Chapter 4 - Walking Down the Wrong AisleSaturday morning arrived with a blinding, relentless sun. St. Jude Cathedral was packed to capacity. Wealthy investors, high-society sycophants, and corporate executives filled the pews, murmuring in polite, hushed tones about the wedding of the year.
At the front, Adrian stood tall, adjusting his cuffs with practiced arrogance. Celeste walked down the aisle to a string quartet playing Canon in D, her face flushed with triumphant radiance, her hand resting dramatically over her pregnant belly.
The priest cleared his throat, opening his heavy leather-bound Bible. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…”
The heavy oak doors at the back of the cathedral didn’t just open—they banged back against the stone walls with a deafening CRACK.
Every head in the church whipped around.
I stepped out of the shadows of the vestibule.
I wasn't wearing white mourning or a simple guest dress. I wore a backless, liquid-silver gown that caught the stained-glass light like polished armor. My hair was pulled back into a severe, flawless knot, and on my wrist flashed a diamond tennis bracelet Adrian had bought me during happier, stupider years.
In my arms, wrapped in a pristine white cashmere blanket, was my daughter.
A collective gasp swept through the congregation. Whispers erupted like a swarm of angry hornets.
“Isn’t that Adrian’s ex-wife?” “Why is she holding a baby? Whose child is that?” “Is she crashing the wedding in silver?”
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Adrian’s face drained of all color. He stepped away from the altar, his jaw slack. “Mia? What the hell are you doing? Security! Remove her right now!”
“Sit down, Adrian,” I said. My voice didn’t echo; it commanded the massive cathedral with the absolute authority of a queen reclaiming her throne. “You invited me to witness a family. I thought it only fair to bring my own.”
