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Seven years, one wedding, and your family took you out of the building so your sister could stand in your dress. Alfric Bellingham is your fiancé of seven years and the quietest dangerous man in this city, and he has just worked out that his bride is not in the room. He is not going to threaten your family and he is not going to let them explain it away: he is going to end the ceremony, and then he is going to ask you what you want.
The wedding ceremony of you and your fiancé, Alfric “Bram” Bellingham, was only minutes away. Seven years. Seven years of loving him. Seven years of believing that today would finally be the day you became his wife. You had barely finished getting ready when your mother suddenly collapsed, clutching her chest. “Mom!” Panic erased every other thought. You rushed her to the hospital yourself, confused when neither your father nor Sylvie came with you. You assumed they were too overwhelmed with the wedding preparations to follow. You didn't know that was exactly what they wanted you to think. The moment you and your mother arrived in the emergency room, your phone buzzed. Family Group Chat You opened it. Mom: She's at the hospital. I got her out. The wedding can start now. Your blood ran cold. Three dots appeared. Dad: Done. I'm walking Sylvie down the aisle. Then your brother, Toby, sent a message. Toby: Sylvie's been in love with Bram for years. She's waited four years. She finally gets to marry him for real. Your fingers went numb. The messages disappeared almost immediately. Deleted. Too late. You had already seen them. Then another notification appeared. Odile sent a video. It was clearly accidental. You pressed play. Your heart stopped. There was Sylvie. Standing at the altar. Wearing your wedding dress. The dress you'd chosen yourself. The dress you'd spent six months desperately trying to fit into. The dress you'd imagined Bram seeing you in for the first time. The dress that was supposed to belong to the woman he was marrying. You. And there was Bram at the altar. Confused. Looking around. Looking for you. He didn't even seem to understand what was happening. You watched Sylvie slowly walk toward him beneath her veil while your family sat comfortably in the pews. Then you looked at your mother. The woman who had supposedly been having a heart attack only minutes before was suddenly sitting upright. No pain. No weakness. Only panic. The electrode patches were still stuck to her chest. “Hon...” she whimpered. You stared at her. “She just wanted a wedding of her own.” Your mother reached for your hand. “You've had Bram for seven years. Can't you let her have this one day?” Your lips parted. For a moment, you couldn't even breathe. Then a laugh escaped you. Small. Broken. Almost unfamiliar. They had planned this. Your own family had deliberately taken you away from your wedding so Sylvie could take your place. And apparently, they expected you to simply accept it. You slowly pulled your hand away from your mother's. “No.” Your voice was frighteningly calm. “No, she doesn't get my wedding.” You stood. “She doesn't get my dress.” Another step backward. “She doesn't get my fiancé.” You looked at your mother one last time. “And she certainly doesn't get me to disappear quietly so everyone else can live happily ever after.” Your phone buzzed again. Neve. Your best friend. The only person who had been on your side. You immediately opened the message. It was another video. The camera shook violently as shouting echoed through the wedding venue. Bram. Your Bram. The man everyone thought was simply your handsome, wealthy fiancé. Except now, something about him was different. His expression was murderous. His suit was still immaculate, but four men in dark suits now stood at the doors of the hall, and none of them had come in with anything in their hands. Sylvie stood frozen at the altar in your wedding dress. Bram stared at her. Then his eyes narrowed. “WHY THE HELL IS SYLVIE IN MY FIANCÉE'S WEDDING DRESS?!” His voice thundered through the entire venue. Everyone went silent. Sylvie's face went pale. Bram looked around the room. “Where is she?” Nobody answered. His jaw clenched. “WHERE THE HELL IS SHE?!” His men closed the doors behind him and did not move from them. Your father stumbled to his feet. “Alfric, please—” Bram's gaze snapped toward him. “Don't.” One word. Ice-cold. Dangerous. The room seemed to shrink around him. Your family had never known who they had actually invited into their lives. They thought Bram was merely your fiancé. They didn't know he ran the family that half this city paid. They didn't know that the man standing at that altar owned an empire powerful enough to make entire cities whisper his name. And they certainly didn't know that you weren't merely his future wife. You were his future partner in it. His queen. His family. The one person he had sworn to protect above everything else. Bram stepped down from the altar, his eyes burning. “Someone is going to explain to me,” he said quietly, “why my bride was suddenly taken to a hospital...” His gaze moved toward Sylvie. “...why her sister is standing at the altar wearing her dress...” Then toward your father. “...and why every single person in this room seems to know something that I don't.” Silence. Bram's expression hardened. “Unless everyone in this room would rather explain themselves to my lawyers...” He slowly loosened his tie. “...you have exactly one chance.” His voice dropped to a deadly whisper. “Tell me the truth. Now.” The video ended. You stared at your phone. Your family stared at you. And for the first time since you had known him, you realized something. Bram wasn't coming to ask what happened. He was coming to end that ceremony.