CHAPTER ONE: THE VOW BEFORE THE FALL
POV: Cynthia
The first time I saw him, my chest tightened in a way I couldn't explain.
He stood at the altar dressed in black, impossibly composed, like a man who had already lived through this moment and survived it. His face was handsome in a dangerous way but controlled, unreadable, untouched by joy.
This wasn't how a groom was supposed to look.
My fingers trembled inside my gloves as I walked down the aisle. The church smelled of lilies and expectations. People smiled at me like this was a dream come true, like I hadn't agreed to this marriage with a knot of dread twisting in my stomach.
I told myself it was nerves.
I was wrong.
When our eyes met, something cold slid down my spine. Not recognition but fear without memory. As if my body knew him even when my mind didn't.
The priest began speaking, his words floating past me.
"Do you take this man?"
I swallowed hard.
I had met him before.
Not like this. Not in light or silk or promises.
It was a hospital hallway, years ago. Fluorescent lights. A man sitting on the floor with his head in his hands. I hadn't stopped. I hadn't asked his name.
I hadn't looked back.
Now he stood in front of me like a consiquence given flesh.
His gaze didn't soften when I reached him. If anything, it sharpened very quiet, deliberate, terrifyingly patient.
"Do you take him?" the priest repeated.
"Yes," I whispered.
The word felt heavier than it should have.
When he slid the ring onto my finger, his touch lingered just long enough to steal my breath. His thumb pressed once against my pulse, like he was counting my heartbeats.
Then he leaned in.
"This isn't a coincidence," he murmured, low enough that only I could hear.
My stomach dropped.
Before I could ask what he meant, he straightened, all charm and composure. Applause erupted. Cameras flashed. People stood.
They thought this was love.
They were wrong.
POV: David
She didn't recognize me.
That was almost disappointing.
Almost.
She looked beautiful,too beautiful for a woman who once walked away from someone else's grief without turning her head. White suited her. It always had. Innocence worn convincingly enough to fool an entire room.
Except me.
I'd spent years imagining this moment, though the setting changed in my mind. Sometimes it was darker. Sometimes louder. Sometimes bloodier.
But this?
This was perfect.
She said yes like she didn't know she was stepping into a cage she'd built herself.
When I slid the ring onto her finger, I felt her pulse jump. Fear. Confusion. Instinct is finally waking up.
Good.
She deserved to feel every second of what was coming.
The kiss was brief, proper and carefully performed. Her lips were warm. Mine stayed cool. Possession didn't require passion.
People cheered.
They didn't hear what I whispered as we pulled apart.
"You should have stayed," I said softly.
Her eyes widened.
But before she could respond, I turned back to the crowd, the perfect groom once more.
The past never announces itself loudly.
It waits.
POV: Cynthia
The reception blurred into champagne and strangers calling us perfect. He barely touched me unless someone was watching. When he did, it is unreadable and his hand firm at my waist, his smile rehearsed.
I finally followed him onto the balcony, away from the noise.
"What did you mean earlier?" I asked. "At the altar."
He didn't look at me right away. He stared out at the city lights like they belonged to him.
"You'll remember," he said calmly. "Everyone does."
A chill crept into my bones.
"I don't think we've met before," I said carefully.
He turned then.
Slow. Precise.
"I know," he replied. "That's what makes this interesting."
My heart raced. "Why marry me?"
He stepped closer, lowering his voice.
"Because leaving was easy for you," he said. "Now staying won't be."
Before I could ask what he meant, he smiled again in public and offered his arm to returning guests.
I felt like I'd just missed the moment I should have run.
POV: David
The bridal suite was quiet when she entered later, veil discarded, back stiff with tension.
I locked the door behind us.
She turned slowly.
"What happens now?" she asked.
I loosened my cuffs, watching fear bloom properly in her eyes at last.
"Now," I said evenly, "you remember the night you walked away from a hospital hallway and left a man begging behind you."
The color drained from her face.
I didn't need confirmation.
The past had finally caught her.
And this time,
I wasn't letting it go.
She realized marriage wasn't love, but a sentence, and karma had finally learned her name.