Chapter 4 Tying the Knot

In the name of God the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit...

"I hereby pronounce Tasha and Greg as husband and wife, bound together in love until death do they part."

The officiating priest's words boomed across the garden cathedral like a divine decree. The aisle glistened beneath a shimmering canopy of cascading orchids and diamond-crusted vines imported from Thailand. Gold-trimmed chairs sat beneath crystal chandeliers suspended from floating glass arches. A rare, white Bengal tiger-leased for just two hours-stood at the garden entrance, adding an exotic edge to the ceremony's extravagance.

The atmosphere was breathtaking. An exclusive guest list of world dignitaries, celebrities, and industrial tycoons was tightly guarded by a discreet team of black-suited private security. Tasha's dress alone-a Vera Vachette original laced with real sapphires-was flown in by a private jet, and Bill's tuxedo was handcrafted by an Italian legend whose clientele included kings. Every guest had a personal butler, the champagne was from a secret royal reserve, and the seven-tier cake stood over nine feet tall, studded with edible 24-karat gold flakes.

Cameras flashed like lightning, and the entire affair was being live-streamed to exclusive platforms with restricted access, with headlines capturing breathtaking moments as photographers jostled for the perfect shot.

Melissa sat regally in the front row, draped in a custom emerald gown, like a proud mother, her smile stretching from ear to ear, hands clasped together in quiet triumph. Her son was finally married, and not to just anyone, but to her choice. Not that petite little thing that had gone! She leaned slightly and whispered to a family friend, "Now this... is how a Constellar heir should be wed."

Greg looked calm-almost too compose-, ass he held Tasha's hand and the priest blessed their union, his thoughts drifted, breaking through the haze of incense and music. He had chosen to love again and put the past behind him.

"Just do it. Do it afraid. Do it scared. Do it doubtfully. But just do it."

His father's words echoed in his mind as he locked eyes with Tasha, his hand tightening around hers, committing his vows to her. He was his beacon of greatness, a chance to leave a meaningful legacy behind.

Yet, even as Greg kissed his bride and applause filled the cathedral, one thought lingered at the edge of his heart amidst the glamorous celebration.

Regan!

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"Eight years,"

"Yes, you heard me right. Bill, for a whopping eight years. And for every single day, I ask you the same damn question." She stood by the window in a silk robe, arms crossed, her eyes reflecting the city lights.

The words weren't new, but tonight they felt heavier.

Tasha's voice broke the silence of their grand master suite, a space of elegance and luxury. She stood in the arched doorway, her silhouette framed by the glow of a crystal chandelier. Beyond her, floor-to-ceiling windows revealed the sparkling city skyline, while rich velvet drapes and polished marble floors added to the room's opulence-a vivid show of their affluence.

"Tell me, Greg _ is this about Audrey or her little cousin, Regan?"

His silence confirmed her fears.

Bill exhaled slowly, setting his whiskey glass on the nightstand, which he usually reached for after a backbreaking day at the clinic. He knew what was coming.

"Do you really love me?"

Bill braced himself, the weight of her question hanging heavy in the air. "Tasha, not this again..."

Letting out a sarcastic laugh, she shook her head. "No. Don't answer that. I already know."

Tasha took a slow step forward, her heels clicking against the marble floor.

Bill sighed, rubbing his temples. He had heard this argument too many times and wasn't ready for the next round.

Tasha's voice quivered with frustration, her arms crossed tightly across her chest. Her mother had told her while growing up to make sure she married the calmest man on earth. Luckily for her, Bill was that man.

"Eight years, Bill! Eight years with no child. Regan isn't even ours-" Every time, you say, 'it doesn't matter' or 'we don't need an heir?'" she asked rhetorically. "Come on, let's be honest.. He can't inherit Constellar."

Bill's patience frayed to the edges. He ran a hand over his face. "Tasha-"

"We've discussed this over and over again," he said, his tone firm but controlled. "How many times do I have to say this? Children are in God's hands; we don't get to decide when or if we have one. And our legacy? It doesn't hinge on blood."

She scoffed, waving her hand dismissively. "Easy for you to say. You already have a son."

"But Regan can't-"

"Reagan is my son," Bill interjected sharply, "Legally adopted by me. It's about time you started seeing him as yours, too. Don't forget that we lived together for three years before you came into the picture. Both father and mother accepted him, so he lived with that reality."

He doesn't belong here.

Greg's expression darkened, his tone edged with finality. "Then maybe you don't."

The room tensed as the name hung in the air like a curse. Bill's jaw tightened. He rose from his chair, his gaze locking onto hers.

"I'm off to get some sleep

"Always like before," she hissed sarcastically.

Tasha's lips parted as if she had something to say, but no words came, frustration etched over her face.

A storm was brewing, and they both knew it-this argument was far from over.

His petite, slender frame seemed so delicate that a breath of wind could easily carry him away. His soft yet pale complexion, coupled with his unsteady, wavering eyes, could easily mislead one into thinking that he is a boy battling with the crises of a hemoglobin disease. Despite his fragility, he exuded an aura of quiet strength, his spirit marked by enduring resilience and a surprising vigor that belied his delicate appearance. Tasha couldn't stop being bedazzled by the strong connection between the child and his husband, which over the years has built a monument of envy and spite against him.

The elevator hummed softly, lifting Tasha to her penthouse in eerie silence. She looked into her reflection-flawless, poised, perfect. And yet... beneath the surface, a storm raged.

She was surprisingly home earlier to prepare for her upcoming Annually Feminist World Class Meeting "Her Poweress" where she will be hosting the crème da LA crème in Salock and beyond; so she had earlier notified her Team 4 to come over at house where she will host a small date as they plan on how to make the event successful.

"Something was burning! The scent sent a shiver down her spine as she thought What could that be? .

As the elevator flipped open, she stepped out. Smoke curled lazily in the air. Her eyes fell on the pile of designer clothes-melted, warped, destroyed, from the hot effect of the iron. At the center, curled like a sleeping cat.

"REGAN!!"

Her scream pierced the walls. In a flash, she grabbed the nearest object-her stiletto-and hurled it with deadly aim.

"Stupid, useless boy!" she shrieked, storming toward him.

He scrambled to his feet, heart pounding in panic.

Awoken by the sound of the flip, he had learned to anticipate her fury. Years of enduring her wrath had honed his reflexes, and now, with instinctive precision, he bent sharply at the waist, dodging just in time.

It sliced through the air, missing his forehead by mere inches before clattering against the 370-inch Titan Zeus; the massive ultra-thin OLED screen delivering 8K clarity stretched seamlessly across the wall. Alas, it has cost a great fortune to afford!

His stomach twisted in hunger-a dull, relentless ache. It was the third day without food, his suffering courtesy of Miss Natalie, the cook who doled out his meals with cruel restraint, as if each morsel was a privilege he hadn't earned.

His nights were no better. Sleep came in restless fragments, stolen between the endless tasks she piled onto him.

The weight of exhaustion pressed heavily on his limbs, but he dared not falter as every sign of weakness invited punishment from his stepmother and her cohorts.

In her fury, her heel caught the edge of the marble. She slipped. Her body slammed against the floor with a sickening crack-her head hitting first.

Foam frothed at her lips.

Regan bolted into the closet, shaking, holding back a scream. He didn't know if she was alive or dead. All he knew was to hide.

Moments later, the elevator dinged again

Eve stepped out, breezy and glowing in couture. She barely noticed the mess until she screamed.

"Tasha!!!"

Her shriek echoed down the hall as she dropped her diamond-encrusted handbag as she made her way to where she lay.

SIRENS...Flashing lights.. The Ambulance was here

The heiress of the Constellar Empire was down.

And Reagan?

He stayed hidden, breathless, clutching his knees in the dark, trembling... and waiting.