There could be no day more perfect than this, Zoe thought.
Sunlight spilled through the stained-glass dome of the sanctuary, transforming into dappled pillars of light that cascaded softly across the pure white carpet of the aisle. The air was thick with the rich fragrance of lilies and white roses, a scent as holy as the breath of heaven. The Vera Wang couture gown she wore had been chosen in Paris three months ago; every inch of lace, every single pearl, was imbued with the most exquisite fantasy she held for this wedding. The train spread out like a vast, soft cloud, making her feel as though she were walking on air, buoyed by happiness itself.
Her hand was held tightly in Charlie's. Her boyfriend of three years, her fiancé of this moment, soon to be her partner for life. The warmth of his palm was as steady and reassuring as ever, enough to banish the last vestiges of her nervousness. Zoe tilted her head slightly, gazing at his handsome profile. He was immaculate today in a tailored black tuxedo, his hair styled without a single strand out of place. His blue eyes were filled with starlight, and in them, she could see her own reflection. Sensing her gaze, he turned and gave her a smile that could melt the winter snows.
Zoe's heart settled completely.
Below the altar, seated in the pews, were the most important people in her life. Her silver-haired grandparents sat in the front row, their faces etched with gratified smiles. Her parents, her relatives, the friends she'd grown up with... every face radiated the warmth of their blessing. Their collective gaze was a gentle river of affection, enveloping her and Charlie. This was everything she had ever dreamed of—love, family, friendship, all converging today, at this moment, into a ceremony of magnificent perfection.
"Miss Zoe, do you take the man beside you to be your lawfully wedded husband, to love and to honor him, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, till death do you part?"
The officiant's gentle voice echoed through the hallowed space of the chapel.
Zoe drew a deep breath, swallowing the lump in her throat as tears of joy blurred her vision. She stared into Charlie's eyes and, with all the strength in her body, said clearly, firmly, "I do—"
CRACK—
A sound like thunder shattered her vow.
The chapel's heavy oak doors were thrown open by a tremendous, violent force, slamming against the stone walls on either side with a deafening boom. Every head, including Zoe's and Charlie's, snapped toward the entrance.
Through the doors that should have opened only for the bride and groom, an uninvited guest had arrived.
It was a man. An impossibly handsome man. He wore a pure white tailcoat, a stark contrast to the groom's black, his figure tall and lean, as if he had stepped from the pages of a vintage fashion plate. He wore no bow tie; the top two buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing the sharp lines of his collarbone and lending him an air of untamed, dangerous charisma.
He was silhouetted against the light as he stepped onto the aisle, one deliberate step at a time. A sardonic smirk played on his lips, laced with menace. His deep-set eyes cut through the stunned guests, past the flustered officiant, and locked onto Zoe with unnerving, absolute precision.
"Apologies for the interruption," he said. His voice was not loud, but it possessed a strange, penetrating quality that carried to every ear. "But this is a wedding I'm afraid I couldn't be absent from. After all, this beautiful bride and I... we're intimately acquainted."
A dead silence fell over the hall, followed instantly by a wave of suppressed whispers.
Zoe's mind was a blank slate. She didn't know this man. She would swear on her life she had never seen his face before. Yet his gaze, which seemed to pierce right through her, sent an inexplicable tremor of fear through her heart.
"Who the hell are you?" Charlie was the first to react, pulling Zoe behind him, his face a mask of anger and alarm. "You're not welcome here. Get out, now!"
Zoe, steadying herself, peeked out from behind Charlie, her voice trembling with anxiety. "Sir, you've made a mistake. I don't know you."
At her words, the man's smirk deepened. He ignored Charlie's challenge, his eyes fixed on Zoe with the detached interest of a connoisseur admiring a piece of art.
"You don't know me?" he chuckled, the sound grating in the silent chapel. "That's fine. I know you. Zoe, you like to curl up into a ball when you sleep, like a little cat. On your nightstand, you always keep a stuffed rabbit with three stitches in its right ear. And that pale blue sundress you love so much? There's a small hole near the hem, a burn mark you made yourself with a cigarette." He paused, his voice dropping to a low, demonic whisper, each word a poisoned needle driving into Zoe's eardrums.
"...And there's the brown birthmark on your left shoulder blade, shaped like a tiny maple leaf. On your inner thigh, three moles arranged in a perfect triangle. And when you're lost in passion, you bite your lower lip, and your eyes well up with physiological tears... am I right?"
BOOM.
If his previous words had merely sparked curiosity and confusion among the guests, these last sentences were a detonating bomb.
The hall erupted.
The gazes that had been filled with blessings only moments before instantly transformed into expressions of shock, contempt, suspicion, and morbid glee. The whispers became an uncontrollable torrent of gossip, a swarm of buzzing flies circling Zoe's head, threatening to devour her whole.
Zoe felt the blood freeze in her veins. She instinctively clutched her shoulder, as if she could hide the birthmark that only she and Charlie were supposed to know about. She looked at Charlie and saw the color drain from his face. The love and starlight in his blue eyes were gone, replaced by a vast, empty chasm of shock and doubt. He stared at her, his lips parting, but no words came out.
"No... it's not true..." Zoe shook her head frantically. She wanted to scream, to tell everyone this man was lying. But everything he said... it was all true. The most private, the most secret details of her life, recited in a casual, cruel tone in front of all her family and friends, peeling her open layer by layer, leaving her naked and exposed for all to see.
A colossal wave of shame and terror seized her throat, strangling any sound she might have made. She felt like a sinner nailed to a pillory, transformed in an instant from the world's happiest bride into a disgraced, defenseless adulteress. Her mind, reeling from the shock, went completely blank. All she could do was stand there, mouth agape, as the daggers of a hundred stares flayed her alive.
"Enough!"
A steady voice cut through the suffocating tension.
It was Jason, Charlie's uncle. He rose from his seat in the front row and strode to the altar, positioning himself in front of Zoe. His face was a cold mask of authority as he faced the man in white. His voice was low but carried an absolute, unquestionable command. "Sir, what you're describing are vague generalities that could apply to anyone. This is Zoe's wedding day. Do not cause a scene. Security!"
At his command, the two guards who had been standing by the entrance rushed in, moving to flank the intruder.
A flicker of hope ignited in Zoe's heart. She looked gratefully at Jason's strong, protective back. It was the only sanctuary she had in this sudden storm.
The man in white, however, completely ignored the approaching guards. The smirk on his face slowly dissolved, replaced by an expression of cold, bloodthirsty madness. Just as the guards reached for his arms, his wrist flickered—a flash of silver—and a razor-sharp dagger appeared in his hand.
"Ahhh!"
A woman in a nearby pew let out a piercing shriek, flipping the switch on the room's simmering panic.
The chapel exploded into pure bedlam. Guests screamed and shoved, scrambling desperately for the main doors and side exits. Chairs were overturned, flowers were trampled, and champagne flutes shattered on the floor. The meticulously arranged wedding hall devolved into a scene from hell. The sounds of alarms, crying, and screaming wove together into a vast net of terror.
"Zoe, run!" Charlie finally snapped out of his stupor. He grabbed Zoe's hand and started pulling her toward the back of the altar.
Zoe stumbled, her mind still a chaotic fog. She let him pull her along, but the gown that had brought her such glory and happiness was now a fatal liability. The voluminous train tangled around her ankles. She felt her foot catch, her balance give way, and her body fall backward, completely out of her control.
It's over.
The two words echoed in her mind. She could already feel the impact, the sharp, brutal pain of her skull hitting the cold marble floor.
But the expected agony never came.
A powerful arm caught her falling body, pulling her into a cold embrace. An instant later, an icy chill pressed against the delicate skin of her neck.
It was him. The man.
One of his arms was wrapped around her waist, the other held the dagger in a reverse grip, its sharp point pressed firmly against her carotid artery. He held her hostage in a posture that was almost intimate, his warm breath ghosting over her ear while his voice was as cold as a Siberian wind. "Nobody move."
The chaotic scene froze. Everyone stared in horror.
"Let her go!" Jason roared, his face contorted with fury, and started to rush forward.
Zoe's heart leaped into her throat. She wanted to scream for him to stay back, but her throat was locked tight.
Just then, two elderly figures blocked Jason's path. It was her grandparents.
"Jason, you stay right where you are!" her grandmother shrieked, her fingers digging into Jason's arm.
Her grandfather's face was ashen. His clouded eyes swept over Zoe, held at knifepoint, and in them, there was not a flicker of worry or concern. There was only disgust and resolve. He turned to Jason and roared the words that cast Zoe into the deepest circle of hell:
"Leave her! Let her die!"
Time seemed to stop.
Zoe stared in disbelief at her own grandfather. The face she had revered since childhood was now a mask of a cold, cruel stranger. His words were a searing brand, stamping a final, agonizing mark upon her soul, incinerating her last shred of hope.
So... that's how it is.
So, the destruction of this wedding, this public execution, had all been sanctioned.
So, in the eyes of her family, she, Zoe, was nothing more than a tool. A pawn to be sacrificed and discarded at any time.
An absolute, bone-deep cold rose from the soles of her feet, spreading through her limbs, freezing her blood, and turning her soul to ice.
The man seemed satisfied with this outcome. Holding the now-catatonic Zoe, he began to back away toward the elevators. No one dared to stop him. Charlie stood frozen in place, his face a canvas of terror and confusion.
Ding. The elevator doors slid open.
The man dragged her inside and pressed the button for the top floor.
As the doors began to close, in the final sliver of a second before the gap sealed shut, Zoe saw the scene outside.
Her family, her friends, the man she had believed would love her for a lifetime—they all stood there, watching, as if they were spectators at a play that had nothing to do with them.
Only Jason, held back by his parents, was still fighting, struggling against their grip. And in his eyes, which were usually so calm and steady, was a frantic desperation she had never seen before.
It was the only flicker of warmth in this frozen hell.
The elevator doors closed completely.
In the small, confined space, it was just her and this strange man. The polished metal walls reflected her pathetic image: a bride in a holy white gown, with a dagger of death at her throat.
How ironic.
The man lowered the knife but kept his arm locked around her. The elevator ascended smoothly, climbing through the floors, climbing through the wreckage of her life.
Zoe didn't cry. She didn't struggle. She simply leaned against the cold wall of the elevator, feeling the stinging, fiery line the blade had left on her neck.
That small point of pain made her feel more awake than she had ever been in her life.