Chapter 2 - THE RUINS OF THE SACRISTY
I followed Dante toward the back of the church,
the heavy fabric of his coat trailing behind me like a royal cape.
Nathan tried to stop me as I passed him,
his fingers brushing against the sleeve of the coat,
but he pulled his hand back quickly when Dante looked at him.
“Elena,
don’t do this,”
Nathan whispered,
his eyes darting toward the photographers near the doors.
“Think about the contract,
think about what this will do to the merger.”
That was the moment the last string of my heart finally snapped.
I stopped walking and looked him directly in his pale,
frightened eyes.
“The merger?”
I asked,
my voice surprisingly steady despite the tears that were still drying on my cheeks.
“My dress is ruined,
my dignity is gone,
and you’re worried about a signature on a piece of paper?”
I didn't wait for his answer,
knowing it would only hurt me more.
We entered the sacristy,
a small room filled with the scent of old wood and incense,
and Dante closed the door,
locking it with a click that sounded like a gunshot.
He pointed to a velvet chair in the corner.
“Sit,”
he commanded,
and for once,
I was happy to obey.
I huddled into the coat,
feeling the weight of the last few weeks crashing down on me.
I had worked so hard to fit into their world,
to be the perfect bride for a man who didn't even see me as a person.
Dante stood by the window,
his silhouette framed by the stained glass,
showering him in hues of deep red and blue.
“Why did you help me?”
I asked,
my voice echoing in the small room.
“We’ve spoken maybe three times in our entire lives.”
Dante turned,
his expression unreadable,
yet there was a flicker of something that looked like respect in his dark eyes.
“I don’t like seeing a predator go unpunished,”
he said,
leaning against the wall.
“And I don’t like seeing a woman of your talent waste her life on a man who is essentially a hollow shell.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small,
silver knife—the kind used for opening letters or,
perhaps,
cutting through the threads of a wedding dress.
“Veronica Hale didn’t act alone,
Elena.”
My breath hitched in my throat as he stepped closer,
showing me the blade.
“This was found in the bridal suite after you left for the aisle.”
It had the Whitmore family crest engraved on the handle.
My own fiancé had provided the tool to destroy me.
The realization hit me like a physical blow to the stomach,
making me feel sick and dizzy.
Nathan hadn't just stood by and watched;
he had been the architect of my humiliation.
He wanted me humbled,
he wanted me to know that I would always be beneath them,
even as his wife.
“I want to leave,”
I whispered,
clutching the coat tighter.
“I want to go somewhere where no one knows my name.”
Dante walked over to me,
his hand reaching out to lift my chin so I had to look at him.
“No,”
he said,
his voice a low,
dangerous purr.
May you like
“You don’t run away.
You make them regret the day they thought you were weak.”
