Chapter 3 Secrets

The mayor stepped into the room, his imposing figure immediately drawing everyone's attention. "Good morning, Mr. Mayor," Mr. Simon greeted, bowing his head slightly as a sign of respect.

The mayor barely acknowledged the greeting, his sharp eyes fixed on Sarah. His confident stride slowed as he took in the sight of her. Bandages covered her arms, and the bruises on her face were faint but visible. Her neck was immobilized by a brace, and the hospital gown hung loosely on her fragile frame. He paused mid-step, his stern expression faltering for a brief moment.

"This... this is critical," he muttered, turning toward Mr. Simon with a frown. The guests behind him whispered among themselves, their hushed tones filled with shock and concern. The mayor moved closer to the bed, his gaze lingering on Sarah's injuries as if assessing the damage.

Sarah said nothing, her body tense as she watched him approach. She could feel the weight of his scrutiny, and her mind raced once more. If there was ever a moment to act, to stop this madness, it was now. But her body betrayed her, aching and weak, leaving her trapped in silence as the mayor's shadow loomed over her.

Sarah felt a fleeting moment of relief wash over her as she leaned her head back against the pillow. She took a slow, steady breath, trying to calm the racing thoughts in her mind. For the first time in what felt like forever, she allowed herself to feel the comfort of a brief pause from the whirlwind that was her life. But before she could even release her breath, the mayor's next words shattered that fragile moment.

"But the wedding will still go on, my dear," he said with a smile that was as cold as it was confident, before turning away and walking with the grace of someone who believed he had already won. His words hit Sarah like a slap across the face. Her breath caught in her throat as she struggled to process what he had just said.

"What! Excuse me, Mr. Mayor?" she managed to choke out, her voice barely audible. The neck brace made it difficult for her to speak clearly, and she winced as her words came out muffled and disjointed.

Andrew, standing nearby, grinned with an unsettling gleam in his eyes. He took a few steps closer to Sarah, his smile twisted with a sense of triumph. "There's a first time for everything," he said with a malicious edge to his voice. "And as much as I want us to get married properly, this will be the best wedding."

Sarah could feel her stomach churn with a mix of anger and disbelief. The tears that had threatened to spill earlier now welled up, blurring her vision. Her chest tightened as the gravity of the situation hit her once again. She wasn't just a bystander in this twisted game-she was the pawn. As the tears began to well up in her eyes, she looked at her father, who silently handed her a handkerchief. She took it gratefully, dabbing at her eyes, trying to hold back the flood of emotions.

"Let's get started, shall we?" The mayor's voice cut through the silence, his words dripping with a false cheerfulness. He snapped his fingers, signaling the start of the ceremony, as if he were directing an event instead of orchestrating a young woman's life. The priest, who had been standing quietly at the back, cleared his throat, his expression stern yet resigned.

"Yes, let's get the young one married," the priest muttered, and Sarah could hear the reluctance in his tone. He stepped forward and began flipping through his bible, clearly uncomfortable with the situation.

Andrew, still standing by Sarah's side, looked down at her with a smile that made her stomach turn. His presence felt suffocating, like a weight pressing down on her chest. The priest opened the book, and with a solemn voice, began the vows.

"Do you, Mr. Andrew, accept Sarah to be your wife, in good health and sickness, for better or worse?" The priest's words were formal, almost rehearsed, but they felt like a sentence to Sarah.

"Yes, I do," Andrew responded without hesitation, his voice too eager, too rehearsed. His eyes sparkled with a sense of finality, like this was some achievement he had been working toward.

The priest turned to Sarah next, his gaze softening slightly. "Do you, Miss Sarah, accept Andrew to be your husband, in good health and sickness, for better or worse?"

Sarah's breath caught in her throat as the question hung in the air. The room felt suddenly too small, too suffocating. She could feel the weight of the moment pressing on her chest, the silence stretching between them. Her mind raced, but all she could focus on was the undeniable truth of her situation. This wasn't a choice. This wasn't love. This was a transaction, a deal sealed by the twisted wills of the people around her. And yet, the words still lingered, as if they had the power to define the rest of her life.

Her heart pounded in her chest, and she realized, with a sinking feeling, that she wasn't sure if she could say the words. Could she, in this moment, accept this fate?

She opened her mouth, but the words seemed to stick in her throat.

Sarah sat in stunned silence, her heart racing as the weight of the moment settled around her. Her throat felt tight, and the tears that had threatened to fall earlier were now flowing freely down her face. She turned slowly, meeting her father's gaze with a pleading look, her eyes silently begging him to understand. She shook her head subtly, a silent plea: please, dad, I can't do this.

Her father, however, remained calm. His face was unreadable as he nodded gently, raising his hand in a gesture meant to reassure her. He motioned for her to settle, his eyes giving a silent command for patience. It was as if he was asking her to endure just a little longer, to not let her emotions take over in front of everyone.