I'm in my bedroom at the Alverez estate, morning sun sneaking through the lace curtains like it's trying to cheer me up. Clara's behind me, her hands steady as she fumbles with the buttons on my wedding gown. The silk's heavy, like it's armor I'm not sure I can haul around all day. We're not talking, but the silence is screaming, stuffed with all the things we're dodging. That text from last night, I don't know who to trust, hangs between us like a bad smell. Clara's tight-lipped smile says she's hiding something, and it's eating me alive.
"Almost there," Clara says, voice soft as she tugs the train straight. Her fingers graze my shoulder, and I wanna grab her, beg her to spill whatever's got her so spooked. But I don't. I've gotta be the perfect bride today, the bulletproof Alverez daughter. No cracks allowed.
"Thanks," I say, turning to face her. "You good? You look like you're about to snap."
She freezes, tucking a stray braid behind her ear. "Just wedding nerves. Not every day my bestie ties the knot." Her smile's fake as hell, not touching her eyes, and my gut twists. Clara's been my anchor forever, but now she feels like a stranger.
I nod, letting it slide, even though it's killing me. "Let's just get this done." I step toward the vanity, where my veil's waiting like a guillotine. Clara follows, but her phone buzzes, and she glances at it, face going tight like she just got bad news.
"Everything cool?" I ask, sharper than I mean to.
"Yeah," she says, too quick, shoving the phone in her pocket. "Work stuff. No biggie." But her hands shake as she picks up the veil, and I know she's full of it. I wanna push, demand answers, but the clock's ticking. One hour 'til showtime.
Clara bails to check on the florist, leaving me alone with the full-length mirror. I smooth the gown, hands jittery. I don't see a bride staring back, I see a boxer stepping into a ring, crowd waiting for me to get knocked out. My hazel eyes are too wide, too freaked. I clench my fists, suck in a deep breath. I'm Sienna Alverez. I've got this. For Ethan, for Father, for Mama's memory.
My phone pings on the vanity, Ethan: You're gonna look stunning. Love you. My heart does a little flip, and I grin, texting back: Can't wait to see you. I set the phone down, but Valentina's face crashes into my head, her fist clenched on the balcony last night, eyes cold as ice. I shake it off. She's my sister. She'll be there, smiling, right? Right.
The door swings open, and Father strides in, suit crisp, gray hair slicked back like he's ready for a boardroom, not a wedding. "Ready, Sienna?" His voice is all business, not a drop of warmth.
I nod, chin up. "Yes, Father." I wait for something, I'm proud or You look like your mom. But he just points to the door.
"Car's waiting. Let's move." He turns, and I follow, throat tight like I'm choking on all the things he'll never say. I snatch my bouquet and step into the hall, heels clacking on the marble like gunshots. It's go time.
The ride to the cathedral is dead quiet. Father's glued to his phone, and I'm clutching my bouquet so hard the roses' thorns prick through the wrapping. I don't flinch, pain's better than this silence. Clara's up front, whispering to the driver, voice too low to catch. I meet her eyes in the rearview, and she flashes a smile that's all teeth, no heart. I wanna ask about last night, why she got stopped at the gate, what she's keeping from me, but Father's right here, and the words won't come.
We pull up to the cathedral, its stone towers looming like they're judging me. Photographers swarm the steps, cameras flashing as I climb out. I lift my chin, fake a smile, but my heart's pounding so loud I'm sure they can hear it. Clara's beside me, fussing with my veil. "You've got this," she whispers, squeezing my hand.
I nod, but my legs are jelly as I start up the steps. The crowd's buzzing, guests, reporters, Velancia's big shots. I spot Valentina by the entrance, crimson dress screaming against the white stone. She's chatting with Marcus Vellani, smile too bright, like she's on a stage. She catches my eye and waves, but it's stiff, like she's reading a script. I wave back, gut churning like I ate something bad.
Inside, the cathedral's arches stretch up forever, organ music bouncing off the walls like a heartbeat. The aisle's a mile long, lined with roses and candles. Guests turn, whispering like a swarm of bees. I grip Father's arm, each step heavier, like I'm wading through mud. Ethan's at the altar, tux sharp, blond hair glowing in the light. He's smiling, but it's tight, like he's got butterflies too. I try to lock onto him, our future, but my chest feels like it's gonna cave in.
Father hands me off at the altar, his hand cold as he lets go. "Don't screw this up," he mutters, then steps back. I swallow hard, turning to Ethan, desperate for his warmth. His blue eyes meet mine, but they're off, like he's looking through me.
The priest kicks off, voice droning like a lullaby. "We're here to join Sienna Alverez and Ethan Caldwell…" I barely hear him, pulse roaring in my ears. Ethan's hand's in mine, but it's limp, like he's not really here. I glance at him, smile slipping. "You good?" I whisper.
He nods, but his jaw's tight, and he's staring past me, toward the front row. I follow his gaze, Valentina's there, head high, eyes glued to Ethan. My heart trips. Something's wrong, but the priest's still yammering, and I'm stuck.
Clara steps up for a reading, voice steady as she spouts some poem about love. I try to focus, but my eyes keep flicking to Ethan. He's fidgeting, hand slipping from mine. I lean in. "Ethan, what's going on?" My voice is low, pleading.
He doesn't answer, just stares at the floor like it's got answers. Clara wraps up, and the priest calls us for the vows. My stomach's in knots as I face Ethan, waiting for him to say something. The crowd's dead quiet, all eyes on us. I force a smile, voice shaky. "I, Sienna, take you, Ethan…"
He cuts me off, voice like a blade. "Hold up." The word echoes, and gasps ripple through the crowd. My breath catches, world tilting. He steps back, face hard, no sign of the guy who texted me an hour ago. "I can't do this," he says, loud enough to wake the dead.
My knees wobble, but I catch myself. "What the hell are you talking about?" I whisper, voice cracking like glass.
He reaches into his jacket, and my heart stops. I'm praying for a ring, a note, anything to fix this mess. Instead, he pulls out a photo and holds it up. It's him and Valentina, tangled up in bed, her arms wrapped around him like she owns him. The cathedral spins, crowd exploding in whispers. My bouquet slips, hitting the floor with a pathetic thud, and I'm left standing there, world crumbling under my feet.