"Zareal darling, didn't you discuss the time of the ceremony with your husband?"
Vespera had cut through the moment, her voice sharp and pointed as she appeared at Zareal's side.
"I did, but—"
"If you really did, then Ranulf would have been here by now, don't you think? He knows not to miss such occasions."
Vespera cut her off before she could even finish her response.
Zareal frowned. It was their anniversary.
She was supposed to be celebrating one year married to her husband, the CEO Ranulf Sterling. Who unfortunately hadn't shown up. Or hasn't shown up yet. But somehow, it was already her fault?
She glanced around the lighthouse overlook, taking in the scene Vespera had so carefully orchestrated. White chairs arranged in neat rows faced the altar where she stood, each one occupied by board members, executives, and their immaculately dressed wives. Floral arrangements of white roses and deep purple orchids lined the aisle, their petals curling in the evening breeze. The lighthouse stood tall behind her, its beam not yet lit against the fading sky. Beyond the cliffs, the ocean stretched endlessly, waves crashing against rocks below.
It should have been beautiful. It should have been romantic.
Instead, it feels like a stage for her humiliation.
Vespera stood beside her now, a formidable presence in her cream-colored gown. She wasn't a lean woman by any measure. Her frame carried weight with intention, the kind of build that commanded space and demanded attention. Everything about her was deliberate, from the set of her broad shoulders to the way her hair was swept into an elegant chignon. She looked like a woman who had never once apologized for taking up room in her life.
And right now, every inch of that presence was focused on Zareal.
The murmuring had already started. Zareal could hear it rippling through the small gathering. Soft at first, polite confusion masked as concern. And then it began to grow, swelling like the tide below, becoming impossible to ignore.
Her worst nightmare was beginning to take shape right before her eyes. She had worried her husband wouldn't show, and had pushed that worry down all day while she dressed and prepared, while she wrote and rewrote her vows.
Now that worry had teeth.
"Pass me my phone," Zareal said to Nadine beside her, who had been standing there like a statue for far too long.
Nadine moved quickly, retrieving the phone from the small clutch she'd been holding. She was perhaps an inch shorter than Zareal, with a soft, rounded face that made her look younger than her years. Her dark hair was pulled back in a neat bun, and her uniform was pressed to perfection.
The screen glowed to life.
18:04.
An hour and four minutes. That's how long she'd been standing at this altar. Alone. Like a hopeless bride waiting for a groom who might never arrive.
"But he said yes. Ranulf had agreed to this, and that has to mean something."
Zareal gripped the head of her silver-tipped cane tightly. Her hip had begun to ache nearly thirty minutes ago. Now the pain was spreading, a dull throb radiating down her thigh, up into her lower back. A constant reminder of everything she'd lost. Everything that had led her here.
She opened her call history. The screen displayed her shame in neat little rows. Call after call after call. Each one unanswered. Each one a small death she'd swallowed in silence while the crowd watched.
And then the message. The last one she'd sent before leaving the mansion.
"Hope to see you there by five."
It was marked read at 5:47 PM, but no response.
He'd seen it and had read it, but said nothing.
"Ranulf, please," she breathed, so quietly only she could hear.
Twelve months of cold mornings and colder nights. Of words that never came and touches that disappeared.
Of course she knows what this marriage looks like. she wasn't blind.
But he said yes to this. For the first time in a year, he said yes. That has to mean something changed.
The man at the gallery who laughed at her terrible joke about Impressionists. Looking at her like she was the only person in the room.
He has to still be in there, and today was supposed to prove it.
But the phone offered no answers. Just that damning little word beneath her message.
Read.
Vespera's voice cut through her thoughts. She had turned to face the crowd now, wearing an apologetic smile that never quite reached her eyes. It was a smile Zareal had seen many times before. The kind that was never fond of anyone but the woman wearing it.
"We sincerely apologize for the delay, dear guests." Vespera pressed both palms dramatically to her chest. "I'm certain business matters have simply demanded my son's attention longer than anticipated. You all understand how these things can be."
Some heads nodded, polite and understanding. Others exchanged glances.
Trained to accept whatever explanation a Sterling offered.
"But he said yes," Zareal wanted to scream. "He agreed to be here. This wasn't forced on him. He chose this. so why the fuck wasn't he here yet"
Her clutch sat on the altar ledge beside her. Inside were the vows she'd written. Three evenings of careful words, each sentence chosen to remind him of who they'd been. Who they could still be.
Words he would never hear if he didn't show up.
Then came the click of heels against stone.
Mrs. Verit.
Zareal recognized her immediately. One of Vespera's social circle, a woman whose smile always carried an edge sharp enough to draw blood. She approached with her chin high and her expression dripping with false concern, each step deliberate, measured for maximum effect.
"Vespera, darling." Her voice carried just loud enough for the nearby guests to hear. "Is everything alright? I do hope Ranulf hasn't encountered any..." And then she paused. letting the silence stretch. "...difficulties."
The implication hung in the air like poison.
Vespera's smile tightened. Her fingers curled slightly at her sides. Almost imperceptibly.
"I had asked him three days ago, and he had looked me in the eye and promised to be on time. So where the hell is he?" ….. vespera's thoughts began spiralling.
But she managed to keep her cool.
"Everything is perfectly fine, Margaret." Her voice remained warm even as her jaw tightened. "You know how corporate demands can be. The Sterling Industries acquisition has been particularly consuming."
"Of course, of course." Mrs. Verit says as her gaze instantly drifts to Zareal and lingered there. Something flickered in her eyes that looked almost like satisfaction.
With her gaze still on zareal, she continues
"It's just that Harold mentioned something rather interesting at lunch today."
She paused again. Letting it build. Letting the nearby guests lean in just slightly.
"He saw Ranulf leaving the office nearly two hours ago." Another smile. Another blade sliding between ribs. "I'm sure he's simply caught up in traffic."....
The words landed like stones thrown into still water.
Two hours ago. He'd left the office two hours ago?
And the ceremony venue was only thirty minutes from the Sterling Industries.
Vespera's composure cracked. Just for a second. Her eyes widened slightly before she caught herself. Her hand moved to her clutch, fingers already reaching for her phone.
Zareal felt the ground shift beneath her feet. Her grip on the cane tightened until her knuckles went white.
"Two hours?. Where have you been for two hours, Ranulf?"....
The murmuring grew louder now. Less polite and was now more pointed.
Someone coughed, and another checked their watch with deliberate obviousness.
The officiant shifted beside Zareal, his discomfort now becoming a physical presence.
And somewhere in the city, it seems her husband was doing something more important than showing up to the ceremony he'd agreed to attend.