Tainted Love

Chapter 24

Finally… the day had arrived. The day Vivian Darry had waited for, dreamed of, and fought for. The day that would define the rest of her life.

The courthouse loomed like a temple of judgment and law, its white walls gleaming under the morning sun. Inside, the air was sterile and cold, almost clinical, a sharp contrast to the warmth and chaos of life outside. Cameras snapped like machine-guns, flashes exploding in bursts of white light. The press had arrived in full force, hungry for scandal, for gossip, for the tiniest flaw in the life of an heiress who dared to defy the expectations of her bloodline.

And there she was…Vivian Darry. Standing at the center of it all, radiant, almost impossibly so, her white gown hugging her figure with elegance, her veil cascading like silk mist. Her heart thudded hard, not from fear, but from the pure, reckless thrill of defiance. She felt it in every trembling fingertip, in every rapid beat of her pulse. “This… this is mine,” she whispered, her lips curling into a fragile, triumphant smile. “I did it. I… proved them all wrong.”

Beside her, Victor Larry, her husband now, waited. The man who had been her rebellion, her choice, her impossible love. His suit was unremarkable, slightly wrinkled as though hastily donned, yet there was a quiet authority in his presence that unnerved everyone around. But there was something else…a distance, a calm restraint, like a coiled spring hidden beneath a smooth surface. His eyes scanned the crowd, the cameras, the reporters, but never hers…not yet.

Vivian’s hands trembled, not with anxiety, but with exhilaration. Her fingers intertwined with Victor’s, and she felt the pulse of his hand, firm and steady, grounding her. The media was relentless, each lens capturing every blink, every heartbeat, every forced movement.

The vows began.

When Vivian spoke, her voice quavered, carrying a mixture of sincerity, defiance, and the fragile hope that this moment would be perfect despite the chaos surrounding them. “I do,” she said, and the words felt like fire in her chest.

Victor’s voice was steady, almost detached, each word falling precise and measured. “I do.”

A flash of light. A clap. Another flash. Another clap.

Applause erupted. A mechanical, rehearsed celebration that felt hollow in comparison to the storm of emotions roiling inside her.

Mrs. Vivian Larry.

She repeated it silently, savoring the syllables as if they were a sacred mantra. Mrs. Larry. The weight of her defiance, her freedom, and her choice pressed down on her chest and lifted her heart at the same time. She looked at Victor, desperately searching for a hint of warmth, a sign that he felt the same elation, the same electricity. He gave her a small nod, the faintest of smiles tugging at the corner of his lips…a smile that barely reached his eyes.

Outside, the press descended like a ravenous swarm. Microphones were thrust forward, cameras zoomed, flashes popped, and every angle of Vivian’s life was scrutinized, questioned, judged.

“Vivian! How does it feel to marry below your status?”

“Is it true your family has cut you off financially?”

“Why a courthouse wedding? Isn’t that… cheap for the heiress of the Darry empire?”

The sting of each question was sharp, cutting into her chest like ice. She clenched her teeth, forcing a smile that felt more like armor than joy. Her eyes sparkled, her cheeks lifted, but beneath the façade, her heart quaked. Ignore them… just smile. And she did.

⸻

Miles away, on a narrow, winding road that sliced through barren fields and abandoned villages, Emelia drove with precision, her hands steady on the wheel, eyes darting to the rearview mirror.

She didn’t see him.

But he was there. Mr.Darry. Hidden in the shadows of an unmarked black sedan, following at a careful distance. He had anticipated this…expected the twist, the detour, the misdirection…and switched cars mid-journey to remain unseen. His eyes never left hers, his jaw tight with tension.

Where is she going? Why does this road feel so familiar? He wondered, gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. His instincts screamed danger, a silent alarm that he couldn’t ignore.

Then, a notification broke through the quiet hum of the engine.

His phone lit up. A headline. Simple, yet devastating.

BREAKING: HEIRESS VIVIAN DARRY MARRIES VICTOR LARRY IN “CHEAP” COURTHOUSE CEREMONY.

The car jolted as he slammed the brakes, dust rising behind him like a ghost of chaos. He grabbed the phone, eyes wide, fingers trembling, disbelief and rage mingling into a physical ache in his chest. There she was… his daughter. His blood. Smiling like she owned the world… and in that smile, he saw the world he had lost.

“Vivian… what have you done?” he whispered, voice breaking, but he didn’t allow himself to collapse. Not yet. Not when Amelia’s path ahead promised secrets that demanded his attention before his wrath.

⸻

Meanwhile, in the chaos of a small, cluttered apartment far from the glare of the courthouse, Bianca was losing herself.

Glass shattered across the floor. A photo frame split down the middle, Victor’s image fractured, symbolic of her own heart breaking into jagged pieces. She stood barefoot amid the wreckage, her breath ragged, her chest rising and falling in rapid, uneven gasps. Makeup had streaked down her cheeks, black and angry, but her eyes burned, wild and untamed.

“He promised me,” she whispered first, barely audible. Then louder, sharper, harsher: “He promised me!”

She snatched the remote and turned on the TV. There it was, blazing across the screen…Vivian’s wedding replayed in endless slow motion. Her smile. Her impossible, radiant defiance. The world celebrating a union she had no right to have.

“You don’t know Victor. I do,” she hissed at the screen, voice thick with venom and heartbreak. Her hand clenched the remote, and with one sharp movement, it shattered against the wall. Pieces clattered across the floor, mirroring her shattered hope.

⸻

Back in the city, in a small, modest apartment that smelled faintly of brewed tea and new beginnings, Vivian tried to breathe normally.

Victor sat across from her, phone in hand, scrolling endlessly, his expression unreadable. His fingers tapped the screen rhythmically, a silent reminder that some part of him existed elsewhere, detached from the bubble of warmth Vivian had tried to create.

She ignored it. Served him tea, the aroma floating in the air like a fragile promise. She sat across from him, smiling, trying to find comfort in his presence, trying to make him feel the triumph she felt.

The TV was on, replaying the wedding. She expected the headlines to celebrate love, to applaud courage, to honor a choice made against societal and familial constraints.

Instead…

SOCIAL MEDIA ERUPTS: HEIRESS VIVIAN DARRY MOCKED FOR “CHEAP” COURTHOUSE WEDDING – PUBLIC CALLS IT “DESPERATION MARRIAGE.”

Split-screen shots, every angle of her joy and Victor’s calculated blankness magnified and dissected.

Comments flooded the airwaves:

“Look at her dress… did she buy it from a bargain store?”

“Can’t believe the Darry heiress settled for THIS.”

“Victor looks like he just got paid to stand there.”

“This is what happens when rich girls fall for manipulators. Tragic.”

Vivian’s chest constricted. Her hands went cold. The joy she had clung to all day threatened to crumble under the weight of public opinion.

Victor shifted, his eyes flicking briefly to the screen. There was a tightening around his jaw, an imperceptible shift in his posture. But he said nothing.

She forced a laugh, brittle and sharp. “People will talk… it’s okay.”

Victor’s silence answered more than words ever could.

⸻

On the dusty road, David Darry’s phone buzzed again. The call was brief, the voice on the other end trembling, carrying the panic of chaos already spreading. “Sir… it’s all over the press. People are calling it a scandal. Investors are asking questions. They… they think your daughter has lost her mind.”

David’s chest tightened, a war raging behind his calm exterior. Part of him wanted to storm into the city, to tear Vivian from the hands of this man, to remind the world that she was a Darry, untouchable and sacred.

Yet Amelia’s car remained ahead, her course unwavering. One disaster at a time.

⸻

Hours passed in the apartment as twilight deepened. City lights flickered like distant stars, indifferent to the human chaos below. Vivian leaned against the couch, head tilted, eyes on Victor, but finding only the same unreadable mask. She forced a smile, fragile and cracked, porcelain held together with invisible glue.

“I guess… they’ll calm down soon,” she whispered, half to herself. “They always do.”

Victor didn’t respond. His gaze remained fixed, a taut line of restraint masking emotion she couldn’t read. Was it anger? Concern? Disappointment? Perhaps all three.

She swallowed hard, leaning on him, searching for warmth. His shoulder was cool under her cheek. He didn’t pull away—but he didn’t embrace her either. The distance between them was a quiet, suffocating presence.

Then, the world tilted.

The TV flickered. Static filled the screen. The images warped, glitched, distorted.

Vivian froze. Victor’s hand clenched the armrest, knuckles white.

BREAKING UPDATE – TRAGEDY HITS THE DARRY EMPIRE

Vivian’s pulse spiked, an icy needle sliding through her veins.

Victor’s head snapped toward the screen, eyes wide, jaw tight.

The images came slowly, teasing and fragmented, as if the world itself were holding its breath. A blurry figure appeared, struggling to take shape. A stretcher. A hospital bed. A body wrapped in white sheets, the edges smudged with red. Ambulance lights flashed in the background, frantic and desperate.

Vivian’s stomach dropped, a chasm opening beneath her feet. Her hand flew to her mouth, trembling, trying to choke back the scream rising in her throat.

“No… no… this… this can’t be…” she whispered.

Victor rose, tall and rigid, eyes locked on the screen. His hand, the one that had held hers moments ago, trembled, betraying the calm he had always projected.

Vivian’s legs moved on instinct, away from him, toward the door, toward air, toward any escape from the horror blooming in her chest.

“I… I need to go,” she choked, panic flaring like wildfire.

“Vivian,” Victor’s voice was sharp, commanding…but not angry. Urgent. Warning.

She didn’t stop. The door handle rattled beneath her grip. Her heart thudded so violently she thought it might shatter her ribs.

And then… the screen fully loaded.

Click.

The world froze.

Everything stopped.