Chapter Ten - Erik
The grand cathedral hums with quiet anticipation, the air heavy with the scent of incense and opulence. Crystal chandeliers hang from vaulted ceilings, casting a warm golden glow over the intricate frescoes that adorn the walls.
Rows of pews are filled with powerful figures—politicians, business magnates, and other elites—all mingling in hushed tones as they await the ceremony.
I stand near the altar, outwardly composed, offering brief nods and polite words to those who approach. They talk of alliances and mutual benefits, subtly reminding me of why this wedding is happening. Yet their words barely register.
My focus is razor-sharp, fixed on the only part of this day that truly matters: Chloe.
Today, she will become mine.
I glance toward the towering double doors of the cathedral, expecting her arrival. The ceremony is due to begin soon, and everything is proceeding as planned—except for one glaring absence.
The bride.
The murmurs start as a low ripple, subtle and easy to miss at first. But as the minutes tick by, the energy in the room shifts. Guests begin to exchange curious looks, their whispers growing louder.
I feel it too, a faint undercurrent of tension threading its way through the air. My patience, already thin, starts to fray.
Turning sharply, I spot Richard Hart standing awkwardly near the back of the cathedral, his gaze darting nervously around the room like a man on the verge of panic.
I stride toward him, my footsteps echoing against the marble floor. He notices me approaching, and his face pales slightly.
“Mr. Hart,” I say evenly, keeping my voice low but firm, “where is Chloe?”
He stammers, the words catching in his throat. “I… she’s—uh—she’s in the bridal room.”
My eyes narrow. “And why isn’t she here?”
Richard shifts uncomfortably, pulling at the collar of his shirt. Beads of sweat glisten on his brow despite the cool air of the cathedral. “She… well, she’s—she’s locked herself in. She says she won’t come out.”
I arch a brow, my lips curving into a faint smirk. “Locked herself in?”
“Yes,” he blurts, his voice rising slightly. “She’s refusing. I’ve tried talking to her, but—”
“That’s all she’s got?” I interrupt, amusement lacing my tone.
Richard blinks, thrown off by my reaction.
“Cute,” I murmur to myself, shaking my head. For a moment, I almost admire her nerve. This is the kind of defiance I’ve come to expect from Chloe, but to think she can thwart this with a locked door?
Still, the smirk fades as my patience thins further. Cute or not, her resistance ends here.
“Where’s the bridal room?” I ask curtly.
Richard hesitates, his face turning a shade paler. “It’s down the hall, third door on the left.”
“Stay here,” I order.
Richard shifts uneasily, his gaze flickering between me and the growing murmurs in the cathedral. The tension in the air is palpable, a quiet unease rippling through the crowd like a pebble dropped into still water.
I glance back at the guests, a sea of expectant faces. These are people who live for moments like this—opulence, grandeur, and the subtle thrill of watching someone falter. They’d relish the scandal of a bride refusing to show, but I won’t give them the satisfaction.
“She won’t embarrass me,” I say coldly, turning my attention back to Richard. “You’re going to handle this.”
Richard blinks, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “H-handle it?”
“Yes,” I snap, the word sharp enough to make him flinch. “Tell them there’s been a slight delay. A last-minute adjustment, a touch of sentimentality—make something up. Just keep them entertained.”
He stammers, his face growing redder by the second. “I—uh, yes, I can do that. I’ll—uh, I’ll—”
“Enough,” I cut him off, my voice low and dangerous. “Get it done, Richard.”
He nods quickly, his nervous energy almost pitiful as he scurries off toward the crowd. For a moment, I watch him weave through the guests, fumbling through excuses as he awkwardly reassures them that everything is under control. It’s laughable, really, but I have no time to linger on his incompetence.
I turn and stride down the hall, my steps echoing in the quiet space. Each step is measured, deliberate, a sharp contrast to the storm brewing beneath my calm exterior.
When I reach the corner leading to the bridal room, I stop short. Chloe’s mother and sister are standing there, huddled together in hushed conversation. Their expressions are tense, their postures rigid, as if bracing for whatever comes next.
Amelia notices me first. Her sharp green eyes widen slightly, but she schools her features into a mask of cool indifference. Her mother, however, is less composed. Her hands twist nervously at the silk clutch in her hands, her lips thinning when she meets my gaze.
They’re waiting. For what, I’m not sure, but I can feel their unease radiating through the space like static electricity.
I stop a few feet away, my gaze unwavering. “Where is she?” I ask, my tone calm but laced with an edge that demands an answer.
Neither of them responds immediately. Amelia glances at her mother, who clears her throat and takes a hesitant step forward. “She’s in the room,” she says quietly. “Mr. Sharov, she—”
“Shut up,” I say.
Amelia raises an eyebrow but says nothing, while her mother swallows nervously, retreating slightly.
Without another word, I step past them, my sights set on the door just ahead.
The hallway grows eerily silent as I approach the bridal room, the tension in the air so thick it feels like it could snap. The gathered staff and family members linger near the door, their faces pale and helpless. They part in my wake, their fear of my restrained fury evident.
I don’t pause. My footsteps are deliberate, measured, until I reach the door. One turn of the handle confirms what I already suspected—it’s locked.
Pathetic.
With a sharp exhale, I take a step back and deliver a powerful kick to the center of the door. The wood groans but holds. My second kick doesn’t give it the same luxury. The door bursts open, swinging violently and slamming against the wall with a loud crash.
The room is empty.
For a moment, I stand frozen in the doorway, my gaze sweeping over the space. The veil, the dress, everything meant for Chloe lies discarded on the pristine white armchair. The faint scent of her perfume lingers in the air, sweet and teasing, like a phantom.
Then I see it.
On the vanity mirror, scrawled in bold red lipstick, are words that stop me cold:
Sorry, not sorry. Maybe next time, find a bride who actually wants you.
Beneath the writing is a lipstick kiss stain, taunting in its defiance.
I take a slow step forward, my eyes narrowing on the message. For a moment, there’s no sound except the faint hum of distant murmurs from the cathedral. The anger boiling in my chest sharpens into something colder, more precise.
A challenge.
My fingers reach out almost instinctively, brushing against the crimson writing. The lipstick smears slightly under my touch, and I curl my lip in disdain. She’s mocking me. Testing me.
Behind me, I hear her mother’s gasp. “Oh no,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “Mr. Sharov please, I’m so sorry. She doesn’t understand what she’s done. Please, forgive her—”
I silence her with a sharp look over my shoulder. “Don’t,” I say, my voice cutting through her pleading like a blade. “Not another word.”
She clamps her mouth shut, her face crumpling in fear.
Turning back to the mirror, I let the silence stretch, my reflection staring back at me. My expression is unreadable, but beneath the surface, I can feel the storm building. Then, slowly, a dangerous smile creeps across my face.
“So, she wants to play games,” I murmur, my voice low enough that only I can hear it. “Fine. Let the hunt begin.”
I glance around the room once more, my mind already working, piecing together how she could’ve pulled this off. She wouldn’t have gotten far. Not yet.
I turn to one of the attendants frozen near the doorway. “How long has she been gone?”
The man stammers, his eyes wide. “I—I don’t know, sir. We didn’t realize she’d left until—”
“Find out,” I snap, my voice hard. “Check the cameras, speak to anyone who saw her. Now.”
He scurries away without another word, leaving a trail of nervous energy behind him.
I return my attention to the lipstick-stained mirror, my mind racing. Chloe had dared to defy me in front of the most powerful figures in my life.
This wasn’t just a runaway bride. This was her way of sending a message—one meant to humiliate me, to make me look weak.
Amelia’s voice breaks through my thoughts, her tone hesitant but laced with curiosity. “What are you going to do?”
I don’t look at her as I straighten my cuffs, my movements calm and deliberate. “What I always do,” I reply smoothly. “Win.”
“She won’t make it easy for you,” Amelia says, a faint trace of amusement in her tone.
“I’m counting on it,” I reply, a sharp edge creeping into my smile.
The guests will need managing, questions will need answering, and appearances will need to be maintained. But those are distractions—minor inconveniences. My focus is already on Chloe.
She thinks she can run. She thinks she can outmaneuver me.
She’s wrong.
Turning to Chloe’s mother, who looks as though she might faint, I step closer until she meets my gaze. “Stay here. Keep this room undisturbed. No one touches anything until I say so.”
She nods quickly, clutching her purse, as if it’s the only thing anchoring her to the floor.
With that I storm off, leaving her behind.
The buzz of conversation grows louder as I reenter the cathedral’s main hall. The crowd is restless, their murmurs swelling as they glance toward the altar, expecting the ceremony to begin any moment. Instead, they see me—alone.
The moment Richard catches sight of me, his already pale face loses what little color it had left. He hurries toward me, his nervous energy like a beacon of desperation.
“Mr. Sharov,” he begins, his voice shaky. “Did you… is she—?”
“Gone,” I state flatly, cutting him off.
His jaw drops slightly, his lips trembling as he tries to form a coherent response. “I—I don’t understand. How could she—”
“She left,” I say, my tone cold and precise. “I found her message in the bridal room. She had no intention of going through with this wedding.”
Richard’s face contorts, a mix of shock, fear, and mortification flashing across his features. “I can’t believe this. I swear, Mr. Sharov, I had no idea she would—”
“Enough.” My voice is sharp but quiet, ensuring no one else overhears. I take a step closer, lowering my voice further. “Your daughter has humiliated me in front of every important figure in this room. You assured me this would go smoothly. Clearly, you overestimated your control over her.”
“Please, I—”
The words spill out of him in a panicked jumble, but I cut him off with a raised hand. “Save it.”
Richard freezes, his mouth snapping shut as he stares at me with wide, pleading eyes. The fear is written all over him, and for a moment, I let the silence stretch, letting him stew in his own discomfort.
“This is your mess, Richard,” I say finally, my tone calm but cutting. “You will fix it. Go out there, stand in front of your esteemed guests, and tell them why this wedding is not happening.”
His eyes widen, and he takes a half step back, shaking his head. “I can’t. Erik, please, this is… this is a disaster. They’ll—”
“They’ll remember how your family embarrassed me,” I say, leaning closer, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “How you let it happen.”
He visibly flinches, his hands wringing together. “I’ll explain. I’ll tell them there was an emergency, a misunderstanding—”
“Do whatever you want,” I interrupt, straightening to my full height. “Don’t think for a second that this is over. Your daughter might have run, but this wedding isn’t canceled. It’s postponed.”
Richard looks like he might faint, his legs wobbling slightly. “Postponed?”
“You heard me,” I say coolly. “She’ll come back. When she does, we’ll pick up exactly where we left off.”
He nods quickly, his desperation palpable. “Y-yes, of course. I understand.”
“Good.”
I step back, giving him just enough space to scurry past me toward the altar. His movements are stiff, his shoulders hunched, as if trying to shrink under the weight of the moment.
I follow at a leisurely pace, my gaze fixed on him as he ascends the small platform. The crowd falls silent, all eyes turning to him in anticipation.
Richard clears his throat, tugging nervously at his tie. He glances out at the crowd, his pale face glistening with sweat. “L-ladies and gentlemen,” he begins, his voice shaky and strained. “If I could have your attention, please.”
The room falls into complete silence, the weight of expectation pressing down on him.
“It seems,” he continues, fumbling with his words, “that there has been… a minor delay. An unforeseen—uh—complication.”
A murmur ripples through the crowd, and Richard’s panic intensifies. He raises his hands in a feeble attempt to calm them, his voice rising slightly. “I assure you, everything is fine! It’s just that… uh… the bride….”
He falters, his voice catching. For a moment, I think he might actually lose his nerve entirely, but then he forces himself to continue.
“The bride is unwell,” he stammers. “Unfortunately, that means we’ll have to postpone today’s ceremony.”
The murmurs grow louder, confusion and curiosity spreading through the room like wildfire. Guests exchange glances, their whispered conversations tinged with disbelief and intrigue.
Richard’s face crumples further, his humiliation written in every line of his expression. “We sincerely apologize for the inconvenience,” he says weakly, his voice barely audible over the rising noise. “Thank you for your understanding.”
He steps down from the platform, his shoulders slumping as he avoids making eye contact with anyone. The crowd doesn’t disperse immediately, their hushed voices buzzing with speculation.
I watch Richard’s retreat with cold satisfaction, his humiliation doing little to quell the simmering anger in my chest. This situation is far from ideal—Chloe’s defiance has made a mockery of the carefully planned alliance—but at least I have this small consolation.
Let them whisper. Let them speculate.
This isn’t over.
As the guests begin to leave in groups, I step into the shadows near the altar, observing the scene with detached calm. Chloe’s bold move has shifted the game, but she hasn’t won. She’s underestimated me, underestimated how far I’ll go to claim what’s mine.
For now, I’ll let her think she’s escaped. Let her savor her small victory.
It won’t last.
Richard stumbles toward me after descending the platform, his face slick with sweat and his tie askew. His eyes dart nervously, avoiding mine, as if the floor holds some answer to his mortification.
“I did what you asked,” he mutters, his voice low and trembling. “I hope that was sufficient.”
“Sufficient?” I echo, my tone calm but laced with ice. I step closer, towering over him. “No, Richard. It wasn’t sufficient. It was pitiful.”
He winces, his shoulders hunching as he wrings his hands. “I’ll fix this. I’ll bring her back. I promise.”
“Promises mean nothing to me,” I say, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Actions do.”
“I’ll talk to her,” he stammers. “She just needs time. She’ll come around. I’ll make sure of it.”
I lean in slightly, letting him feel the weight of my words. “See that you do.”
His eyes widen, the thin veneer of composure he’s clinging to shattering completely. “Of course,” he whispers, nodding frantically. “Of course.”
I straighten, brushing past him without another word. There’s nothing left to say. Chloe’s defiance might have bought her time, but time is a luxury she no longer has.