Chapter 4 The Interrupted Vows

GISELLE'S POV

The mansion thrummed with energy - stylists adjusting veils, decorators adding last-minute touches, photographers capturing every polished angle. But inside me, a storm churned beneath the silk.

My reflection blinked back at me from the mirror. Smooth foundation, lashes curled like wings, lips painted a rose-petal red. The satin gown fit like a second skin, framing my shape - elegant, graceful, beautiful and luxurious.

But it wasn't mine.

I wasn't the bride. Not the real one.

"I have to do this," I whispered to the glass, the words fogging faintly against the surface. "For Brielle. For Sterling. For Rowan."

Especially for Rowan.

The door creaked open, and a stylist peeked in. "Five minutes, Miss."

Miss. Not Mrs. Not yet.

Rowan, when I last saw him, looked devastatingly sharp in a custom-tailored Italian suit. His cufflinks glinted under the chandelier, and his black shoes gleamed like obsidian.

Every inch of him was composed and striking - as though carved from luxury itself. Well, he always wants the best.

And me? I was his perfect match. We were the couple everyone would photograph, gossip about, idolize. The beautiful illusion.

A fleet of sleek black cars waited outside. I stepped into mine, the gown rustling like whispers around my legs. As we sped toward the venue, the reality settled in: I was minutes away from sealing this lie with a kiss.

The Celestia Grand Pavilion came into view like something from a royal fantasy - perched high on a cliff, the ocean sparkling behind it like spilled diamonds. The wind carried the scent of saltwater and orchids.

A glass aisle stretched above a mirror-still pool, glimmering in the sunlight. Golden arches twisted with ivory roses stood at the altar. Crystal chandeliers swayed from silk canopies, casting soft light on guests seated on plush, velvet-lined chairs.

Every detail oozed grandeur. A live string quartet played beneath a vine-wrapped pergola, their notes dancing in the air like petals. The scent of fresh peonies mingled with designer cologne and champagne.

I smiled, waved, walked tall as cameras flashed and murmurs rose around me.

"Isn't she stunning?"

"She's glowing!"

"Blackwood really knows how to throw a wedding."

I clung to their praise like a raft. As long as they believed the fantasy, maybe I could too.

The ceremony began, and my heart started its uneven drumbeat.

Then Rowan took my hand.

Warm. Steady. Real.

We began our walk down the aisle, every step echoing louder in my chest. I kept my smile painted on, kept my spine straight. But halfway through, something changed.

A figure. A face.

No, It couldn't be.

My gaze snapped to the fourth row, second from the aisle. My breath hitched.

Brielle.

Her eyes locked with mine.

Anger simmered in her stare - not confusion, not guilt. Purpose.

What is she doing here?

She was supposed to stay away. At least until after the ceremony. Long enough for me to... seal it. Make it real.

She didn't blink. I nearly stumbled in my heels.

I forced my gaze back to Rowan, who hadn't noticed a thing. His eyes were locked on the pastor, his jaw relaxed, his expression confident like a man about to win the final piece of a puzzle.

He hadn't seen her, yet.

At the altar, the pastor welcomed us with a warm smile. Rowan turned to me, and for a moment, everything else blurred. His eyes held mine, and a warmth stirred in my chest. It was frightening, how much I had begun to love him.But did he love me?

Or just the idea of a convenient bride?

"May I have the rings?" the pastor asked, opening a box.

The golden bands shimmered like promises. "This is a whole lot of money" I thought.

Photographers leaned in, guests whispered excitedly, the string quartet swelled.

And then came the question.

"If anyone here has a reason why these two should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace." the Pastor said in a sweet tone that almost sounded funny.

Silence.

Sweet, perfect silence.

And then, shatter.

"I do," Brielle's voice cut through the air like a blade.

Gasps. Whispers. Cameras lowered.

Rowan turned. His expression collapsed into something unreadable - shock, dread, a flicker of something softer.

"Brielle?" I heard him whisper

I froze. My smile died.

The world spun slower as Brielle walked toward the altar in a gown almost as elegant as mine. She moved like she belonged there - graceful, grounded, unafraid.

Though all eyes were on her, she didn't miss a step.

The pastor, visibly rattled, stepped aside. "You may speak," he said, handing her a mic.

Brielle's voice was calm. Controlled. "I won't reveal everything in public, but this marriage isn't what it seems. There are truths that need to be faced privately, if not here."

Then she turned - and signaled to someone in the crowd.

Another woman rose. From the angle Brielle walked out from. Slender, elegant, but carrying something far heavier - a small boy clutched to her hand, maybe three or four years old.

The child's eyes... startlingly familiar.

They mirrored Rowan's.

My chest caved.

"Rowan," the woman said, her voice quiet but firm, "I believe you know what this means."

His lips parted, but no sound came out. His hands trembled. Eyes wide, glassy.

The congregation erupted in murmurs. Guests turned to one another, piecing together the puzzle they weren't supposed to see.

"Is that... his?"

"Who is she?"

"Wasn't the bride her sister?"

The air grew thick. Oppressive. Like we were underwater.

Rowan looked between Brielle and I. Then the woman - Catherine, I guessed - and the boy. His expression darkened, softened, cracked.

He knew.

He remembered.

The pastor stepped forward, voice stern but gentle. "Given the gravity of this interruption, I declare this wedding cancelled until further notice."

A collective gasp. Followed by silence.

The dream unraveled before my eyes. Lights dimmed, the crowd turned restless, camera shutters stopped clicking.

My heart broke in silence.

Rowan didn't look at me once.

And just like that, the ceremony ended not in a kiss - but a haunting stare between the man I had fallen for, and the woman he had once loved.

And maybe still did.