CHAPTER 3: I OBJECT
I stood in front of the full-length mirror in the bridal suite, staring at the girl in white.
The wedding dress was perfect. Ivory silk that hugged my body before flowing out into a cathedral train. Lace sleeves that ended in delicate points over my hands. A veil so long it would trail behind me like a cloud.
My mother had cried when she first saw me in it.
In my past life, I'd cried too. Tears of joy. Tears of love.
Now I felt nothing.
"Elena?"
I turned.
My mother stood in the doorway, beautiful in her pale blue gown, her eyes filled with something I couldn't quite read.
Concern.
She stepped inside and closed the door behind her. "Are you sure you want this marriage?"
I blinked. "What?"
"Marcus." She said his name carefully. Like it tasted bad. "I don't think he's someone you would want to spend your life with."
In my past life, she'd said the exact same words.
And I'd laughed. Told her she was being silly. Told her Marcus loved me and I loved him and we were going to be so happy together.
I'd been so stupid.
I looked at my mother now. At the worry lines between her eyebrows. At the way her hands twisted together.
She'd known.
She'd always known.
And I hadn't listened.
I smiled. Walked over to her and took both her hands in mine.
"Don't worry, Mom." I squeezed gently. "I know exactly what I'm doing."
She searched my face. "Elena—"
"Trust me."
She hesitated. Then nodded slowly. "Okay. But if you change your mind, even at the altar, you can walk away. You know that, right?"
I kissed her cheek. "I know."
The door opened.
My father stood there in his tuxedo, eyes shining. "Ready, sweetheart? They're waiting."
I took his arm.
"Let's go."
The church was packed.
Hundreds of guests in the pews. White flowers everywhere. Candles flickering. A string orchestra playing something soft and romantic.
I stood at the back of the aisle, my hand on my father's arm, and looked at the altar.
Marcus stood there in his black tuxedo, perfectly styled, devastatingly handsome. His groomsmen flanked him. His mother sat in the front row, already dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief.
He looked straight ahead. Confident. Arrogant.
Waiting for his obedient bride to float down the aisle and worship him.
The music changed.
The wedding march.
Every head turned to look at me.
I walked.
Slowly. Perfectly composed. Smiling.
The guests whispered.
"She's beautiful."
"They make such a perfect couple."
"A fairytale wedding."
I reached the altar.
My father kissed my cheek and placed my hand in Marcus's.
Marcus's fingers closed around mine. Cold. Possessive.
He leaned in, whispered so only I could hear. "You look acceptable."
In my past life, those words had stung. Had made me feel like I needed to try harder. Be better.
Now I just smiled.
The priest began speaking. Words about love and commitment and forever.
I barely heard them.
I was watching Marcus. Watching the way he stood there like he owned the world. Like he owned me.
"Before we begin the vows," the priest said, "the groom has prepared something special."
Marcus turned to his best man, who handed him a velvet box.
The crowd murmured with excitement.
Marcus opened it.
A diamond necklace glittered inside. Huge stones set in platinum. Worth a fortune.
In my past life, I'd gasped. Had pressed my hand to my chest, overwhelmed with joy. Had thought this meant he loved me.
I'd been so naive.
Now I looked at the necklace and felt disgust curl in my stomach.
Because I knew where this was going.
Marcus lifted the necklace from the box. "For my beautiful bride."
Applause.
Awws from the crowd.
He stepped behind me to fasten it around my neck.
The diamonds were cold against my skin.
Heavy.
Like a chain.
"Perfect," Marcus murmured in my ear.
And right on cue—
"Wow, brother Marcus! That necklace is so pretty!"
Everyone turned.
Isabelle Laurent stood at the side of the church in a simple pink dress, her eyes wide and innocent, her hands clasped together.
She shouldn't have been standing there. She was a guest. She should have been seated.
But she'd positioned herself perfectly. Right where everyone could see her.
Marcus turned. "Isabelle. You like it?"
She nodded, eyes shining. "It's beautiful. I wish I had someone who would buy me something like that." She paused. Looked down. "But it looks even better on Elena. She's so lucky."
The crowd was silent.
Waiting.
I felt it coming. The humiliation. The test.
Marcus looked at me. His eyes were cold. Calculating.
"Elena." His voice echoed through the church. "Give Isabelle the necklace."
Gasps.
Real ones this time.
The guests shifted uncomfortably. His mother's mouth fell open. Even the priest looked shocked.
But I'd seen this before.
In my past life, this exact moment had shattered me. I'd stood here at the altar in my wedding dress while Marcus asked me to give away his gift to another woman. And I'd done it. Had unclasped the necklace with shaking hands and given it to Isabelle while everyone whispered about how pathetic I was.
How desperate.
How trained.
Like a puppet.
I looked at Marcus now. At the slight smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.
He was enjoying this.
Testing me. Proving to everyone that I would do anything he asked.
That I was his.
I smiled.
Reached up.
And unclasped the necklace myself.
The diamonds slid off my neck.
I walked down the altar steps. Crossed to where Isabelle stood. Dropped the necklace into her hands.
"Here," I said clearly. "Take it."
Isabelle's eyes went wide. "Oh my God! Thank you, Elena! You're so nice!"
The crowd erupted in whispers.
"I can't believe she just—"
"On her wedding day—"
"She's so lovesick it's embarrassing."
"Classless."
"Pathetic."
"Like a puppet."
"He says jump and she asks how high."
I walked back up to the altar.
Stood next to Marcus.
He was smiling. Satisfied.
"Good," he murmured. "Seems like you've learned your lesson."
My skin crawled.
Being this close to him. Breathing the same air. Standing here in a wedding dress like I hadn't drowned in freezing water while he swam away.
The priest cleared his throat. "Well. Shall we continue?"
Marcus nodded. "Let's get this done. I have a business meeting at three."
My father's hand tightened on the armrest of his pew.
The priest opened his book. "We are gathered here today—"
I stopped listening.
I was counting.
Counting down.
The priest droned on about love and faithfulness and death do us part.
"Marcus Westwood," the priest finally said. "Do you take Elena Ashford to be your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do you part?"
Marcus looked at me.
Smiled.
"I do."
The crowd sighed. Romantic. Perfect.
The priest turned to me.
"Elena Ashford, do you take Marcus Westwood to be your lawfully wedded husband? To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do you part?"
Every eye was on me.
Waiting for the expected answer.
The obedient answer.
I looked at Marcus. At his confident smile. At the cold calculation in his eyes.
At the man who would kill me in five years.
I leaned forward.
Spoke directly into the microphone clipped to the altar.
My voice rang out clear and loud through the entire church.
"I reject this marriage."
Silence.
Complete, total silence.
You could have heard a pin drop.
Then chaos.
"What did she say?"
"Did she just—"
"Oh my God—"
Marcus's mother's hand flew to her chest. Her eyes rolled back. She collapsed into her seat. Two people rushed to fan her.
The priest's mouth opened and closed like a fish.
Marcus's business partners in the front row leaned toward each other, whispering frantically.
And Marcus—
Marcus's perfect smile cracked.
Not into grief.
Not into sadness.
Into cold, burning fury.
And wounded ego.
His hand shot out and grabbed my wrist. Hard enough to bruise.
He yanked me close. Put his mouth next to my ear.
"What game are you playing?" he hissed.
I looked down at his hand on my wrist. At the fingers digging into my skin.
The same hand that had pushed me away in the sinking car.
Then I looked back at his face.
And smiled.
"I already played this game, Marcus." My voice was quiet. Calm. "I lost. I won't play again."
I pulled my wrist free.
Turned.
And walked down the aisle.
My train swept behind me like a river of silk. My veil floated. My head was high. My heart was sealed shut.
Behind me, the church erupted.
Shouting. Crying. Chaos.
I didn't look back.
I pushed open the heavy church doors and stepped out into the sunlight.
Free.
Marcus stood frozen at the altar.
Staring after her.
At the empty aisle. At the open church doors. At the sunlight streaming through.
His hands were shaking.
Not with fear.
With rage.
No one had ever said no to him.
No one had ever walked away.
Especially not Elena Ashford. The girl who had followed him around like a lost puppy for years. The girl who had begged her father to arrange their marriage. The girl who would have done anything for him.
She'd just humiliated him.
In front of hundreds of people.
In front of his business partners, his investors, his family.
She'd rejected him.
Him.
His best man cleared his throat. "Marcus? What do you want to—"
"Find her," Marcus said quietly.
His voice was ice.
"Find her and bring her back. Now."
But even as he said it, even as his groomsmen rushed toward the doors, he couldn't stop staring at the spot where she'd stood.
At the place where Elena Ashford had looked him in the eyes and said no.
For the first time in his life, Marcus Westwood felt something unfamiliar.
Obsession.
He would get her back.
He would make her regret this.
He would make her his.
No matter what it took.