Chapter 4 - An Altar of Broken Vows
The massive wooden doors of the sanctuary swung open, revealing an ocean of New York's wealthiest elite. Senators, media moguls, foreign dignitaries, and hedge fund titans filled the pews, their eyes widening in collective shock as Emily appeared.
The whispers spread like wild fire through dry grass.
*Where is the Sterling heirloom gown?*
*Look at her face—is that a bruise beneath her veil?*
*Where is Margaret Sterling? Why isn't the groom's mother seated in the front pew?!*
Emily held her head impossibly high. She walked down the white runner alone, refusing an escort. Each step was deliberate, rhythmic, and commanding. Beneath the light lace veil, her jaw was set like forged steel. She kept her eyes fixed straight ahead on Daniel, who stood before the archbishop.
Daniel looked magnificent, but there was an unsettling intensity in his stance. His eyes never left hers. As Emily reached the base of the altar steps, Daniel stepped down and extended his white-gloved hand to guide her up.
When their skin touched, Emily felt a chill race through her veins. Daniel’s fingers were ice cold, gripping her wrist with just a fraction too much pressure—almost mirroring the way Margaret had grabbed her half an hour earlier.
"You look breathtaking," Daniel murmured softly under the soaring chorus of the choir.
"You handled your mother?" Emily whispered back, her smile frozen in picture-perfect grace for the flashing cameras.
"She won't interrupt us again," Daniel said. He leaned closer as the Archbishop began the invocation, his mouth grazing the lace covering Emily's ear. "By the way, Em... I found the burner phone in your dressing bag."
Emily’s blood turned to liquid nitrogen. Her heart slammed against her ribs with such violence she was certain the archbishop could hear it. Her breath hitched, but she did not break her rehearsed smile.
"I don't know what you're talking about," she whispered through clenched teeth, staring straight at the cross above the altar.
"Arthur Vance was a brilliant naval designer," Daniel continued in a silky, barely audible whisper while the priest droned on about holy matrimony. "A shame his daughter had to spend five years pretending to love me just to avenge him."
Emily tried to pull her hand away from his grip, but Daniel tightened his fingers, anchoring her beside him.
"Do not flinch, darling," Daniel murmured, his lips curving into a charming, devastating smile aimed at the society photographers in the front row. "There are four hundred cameras watching us. If you run, you leave with nothing. If you stay, we finish the ceremony. Because you see, Emily... Margaret isn't the only one who had a secret. And you are walking straight into my web."
"Do you, Daniel Sterling, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?" the Archbishop intoned, his voice booming over the silent sanctuary.
Daniel turned fully toward Emily, his hazel eyes glowing with triumph and dangerous hunger.
"I do," Daniel said clearly, loud and proud for all of high society to hear.
The archbishop turned to Emily. "And do you, Emily Vance, take this man..."
Emily looked into the eyes of the man she thought she was manipulating, only to realize he had been playing chess while she was playing checkers. The trap hadn't been set by Margaret. The master of the board was the groom.
May you like
"I do," Emily heard herself say, stepping knowingly into the lions' den.
***
