Chapter 4 - The White Shroud
The morning of the wedding was a whirlwind of fake smiles and frantic activity.
Celeste arrived at my home at ten o'clock,
bearing a gift of vintage pearls that felt like a noose when she draped them around my neck.
"You look radiant,
my dear,"
she whispered,
her eyes searching mine for any sign of the woman who had stood in her hallway last night.
"I have the final paperwork here,
just a few minor adjustments to the agreement we discussed."
She pulled a slim,
leather-bound folder from her bag,
placing it on the vanity with a practiced grace.
"Warren is so excited to see you,"
she added,
her voice dripping with that false maternal warmth.
I looked at the document,
the ink still fresh,
containing the clauses that would have handed her my life's work.
"I'll sign it at the church,
Celeste,"
I said,
managing a small,
shy smile that I hoped looked like bridal nerves.
"I want to do it right before we walk down the aisle,
to show Warren I truly trust him."
For a second,
a flicker of suspicion crossed her face,
but it was quickly replaced by a triumphant gleam.
"How romantic,"
she cooed,
patting my hand.
The drive to the church felt like a slow-motion film,
the white roses on the pews and the elegantly dressed guests all part of a grand production.
Warren was waiting in the small vestry,
looking every bit the handsome,
devoted groom in his charcoal tuxedo.
He took my hands in his,
his grip firm and reassuring,
completely oblivious to the fact that I knew he was a wolf in a tailored suit.
"Are you ready to become a Halstead,
Adeline?"
he asked,
his eyes shining with a greed he mistook for love.
"More ready than you can imagine,"
I replied,
feeling the small recording device tucked into my bridal bouquet.
The music began,
the heavy,
traditional chords of the organ filling the high-vaulted ceilings of the stone chapel.
As the doors opened and I began the walk down the aisle,
I looked at the faces of the people who had come to witness this union.
I saw my employees,
who looked worried for their future;
I saw Warren’s friends,
who looked like they were already counting their bonuses;
and I saw Celeste,
sitting in the front row like a queen on her throne.
Every step I took was a heartbeat,
a countdown to a revelation that would change everything.
I reached the altar,
and Warren took my hand,
his palm sweaty against mine.
The priest began the ceremony,
the words about love and honor sounding like an insult in the quiet air.
I waited for the moment,
the specific beat in the liturgy that would signal the end of Adeline Cross,
the victim,
May you like
and the beginning of Adeline Cross,
the survivor.
