Wed, Set, Go!

The string quartet reached the halfway point of its elegant instrumental piece. Still no bride.

The air grew heavier. Guests whispered louder. Aunties checked their watches and made passive-aggressive eye contact. Some teenage cousin muttered that maybe she ran off with the violinist.

Adrian stood on the stage, stiff and visibly trying not to sweat through his designer suit. He glanced at the entrance again. Still no Althea. His hand was clenched around the hem of his jacket as if it might offer answers. It did not.

Alaya was on the phone. Again. "She is not picking up," she said, voice clipped and calm in that terrifying way only Alaya mastered. "Still nothing."

Adrian nodded but kept his eyes fixed on the arch of white roses. Waiting. Max stood off to the side, arms crossed, Lilith in a decorative cat sling no one asked for. His brows furrowed deeper with every second. No one on that stage knew. Not Adrian. Not Alaya. Not even Max. None of them knew where Althea was gone.

Whispers turned to speculation. One uncle loudly asked if it was cold feet. A woman muttered something about Solace family controversy. Another mentioned Althea always being a bit problematic. Max's jaw tightened. The words were like wasps in his ears.

Alaya gently touched his arm. "Max. Breathe. We do not know anything yet." Max did not speak. He just looked at Adrian, who stood frozen like a Greek statue commissioned to feel guilt.

Adrian opened his mouth. Closed it. Then finally turned to Alaya. "Let's do it."

Alaya blinked. "What?"

"Maybe this is her plan." He gestured to the aisle. "We go through with it. People are watching. Our parents... my father looks like he might strangle a photographer."

Max took a sharp breath. "Adrian." But Alaya was already stepping forward. She adjusted her gown, poised and regal as ever. "Fine."

The music shifted. Alaya walked down the aisle.

"Is that the Serrano girl?" someone whispered.

"I thought Solace was the bride!"

"Are they replacing the bride in real time?"

"I knew it was it was weird that they chose some nobody as Adrian Velasco's bride."

Near the front, Adrian's parents were frozen in disbelief. His mother's lips pursed so tight they could have sealed envelopes. His father, red-faced and fuming.

"The Serrano girl? Have we completely lost our minds?"

"She is the daughter of our rivals," his mother snapped, not bothering to hide the venom. "This is a disgrace."

"And all to protect that Solace girl's mess," his father added. "She was greedy. Everyone knows she was after our name and money."

The surrounding guests fed the fire with gossip of their own. "Did you hear? Althea ran away. Couldn't handle the pressure."

"Typical. All charm and no spine."

"Poor Adrian. He had to fix it all alone."

"At least Alaya is refined. She knows how to save face."

Adrian's parents said nothing further, but the way they sat; rigid and stone-faced, made it clear. They would let the story stand. Let Althea be the villain. Let their perfect son be the hero who salvaged a public scandal. Even if it meant shaking hands with the family they despised.

The officiant, clearly paid too well to question the script, began reading the vows with the cheerful precision of a cruise ship captain.

Max stood unmoving. Inside, his thoughts spun like a carousel on fire. Is this it? Althea is gone. And these two are just... continuing? Just like that?

He looked from Adrian to Alaya. Alaya looked serene, rehearsed, untouchable. Adrian looked slightly dazed, like a man watching himself in a movie he did not audition for.

They are making her the villain, Max thought. They are walking away with the plot like she was just a deleted scene. As if she was never the reason any of this began.

He felt something shift in his chest. It was not just anger now. It was something deeper. A quiet, bitter ache.

It was so easy for Adrian to discard her. Just like that. He tossed her aside like a placeholder. And Alaya. Althea had trusted her. Confided in her. Called her best friend. And yet here she was, sliding into Althea's life like it had always belonged to her, her perfectly polished egoistic smile never faltering.

They used her.

They used her, and then they erased her.

Max felt disgust coil in his gut. Disgust for the hypocrisy, for the performance, for how easily the people who claimed to love Althea now sat clapping, laughing, smiling for photos, like her heartbreak was just a costume change.

He had seen Althea; the real Althea. He had seen her fight to hold everything together with trembling hands and half a heart. And now she was being painted the villain so this grand show could go on. He clenched his fists.

He remembered how Althea looked at Adrian. The careful, deliberate kindness. The way she tried. The way she hurt. And now she is gone. And no one is saying a damn thing.

The officiant said, "You may now exchange your vows."

Adrian was supposed to say something. Althea had told him to. Some story. Some excuse. But he could not. His throat closed up. He just took Alaya's hand, muttering something inaudible. Alaya took it, smiling like a woman who had trained her whole life not to blink during betrayal.

Max turned around and walked away.

He did not storm out. He was too controlled for that. But his strides were fast, calculated. His heart felt like a stone in a washing machine.

Althea was gone. She was probably already halfway to whatever freedom looked like. And here, in the middle of curated flowers, everyone was pretending she was never there to begin with.

He stepped outside, past the marquee, past the manicured hedges.

Maybe she really is the monster they will blame. Maybe she always knew that. Maybe that was the point.

He looked back, just once, at the echo of celebration inside the venue. Then he walked away faster.

He could not let her carry all the blame. He could not let this entire farce stain her name and leave her alone in the wreckage. If everyone wanted a villain, they could have one. But it would not be her alone.

Because sometimes, in order to break a shackle, you have to be the monster willing to rip it apart. And sometimes, you run after the only person who was brave enough to do it first.

He did not stop walking. Not even when the valet called after him asking if he needed his car. Max shook his head and just kept going, down the driveway, past the fancy hedges, into the parking lot.

He pulled out his phone, swiped through his recent calls. No texts from Althea. No missed messages. Nothing. He stared at the screen, at her name, and then stuffed the phone into his pocket and turned on his heel.

He started running. His formal shoes thudded against the cobblestone, but he did not stop. People turned to stare, staff blinked. Someone asked if everything was alright.

Max ignored them.

He checked corners, looked behind pavilions, scanned every passing black car on the road near the estate's edge. She could not be that far. She could not have left yet. Not completely.

A part of him hated himself for waiting this long. For watching the vows. For not pulling the fire alarm. For not asking the right questions earlier.

He cut across the rose garden and reached the guest gate. The exit.

Max stood there panting, chest heaving, his tie now half-loosened and hanging around his neck. Sweat soaking the collar of his dress shirt and making it stick to his back. Strands of damp hair clung stubbornly to his forehead. He wiped at them with one sleeve, his breaths ragged. His eyes scanned the grounds wildly, frantic, searching; until they landed on the old maze garden across the lawn

The place where it had all started.

Their first real conversation. Her laughing at how impractical his shoes were. Him pretending he did not care and then actually tripping two minutes later. He remembered her voice teasing him, and the light in her eyes that made the hedges and stress and everything else feel less suffocating.

Something told him to check there.

He pushed past the side fence and entered the maze. The sun had begun to shift, casting long leafy shadows between the tall trimmed walls. The distant murmur of the wedding crowd faded behind him as he turned corner after corner.

Then he saw her.

Althea was sitting at the center of the maze, her knees pulled to her chest, arms wrapped tightly around them. She was still in the gown. The veil was discarded beside her like a defeated flag. Her makeup was smudged, and her eyes were red, the kind of red that came from trying too hard not to cry for too long.

He just stood there for a moment, watching her. His chest ached at the sight; this girl in a wrinkled wedding dress, looking so small and tired and brave. Like she'd fought a war with her own heart and lost beautifully.

She looked up. Tears in her eyes. And there he was.

He stepped closer, slowly, carefully, like approaching a wounded animal or a storm caught in a human body.

He reached out his hand. She did not flinch.

She let him pull her up. Straight into his chest.

He held her tighter, as if afraid she might disappear again if he let go. His cheek brushed against her hair, and he closed his eyes for a moment, just breathing her in. The scent of florals and old tears, the soft rustle of her ruined gown. And yet she had never looked more like herself. Raw. Real. Human. He didn't need her to say anything back. He just needed her to feel it. That she was no longer alone.

He pulled her close, like protecting a precious, valuable thing.

"I got you now," he whispered.

End of Chapter 19.