Chapter 11 – When Vows Turned to Sirens
The hall was still buzzing with murmurs after Emily's silence at the altar. The whispers floated around like restless birds,some curious, some judgmental, others downright cruel. Adrian's jaw tightened. Damian's hand squeezed her arm gently, but Emily's gaze was distant, her chest rising and falling in quick, uneven breaths.
Then, before anyone could make sense of it, she swayed. Her bouquet slipped from her trembling hands and crashed onto the floor. The sound of shattering crystal pins and scattering petals was swallowed instantly by a collective gasp.
"Emily!" Damian lunged forward just in time to catch her before her body crumpled against the polished aisle.
For a second, the world seemed frozen. The orchestra halted mid-note. Guests rose to their feet in shock. Then chaos broke loose.
"Oh my God, the bride collapsed!" someone shouted.
"Call a doctor!" another voice cried.
From the front row, Mrs. Adrian, her sharp eyes wide for the first time—half-rose from her chair. Her hand clutched her pearls, but her lips muttered under her breath, "Oh, my investment… this cannot be happening. I'm not done with you, and you're giving up already? Don't you dare."
Adrian's chair rolled forward with startling speed. His face betrayed no panic, but his hands tightened around the wheels until his knuckles turned white.
"What happened to her?!" His voice cut through the noise, calm, yet edged with steel.
"Damian, lift her carefully," the officiant urged. "She needs air."
Damian looked down at his sister's pale face, heart pounding. "She's burning up… Emily, stay with me. Please!"
"Somebody call an ambulance!" a guest yelled, already fumbling for a phone.
The uproar grew louder. Some guests pressed closer for a better view; others stepped back as though fear itself was contagious. The glittering hall—moments ago drenched in celebration—now felt suffocating with dread.
Adrian wheeled closer, eyes locked on Emily. He wanted to scoop her up himself, but the steel of his chair and the weight of pride anchored him painfully. Besides, he would not give his mother another reason to call him weak.
Instead, his voice rang out, commanding:
"Move aside! Give her space. Damian, carry her out now. Don't waste my time—she'd better wake up and finish this wedding. I don't have all day."
His tone was audacious, sharp, but underneath it all was something else—fear disguised as authority.
Within minutes, the sirens wailed in the distance. Damian carried Emily in his arms, her head resting limply against his chest, her veil trailing behind them like a broken promise. Adrian followed closely, his wheelchair cutting a straight line through the panicked crowd. Clinton, who had been quietly observing in the shadows, slipped out after them.
The ambulance doors slammed shut, sealing Emily inside with the paramedics. The vehicle rocked slightly as it sped away, its siren slicing through the tense silence of the evening.
Inside, Damian held her hand tightly, whispering her name over and over. Her skin felt cold, yet beads of sweat clung to her forehead. Her chest rose faintly with shallow breaths.
"Pressure's dropping," one paramedic muttered, adjusting the IV line.
"Keep her stable," the other said firmly. "Possible fainting spell, but we can't rule out something more."
Damian's voice cracked. "She's been under stress… the wedding, our father, everything. Could it be too much for her?"
The paramedic didn't answer, only gave him a look of quiet sympathy before focusing back on Emily.
Across from them, Adrian sat stiffly, his fists clenched on his lap. Every fiber of his being wanted to demand answers, but instead he watched silently. His eyes never left Emily's face. To the world, he seemed composed; inside, his chest burned with helplessness.
Clinton, his sharp eyes never missing a detail, leaned forward slightly. "Fainting at a wedding isn't uncommon," he murmured. "But this… feels different."
Damian's head snapped up. "What are you implying?"
"I'm saying," Clinton replied calmly, "stress doesn't always come alone. Sometimes it has company."
Adrian's jaw tightened. He didn't speak, but his silence was heavier than words.
At the hospital, fluorescent lights flickered as Emily was rushed down the corridor. Nurses barked instructions, wheels squealing across the floor.
"Code blue!" a doctor shouted.
Damian started after them, but a nurse lifted a hand. "Please wait outside. We'll update you."
The doors swung shut, leaving Damian in the sterile hallway, fists balled in frustration. He pressed his forehead against the wall, trying to steady his breath.
Adrian wheeled up beside him, voice low but cold. "She'd better be fine. My time is as precious as my money."
Damian turned, eyes blazing. "She didn't even get to say her vows, Adrian. She was trying to breathe, and none of us saw it."
"I understand," Adrian said flatly. "She'll be fine. Spare me the tantrums."
But his eyes betrayed him—too still, too focused. She'll wake up, he told himself silently. She has to.
Guests began trickling into the waiting area. Some clutched their pearls, others whispered like gossips at a market.
"Can you imagine?" one woman muttered. "Collapsing on her own wedding day."
Clinton stood apart from them, leaning against the wall. His voice was low, deliberate. "This wasn't just exhaustion. Someone wanted to shake her today—maybe even stop this wedding."
Damian's jaw tightened. "And you think it worked?" His voice dropped. "What if something's wrong with my Emily?"
Clinton's gaze slid toward the emergency doors. "That depends on whether she wakes up stronger… or broken."
The hallway grew quieter. Every tick of the clock sounded louder. Somewhere inside that room, machines beeped rhythmically, measuring Emily's fragile breaths.
Damian sank into a chair, his hands covering his face. Adrian stared straight ahead, motionless, his knuckles white on the wheels of his chair. Both men—brothers in circumstance but rivals in love—waited in silence for the woman who held both their worlds together.
And behind those closed doors, Emily lay unconscious—caught between the life she was stepping into and the one she still hadn't escaped.
She was the bride who held her breath.
Now, she was the bride fighting to take it back.