Chapter 3 - A WEDDING IN MOURNING
Hook: The vows were spoken in white, but the reception was washed in red.
The wedding was a grim affair. Held in the estate’s private chapel, there were no friends, no family from Clara's side—only Damian's top capos, his legal team, and a corrupt priest who asked no questions.
Clara looked breathtaking yet ghostly in a silk long-sleeved gown designed to conceal her early pregnancy. Damian stood beside her in a bespoke black tuxedo, looking every bit the devastating, lethal monarch he was.
When the priest asked for her vows, Clara hesitated. The silence stretched for so long that Marco, standing in the front row, subtly shifted his hand toward his jacket, a silent threat. Damian didn't look at his men; he merely took Clara's freezing hand and squeezed it, a silent promise of protection—or destruction.
"I do," she whispered, her voice cracking.
The moment the rings were exchanged, a sudden explosion rattled the stained-glass windows of the chapel.
The glass shattered into a million colorful shards. Screams echoed through the room as Damian instantly threw his body over Clara, slamming her down onto the marble altar to shield her from the flying debris.
"Ambush!" Marco yelled, drawing his weapon.
The heavy wooden doors of the chapel were blown open. Men in tactical gear, bearing the insignia of the Vance family, rushed in, weapons blazing. The chapel turned into a slaughterhouse in seconds.
Damian pulled a concealed Glock from his waistband, firing with lethal accuracy while keeping Clara pinned beneath him. "Marco! Secure the perimeter! Get her to the panic room!" Damian shouted over the deafening gunfire.
Clara covered her ears, weeping in terror as the smell of blood and gunpowder filled the sacred space. She saw the corrupt priest fall, his white robes staining crimson. This was the life Damian wanted for her child. This was the nightmare she had tried to flee.
Marco ran toward them, firing back at the invaders. "Boss! We’re cut off from the main house! We have to move through the wine cellar!"
Damian hauled Clara to her feet, his suit already splattered with someone else's blood. "Hold onto me," he commanded, his eyes blazing with a terrifying adrenaline. "Do not let go, Clara!"
They bolted through a side door into the labyrinth of tunnels beneath the estate. Gunfire echoed behind them. As they reached a heavy steel security door, Marco suddenly stopped, turning his weapon not toward the tunnel entrance, but directly at Damian’s chest.
Clara gasped, backing away.
"Marco," Damian said, his voice dropping to a deathly, calm register. "What are you doing?"
"The Vance family made me a better offer, Damian," Marco sneered, his finger tightening on the trigger. "Your father was old school. You’re erratic. Blinded by a secretary and a bastard kid. The Vance boss wants the shipping routes, and he wants your head. I’m just delivering."
Clara’s heart stopped. Marco was going to kill him. And then, she and her baby would be at the mercy of the Vance family.
Before Marco could pull the trigger, Clara did something she never thought herself capable of. She grabbed a heavy, antique iron candle holder from a wall sconce and slammed it into the side of Marco's head with all her remaining strength.
Marco stumbled, his shot firing wild into the ceiling. The distraction was all Damian needed. In a blur of motion, Damian closed the distance, disarmed Marco, and drove a combat knife directly into his throat.
Marco fell to the floor, choking on his own blood.
Damian stood over him, breathing heavily, before turning his gaze to Clara. His eyes held a mixture of shock and a dark, twisted pride.
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"You saved my life," Damian murmured, stepping toward her.
Clara dropped the iron candle holder, her hands shaking violently as she looked at the blood on her wedding dress. "I didn't save you," she choked out, her voice trembling. "I saved my baby’s father. There's a difference."
