The morning of my wedding began with silence.
Not the peaceful kind, but the heavy, loaded kind—the kind that settled into the bones and made everything feel suspended. The city outside was awake, bustling with ceremony and chaos, but inside my bridal suite at the Grand Solis Hotel, everything felt like it was happening in slow motion.
I stood in front of the full-length mirror, watching the makeup artist glide a brush across my cheekbone, her hand steady and clinical. My skin glowed. My hair, pinned into soft curls, looked like something out of a bridal catalog. My dress—an ivory silk masterpiece with hand-beaded accents—fit like it was designed for someone else. Someone who believed in all of this.
"Almost done, Miss Cater," the stylist chirped.
I didn't respond. Not out of rudeness. Just... what was there to say?
Sarah entered the suite quietly, holding my bouquet. White orchids, soft peonies, and one pale blue hydrangea tucked carefully in the center. "Something blue," she said with a gentle smile.
I stared at the flowers. "It's beautiful."
"You're beautiful," Sarah said, voice lower now. "You know you don't have to go through with this, right? You can leave. I'll start the car."
I looked at her, really looked at her. The way she stood there, strong and sincere and ready to defend my right to choose—even now.
And still, I shook my head. "It's not that simple."
Sarah exhaled. "It never is."
We didn't speak much after that. The room continued its quiet, careful preparations. Photographers clicked their shutters. My father arrived briefly to kiss my forehead and remind me of duty and legacy.
"You've always been strong," he said, adjusting his tie. "You're your mother's daughter."
I smiled at the mention of her. A soft ache bloomed in my chest.
She would've hated this wedding.
Not because it was arranged, but because it wasn't about love.
Just before we were scheduled to leave for the cathedral, there was a knock at the suite door. Evelyn entered, dressed in an elegant dove-gray ensemble, her eyes soft but alert.
"May I?" she asked, glancing toward the room's quiet hum.
"Of course," I said.
She approached slowly, then reached into her handbag and pulled out a velvet box. "I wanted to give you something that's been in the Aldridge family for generations. It belonged to my husband's mother, and before that, her mother."
She opened the box to reveal a delicate necklace—platinum, with an opal framed by diamonds in the shape of a teardrop.
"It's not just tradition," she said. "It's a reminder. That you're not alone in this. And that even when things feel... arranged, you can still make them your own."
I didn't know what to say.
She stepped forward and clasped it gently around my neck. The cool metal brushed my skin, strangely comforting.
"Thank you," I said quietly. "It's beautiful."
"So are you," she replied, eyes glassy. "I'm proud to call you family."
Then she stepped back, gave my hand a gentle squeeze, and left as gracefully as she had come.
The limo ride to the chapel felt like a dream—long, foggy, and full of ghosts. I stared out the window at the blur of Velmora's skyline. Everything about this city felt sharp. Polished. Like a blade hidden in silk.
As we pulled into the private drive of St. Vale's Cathedral, I took a deep breath and steadied myself. The building towered above us, centuries-old stone bathed in afternoon sunlight. It was all very grand, very photogenic.
A fairytale, on the outside.
The inside buzzed with preparation. Coordinators moved like clockwork. Violinists tuned their strings. Guests were being ushered to their seats by men in tailored suits with stiff smiles.
Sarah helped me out of the car, her hand steady on my arm. "You're doing okay?"
I nodded, but my heart was thudding so loud I could hear it in my ears.
The cathedral doors hadn't opened yet. I had a few more minutes. Just enough time to question everything.
Was I really doing this?
Was I really about to walk down that aisle to marry a man who didn't want me, in a dress I didn't choose, with a future I didn't plan?
Yes.
Because somewhere between the contracts and the headlines and the duty, I'd stopped fighting.
And because walking away now would mean letting them all win—the ones who said I wasn't strong enough, or smart enough, or capable enough to lead without being tied to a man.
Even if that man was Blake Aldridge.
A gentle knock came on the door to the bridal room. "Five minutes."
I stood. My knees didn't buckle, though they wanted to.
Sarah fluffed the train of my gown. "Just breathe. One step at a time."
I squeezed her hand. "Thank you. For everything."
Then I turned to the mirror one last time.
The woman staring back at me didn't look broken.
She looked ready.
The doors of the cathedral opened, and the music began.
Soft. Soaring. Familiar.
I stepped out into the light, my father by my side, my bouquet clutched tightly in my hands.
Every face turned toward me. Rows and rows of eyes. Flashes from discreet cameras. The rustle of silk and the whisper of breath.
And at the far end of the aisle—Blake.
Standing tall in his tailored suit, face unreadable, jaw set. Looking like every heir and power broker that had come before him.
Except his eyes.
They found mine.
And for a split second, the whole cathedral blurred around him.
We didn't smile.
We didn't nod.
We just looked.
And then I started walking.
One step at a time.