The air in the cathedral was thick with perfume, candle smoke, and anticipation. Rows of family and friends pressed forward, necks craning, eyes sparkling, waiting for the bride.
Damien stood at the altar in his best man's suit, his tie suffocating him like a noose. Beside him, Daniel—his best friend since they were twelve—kept adjusting his cufflinks and muttering under his breath, nerves gnawing through the confident mask he always wore.
"Relax," Damien murmured. His voice came out steadier than he felt. "She's coming."
Daniel exhaled a shaky laugh, tugging his collar. "Easy for you to say. You're not about to get married."
If only you knew.
The organ swelled. A collective sigh rippled through the crowd as the heavy wooden doors at the end of the aisle opened.
And there she was.
Lara.
Her gown shimmered with delicate beading, every step catching the light. She clutched her bouquet with grace that made the flowers jealous, her veil trailing like mist. The hush in the cathedral was reverent, awed, as though the universe itself had paused to admire her.
But Damien wasn't awed.
He was undone.
Every fiber of him screamed to move, to run down the aisle, to rip her away from the moment before it chained her to a man who didn't deserve her. But instead, his jaw locked and his fists dug crescents into his palms. He forced himself to breathe, to stand still, to not betray the war raging inside him.
A waiter slipped by the front row with a tray of champagne glasses—leftovers from the reception preparations. Damien snatched one like a drowning man grabbing driftwood. The cool fizz hit his lips, bitter and sweet at once, but it did nothing to drown the fire searing through him.
He shouldn't look at her. He should look anywhere but at her.
But her eyes found his.
Lara faltered mid-step, her pulse skipping as their gazes locked. The music kept playing, the guests kept smiling, but her world tilted for a fraction of a second. Damien's stare burned with something she couldn't name—something too intense, too unsettling for a best man.
Why is he looking at me like that?
Her grip on her bouquet tightened. She forced her gaze back to Daniel, who stood waiting at the altar with a smile so wide it almost looked real. Lara's heart softened. Yes. This was her day. Daniel was her future. Whatever she thought she saw in Damien's eyes had to be a trick of nerves and lighting.
She breathed in, straightened her shoulders, and kept walking.
The priest cleared his throat. "We are gathered here today…" His voice rang out, ceremonial and heavy.
The words blurred for Damien. His mind drowned them out with the rhythm of his own heart, pounding like war drums.
And then—
A figure darted forward.
"Wait—" a hushed voice whispered fiercely, too late.
It was Lara's cousin—Amara—her sequined dress glittering as she rushed toward the altar, crouching as though trying to fix the trailing edge of Lara's gown. Guests shifted, puzzled murmurs rippling down the rows.
"Amara?" Lara frowned, whispering her name. "What are you—"
But Amara stumbled, bumping hard into Daniel's side. He lost his footing, arms flailing.
In the chaos, he caught her.
And in that single, suspended moment—longer than it should have been, sharper than it had any right to be—their lips crashed together.
Gasps ripped through the church.
"Oh my God!" someone shouted from the pews.
The priest froze, mouth open mid-prayer. A bridesmaid covered her mouth. Guests leaned forward, scandal lighting their faces like a flame devouring dry wood.
Lara's bouquet slipped from her hand. White roses scattered across the aisle, petals torn by the fall.
Her groom. Her cousin.
Her blood ran cold.
Daniel yanked back instantly, face pale as chalk. "I—Lara—it's not what—" His words broke, flustered, useless. Amara stood breathless, lips parted, eyes darting with a guilt she couldn't quite mask.
"No…" Lara whispered, her voice thin, brittle. "What… what was that?"
Damien's champagne glass cracked in his grip. The urge to smash it against the marble floor, to storm forward, to drag Lara out of that church surged like a wildfire. He forced himself still, his knuckles bleeding from the shattered stem.
The silence roared louder than the organ ever had.
Finally, someone coughed in the pews. The whispers erupted like a flood.
"Did you see—""They kissed!""Her own cousin!"
Lara's father rose halfway from his seat, his face thunderous. Her mother pressed a trembling hand to her chest. Bridesmaids huddled, whispering frantically, eyes darting between the altar and Lara.
Daniel stammered again, reaching for Lara. "It was an accident. I—I fell—"
But Lara stepped back, her heels scraping against the marble, eyes wide and disbelieving. "Into her mouth?"
The words cut like glass.
Damien couldn't stop himself then. He stepped forward—not toward Lara, not toward Daniel, but just far enough to anchor himself between them, like a shield ready to catch whatever storm came next. His gaze sliced toward Daniel, his oldest friend, the man he was supposed to protect, supposed to celebrate.
And all he could think was: You fool. You absolute fool.
Because maybe it had been an accident. Maybe. But Damien had seen the flicker in Amara's eyes—the faint, dangerous spark that didn't belong to clumsiness.
And Daniel… he hadn't exactly pulled away fast enough.
The weight of it settled in Damien's chest like a stone.
Lara's lips trembled. She glanced around the church, at the faces, at the murmuring, the judgment. She was supposed to be glowing, radiant, happy. Instead, her wedding day was collapsing into a nightmare.
And Damien—God help him—wanted nothing more than to gather her up, to whisper that she deserved better, that she didn't have to stay, that there was someone who would never let her fall like this.
But he stayed silent. Because what right did he have?
The priest coughed again, flustered, flipping through his book as if words on the page could erase what had just happened.
"Perhaps… perhaps we should take a moment," he suggested gently.
A moment.
The cathedral felt like it was splitting at the seams.
Lara's gaze flicked back to Damien, confused, searching, still caught by that strange, consuming intensity in his eyes. But now she wasn't just confused by it. She was terrified of what it meant, and terrified of what her world was becoming.
Her cousin. Her fiancé. Her best man staring at her like she was the only person alive.
It was too much.
Lara swayed on her feet, as though the ground had tilted.
And as the whispers rose to a deafening pitch, Damien realized with a sinking certainty that nothing—not friendship, not loyalty, not even love—would ever be the same again.