The silence inside the dressing room was so heavy it felt suffocating. The bride, Clara, stared at the open locket trembling in her pale hands. The groom, Mark, leaned in, his eyes widening in pure horror as he looked at the tiny, faded photograph hidden beneath the glass.

“He’s trying to push us off the cliff!” Dr. Samuel yelled, wrestling with the steering wheel as the SUV skidded along the slippery edge of the mountain road.

Richard rammed them a third time. The SUV slammed into the guardrail, metal screeching against metal, sparks flying into the night air, before the engine sputtered and died.

Richard pulled his truck sideways, blocking the road entirely. He stepped out into the pouring rain, holding an iron crowbar, his eyes wild and unhinged.

“Give me the drive, Clara!” Richard roared, smashing the crowbar against the driver's side window. Glass shattered everywhere. Samuel struggled to fight him off, but Richard struck him hard across the temple, knocking the doctor unconscious.

Richard opened the rear door and grabbed Clara by her dress, dragging her out into the mud.

“You were always weak, just like your mother!” Richard screamed, raising the crowbar. “I built an empire for you, and you throw it away for a bastard child!”

“Touch her again, and I’ll put a bullet through your head!”

A voice echoed through the rain.

Richard froze. Standing at the end of the road, bleeding from a wound on his forehead but holding a gun steadily with both hands, was Mark. Beside him were three police cruisers, their red and blue lights flashing against the dark trees.

“It’s over, Richard,” Mark said, his voice cold and steady. “My father is already in handcuffs. The police listened to the recording I made in the dressing room.”

Richard looked around wildly, realizing he was surrounded. He looked at Clara, then at the cliff edge just inches away. A twisted, desperate smile broke across his face.