Chapter 7 - The Aisle
The cathedral doors swung open.
The organ music swelled, echoing through the massive stone arches. Five hundred guests stood up, turning to look at me.
I took my first step.
Pain flared in my spine, but I buried it. I gripped my father's arm, walking down the white runner with a slow, regal grace.
At the end of the aisle stood Derek.
He was smiling. He looked triumphant. He looked like a man who thought he had just won the lottery. He was looking at my trust fund walking toward him.
But off to the side, standing in the shadows near the first row, was Julian Vance.
Our eyes met. Julian gave me a single, slow nod.
I reached the altar. My father kissed my cheek and stepped away. Derek reached for my hands.
His palms were sweaty.
"You look breathtaking," Derek whispered.
"I know," I replied.
The priest stepped forward, opening his book. He spoke of love, of trust, of sickness and in health. Every word felt like a weapon I was sharpening in my mind.
Finally, the priest looked at Derek.
"Do you, Derek Hale, take Elena Mercer to be your lawfully wedded wife?"
"I do," Derek said, his voice ringing loudly for the crowd.
The priest turned to me.
"And do you, Elena Mercer, take Derek Hale to be your lawfully wedded husband?"
The church was dead silent. You could hear a pin drop.
I looked at Derek. I looked at Sloane, who was standing in the front row, clutching her purse.
"No," I said.
My voice was quiet, but it echoed perfectly through the microphone clipped to the priest's robes.
Derek blinked. A nervous chuckle escaped his lips. "Elena, sweetheart, what did you say?"
I took a step back, pulling my hands out of his grip.
"I said no, Derek," I projected my voice clearly. "I will not marry a man who slept with my sister while I was in a coma."
A collective gasp ripped through the cathedral. Five hundred people inhaled at once.
"Elena, you're confused," Derek panicked, his face turning a violent shade of red. "The brain injury—"
"I don't have a brain injury," I snapped, my voice cutting through the air like a whip.
I turned to the altar boy handling the multimedia projector for the ceremony. I gave him a signal.
The massive white screens behind the altar, meant to display our romantic photos, flickered to life.
An audio file began to play. It was the security recording from my ICU room.
“She’ll die tonight?” Sloane’s voice echoed through the holy church.
May you like
“The doctor said if there’s another cardiac episode, they won’t resuscitate... I get free.” Derek’s voice followed, cold and cruel.
Chaos erupted in the pews.
