watched with glowing eyes.

And then it was time... The moment in every ceremony when everything narrows down to a single breath, a single question, and whatever answer follows changes the course of life.

The pastor lifted his gaze toward Aaron first, the expected routine.

He asked if Aaron took Elara Vaughn as his wife, promising to cherish her, stand by her, remain faithful, share his life and name, and future with her.

Aaron straightened a little, mask of charm plastered over irritation, and responded immediately, loudly enough for the audience, confidently, possessively.

"Yes! I do!"

He didn't hesitate.

Of course, he didn't. Why hesitate when everything you wanted stood right in front of you, wealth, status, power, legal control, wrapped neatly in white lace?

Then the pastor turned toward Elara, expecting, without even realizing it, the same automatic response, as if brides always obey, as if the script never changes.

He asked whether she accepted Aaron as her husband.

Silence! Agonizing silence as everyone held their breath.

Every neck craned forward just slightly, eyes widening, fans stilling mid-air, champagne paused inches from lips.

The string instruments faltered for a fraction of a second before continuing, though even the melody seemed unsure now.

What was she waiting for? Why wasn't she responding?

Was she nervous? Was she shy? Was she overwhelmed? Or was there something else, something darker pulsing beneath the surface?

Elara's gaze did not lower. Instead, it swept across the crowd, searching through the sea of faces as if she were reading every expression, every reaction, every hidden intention.

But that wasn't the case. She was searching for one particular person, just that familiar face, and he was nowhere to be seen.

The back of her throat tightened, disappointment coiling deep inside her chest like a serpent.

The pastor repeated the question, gentler this time, coaxing, believing perhaps she simply hadn't heard him.

Still, Elara remained silent.

He repeated it, and again the question floated in the air unanswered, until murmurs began to ripple through the crowd.

Aaron exhaled sharply, his temper flaring behind his composed expression.

He stepped closer to her, invading her space, leaning in with a smile that fooled everyone except the one standing directly in front of him.

His voice dropped into a hiss meant only for her.

"You bitch, what the hell do you think you're doing? Say 'I do' now."

The words were hateful, pure and unfiltered, and they slid right beneath her ribs as they always had.

But this time, Elara did not flinch. She did not bow. She did not tremble. She looked him in the eye, and when she spoke, her voice was calm, cool, almost bored, low enough for only him to hear.

She twitched her waist slightly away from him and retorted, "Why are you so close? We're not married yet. Your mouth stinks."

Aaron froze. For a second the mask cracked. He was so tempted to strangle her there and then.

Around them the crowd let out a collective gasp, and then whispers exploded, rushing through the chapel in frantic streams.

Ethan and Marjorie felt the heat of humiliation burning across their faces.

Marjorie's painted smile hardened, her eyes cold as stone as she gripped her clutch tighter.

Ethan's jaw clenched so sharply the muscle jumped under his skin.

What's happening?

What is she doing?

Has she lost her mind?

The Vaughn relatives leaned in to each other, whispering furiously.

A few guests covered their mouths in shock, others gleamed with delight at the scandal unfolding in front of them, loving the drama as long as it wasn't their own.

Elara's eyes continued scanning the crowd, her heart hammering with something that was no longer fear but momentum, the feeling of standing at the edge of a cliff and knowing you were already leaning forward.

She felt, for a fleeting second, as though she might break, like today could be the day she would finally shatter and no one would bother picking up the pieces.

"Elara, my dear," Marjorie urged, her voice strained but sweetened for the audience, "answer the pastor now. Say 'I do.'"

Elara rolled her eyes, actually rolled them, not dramatically, not childishly, just tiredly, fed up with the performance, with the façade, with the forced gentleness of a woman who had never once been gentle behind closed doors.

But she remained silent.

Her gaze continued moving through the crowd until, at the far end of the seating rows, where light and shadow met, she spotted him.

There he was! Lucian! He actually came!

He was seated, his posture relaxed yet somehow commanding, wearing a flawless grey tuxedo that fit him like it had been sewn directly onto his skin.

He didn't blend into the room, he couldn't have blended in even if he'd tried.

He appeared utterly out of place in the best possible way, like something sculpted out of marble had been dropped carelessly among paper decorations.

He looked like a Greek god, strikingly handsome and irresistibly alluring, the kind of beauty that didn't just catch attention, but demanded it.

And when their eyes met... Elara exhaled.

Relief washed through her so suddenly she nearly swayed.

Her chest loosened instantly. The pounding of her heart steadied. The world, which moments ago had been spinning into noise and pressure, came sharply back into focus.

Then... She smiled. Not the polite, empty smile expected of a bride. A real smile out of happiness.

Then, without giving herself even a second to reconsider, she turned and sprinted toward him.

Gasps erupted everywhere. People half-rose from their seats. Heads whipped around. The piano player actually hit the wrong key, the sound ringing awkwardly before falling silent.

The pastor blinked repeatedly, unsure whether to stop her or pretend this was part of the ceremony.

Where was she going?

What was happening?

Had she lost control? Had she been bewitched? Had she gone mad at the altar?

And then they saw him, the man she approached, and the room audibly gasped again.

A wave of realization and confusion crashed through the crowd.

Questions exploded.

Who is he?

Is he the real groom?

Is the Vaughn family hiding something?

Who's actually the real groom here?