Chapter 7 - The Final Ultimatum"We need to move her," Julian hissed, adrenaline flooding his veins as survival instincts kicked in. "If anyone else comes in—if Arthur or the photographer checks the room—we're finished. Both of us."
Clara didn't panic. She crossed her arms, looking down at her diamond watch with chilling detachment.
"The ceremony starts in twelve minutes, Julian," she said calmly. "If we move her now, we'll be covered in dust and blood. The guests are already taking their seats in the glasshouse. The live stream cameras are rolling."
"Then what do you suggest we do?" Julian demanded, his voice cracking with desperation. "Just leave her there while we go exchange vows?"
"Why not?" Clara smiled, a sickeningly sweet expression that chilled his blood. "It’s poetic, really. You, standing at the altar, promising to love, honor, and cherish... while your legal, breathing wife watches from a wooden box three feet away. It adds a certain... dramatic flair."
"You're insane," Julian whispered.
"I'm practical," Clara countered, stepping right up to him and grabbing the lapels of his tuxedo. She pulled him down so their faces were inches apart. "Here are your choices, Julian. You walk out that door with me, you walk down the aisle, you say 'I do,' and you sign the transfer papers tonight. Once the ink is dry, Eleanor has a very unfortunate 'relapse' or 'accident' out by the cliffs—a tragic repeat of history. Or... you refuse, I scream bloody murder right now, open that door for Arthur and the police, and watch your entire life burn to ash before dinner is even served."
May you like
Julian looked into Clara’s eyes. There was no bluff there. She would watch him hang without shedding a single tear.
Outside, the first chords of the traditional bridal march began to play from the conservatory speakers. Here comes the bride.
