The sleek bristles of the silver hairbrush slid through my long, chestnut curls as I stood before the towering mirror in the penthouse suite, the soft morning sunlight casting a warm glow on the cream walls. Suddenly, the calm was shattered by a discordant chorus of voices filtering through the thick oak door – tense, raised, wavering between anger and panic.
I paused, a sigh escaping me. Not again. The day had been a relentless minefield of disputes: the flowers were too pale, the seating chart felt like a diplomatic nightmare, the menu sparked heated debates, and the decorations leaned toward chaos. Perfectionism ran deep in our family, especially in my mother and Olivia, my older sister. I could only imagine the poor wedding planner’s exhaustion, caught between their exacting demands.
For months, Olivia’s wedding had been the heartbeat of every conversation, a celebration I’d secretly adored. Weddings were magic to me—an eternal promise whispered into forever. I had always been enthralled by the simple yet profound "’til death do us part," the idea of two souls choosing each other against all odds. I’d even admired Olivia’s swift decision to say yes to Zach after barely two months. It seemed impulsive, but maybe she truly believed she’d found the one.
A soft chuckle fluttered from me as thoughts of my own love drifted in. Noah—the boy who had captured my heart with his gentle eyes and tender words. Sweet, thoughtful, unwavering in his affection. Just the thought of seeing him today, dressed impeccably in a tuxedo, sent tiny butterflies tumbling in my stomach. Yes, I was hopelessly smitten.
I rose and moved closer to the mirror, scrutinizing my reflection. The voices beyond the door had grown louder, edged with urgency and frustration. Whatever crisis brewed out there, I told myself, it could be managed as all the others had been. They needed to find calm amidst the chaos.
Fingers nervously twirling a stray lock of my curled hair, I adjusted the cream dress wrapped snugly around my frame. It was a creation of Olivia’s choosing, naturally, and arguing with the bride was out of the question. The fabric hugged my curves, slimming yet betraying the gentle swell of my hips and waist beneath the delicate silk. I almost mirrored Olivia’s slender silhouette, our matching emerald eyes and chestnut hair marking us as sisters under the same pale skin. She often insisted that such porcelain complexion was a blessing, but I longed for the sun-kissed glow that always eluded me despite hours spent beneath the summer sky.
The dress framed my bust with a sweetheart neckline modestly revealing just enough, cinched with a dainty bow beneath to emphasize my waist. The skirt flowed softly over my hips, balancing elegance with the slightest hint of sensuality. Though constricting at times, I had to admit it made me feel radiant, a beauty curated by Olivia’s impeccable taste and our mother’s influence.
Engrossed in my reflection, I barely registered the sudden intrusion. The door burst open, and my heart stuttered as a flood of concerned faces poured in—my parents, Olivia’s in-laws, Zach, and even Uncle Collin and Aunt Ophelia. Their usual composed expressions were replaced by shadows of dread and disbelief.
My mother’s complexion had drained to a ghostly pale, and I swallowed hard, sensing something far graver than the usual wedding stresses. My father looked defeated, a rare state for a man so typically buoyant and optimistic. His furrowed brow and tight jaw spoke volumes of the weight pressing down on him. Fear curled in my chest.
"What’s happened?" The words slipped out before I could stop them, voice trembling as anxiety gripped me.
Silence fell like a heavy curtain. No one met my gaze, as if the truth was a fragile bridge too perilous to cross. Mrs. Price gently rested her hand on her husband’s arm just as he seemed poised to speak, his face flushed with barely contained anger. I shivered, bracing myself for his storm.
Finally, Aunt Ophelia broke the silence, her features contorted with sorrow and pain. The room seemed to tilt with the weight of her words. The knot in my throat tightened.
"Darling, we found this in Olivia’s room," she said softly, holding out a folded piece of paper. My legs felt unsteady as I stepped forward and took it from her hands, fingers trembling.
Inscribed in Olivia’s familiar, elegant handwriting was a message that shattered the fragile calm:
"I’m sorry but I can’t do this. I can’t go through with this wedding, I don’t love him. Please try to understand that I’m doing this for the both of us. I’m going away and I’m not sure if I ever plan on coming back. Don’t try to find me and please don’t hate me."
A sharp gasp escaped my lips. Disbelief clawed at me. This couldn’t be real—a cruel prank, perhaps, or a twisted dream from which I’d soon awaken. My eyes scanned the faces around me, searching desperately for contradiction or hope, but there was none. Their pain mirrored my own.
Then I saw him—Zach. His proud, commanding presence crumbled into raw devastation. His shoulders sagged, body stiff with tension, fists clenched as though to hold himself together against the flood of anguish. Yet beneath the stoic mask, his eyes betrayed the depth of his heartbreak. How could Olivia have abandoned him like this?
Aunt Ophelia’s voice pulled me back. "Ari, we know this is unbearable, but with less than four hours until the ceremony and over three thousand guests arriving, we have a problem."
I stared at her, incredulous. "What wedding?" I whispered, incredulous. "The bride ran away. There’s no wedding anymore."
My father cleared his throat, voice fragile and edged with desperation. "We can’t cancel. If the wedding doesn’t happen, it would ruin us—financially and socially. The fallout would be catastrophic." His eyes found mine, pleading silently.
My mother, usually a pillar of unwavering pride, looked at me with an intensity that was almost painful. Her gaze begged me to understand the gravity of the situation.
"We need you, Ari. You’re the only one who can save this family now."
The hours blurred into a whirlwind of preparation. Dressed now in Olivia’s wedding gown, the weight of the silk corset constricted my breath as much as my heart. A long veil veiled my face, transforming me into the bride no one expected but all desperately needed. My mother, aunt, and a handful of trusted cousins flanked me, steeling my nerves.
The church awaited—a cavernous sanctuary steeped in tradition and expectation. The soft strains of the wedding march began, stirring a storm of conflicting emotions within me. I fixed my eyes firmly on the floor, willing myself to hold back the tears threatening to spill.
My father’s arm linked with mine, a bittersweet comfort as he whispered, "Ari, this means everything to us." I nodded, unable to trust my voice.
Step by trembling step, I walked down the aisle—the world narrowing to the steady beat of my own heart and the muffled footsteps beside me. When we reached Zach and his best man, my father released me, retreating into the crowd as I faced the man who was suddenly my husband by duty, not desire.
The ceremony unfolded with a surreal detachment. The vows passed my lips in a hollow cadence, promises forged from necessity rather than love. I had dreamt of this moment, but now those dreams felt like cruel illusions—foreshadowing a nightmare yet to come.
As the priest pronounced us husband and wife, I murmured a fragile confession, a whisper meant for no one but him, and perhaps more for myself:
"I love you, Noah. Please forgive me."
And with those words, the veil of sacrifice was draped firmly over my shoulders, binding me to a fate I had never chosen.