Chapter Three: The Secret Vows
981 Words
Gabriel started the car and drive for what seems like hours. Finally, the car rolled to a stop on the quiet road, the hum of the engine fading into silence. Isabella glanced up, confusion tightening her chest. They were nowhere near the hotel now.
“Why are we stopping?” she asked, wary.
Gabriel’s eyes flicked to her, calm and steady. “We’re going to a church.”
Her throat tightened. “A church? Why?”
“Because we’re getting married today...you accepted to be my wife, right?” His voice was firm, no hesitation.
Her mouth fell open. “So fast? You can’t be serious!”
He turned slightly in his seat, his expression unreadable. “I want this done before my family ties me to another woman. Another arrangement I have no intention of honoring. You want freedom, Isabella. So do I. This is how we get it.”
Her heart pounded. Everything about this was wrong, reckless, insane—but she was cornered. Slowly, she drew in a breath, gathering what little courage she had.
“Fine. But if we’re doing this, then I have rules.”
His brow arched, amused. “Rules?”
“Yes.” Her chin lifted, though her voice shook. “No s*x. We won’t stay together. We live our lives separately. Do you understand?”
For the first time, he laughed—low, deep, almost mocking. “I never planned to have s*x with you anyway.”
The ease of his answer stunned her. He didn’t look embarrassed or offended, just amused, as though her declaration had been childish. Isabella’s cheeks burned, but she crossed her arms, determined not to show weakness.
Before she could retort, he reached for his phone. She watched as he dialed a number, his tone shifting into something sharp and commanding.
“Prepare the chapel,” he said. “I am getting married and I want the papers ready. We’ll be there within the hour. And no one is to know. Not a soul.”
The voice on the other end seemed to protest, but his response cut like a blade. “Do as I say.” And with that, he ended the call abruptly.
Isabella blinked, startled. The authority in his voice sent a shiver down her spine. Too sharp. Too arrogant.
“Too arrogant for a poor man,” she muttered under her breath before she could stop herself.
His head turned sharply. “What did you say?”
Her heart leapt into her throat. “I—I said you sound… too caring for a stranger. That’s all.” She forced a weak smile.
He didn’t look convinced, but after a moment, he returned his eyes to the road, the car gliding smoothly forward. Isabella exhaled, pressing her hands together to keep them from trembling.
Minutes later, the car pulled into the courtyard of a small, dimly lit church. The building was old, its white paint peeling, its bell tower leaning slightly as though burdened by secrets. Isabella’s stomach knotted.
“This is insane,” she whispered.
Gabriel didn’t reply. He opened the door and stepped out with the quiet assurance of a man who knew exactly what he wanted. She hesitated, but when he held the door open for her, she found her legs moving.
Inside, the church smelled faintly of candle wax and dust. A priest stood waiting near the altar, his eyes flickering nervously between the tall man in the suit and the trembling bride in her torn gown.
"Mr..." the priest started speaking, but Gabriel cut him off."
"No pleasantries, her name is Isabella Torres..go straight with the marriage.
Isabella paused, staring at him.
"How did you..?" she asked but he ignored her, as he held her hand and pulled her towards the altar.
Two weary-looking witnesses, a young woman from the parish choir and an old man sweeping the floor were called to stand in.
Isabella’s hands shook as the priest began.
“In the name of God and this holy church, we are gathered here today…”
Her ears rang. She barely heard the words as her mind screamed at her to run. But her feet wouldn’t move, and her heart wouldn’t obey.
The priest’s voice droned on, the words both surreal and terrifying.
“Do you, Gabriel Álvarez, take this woman—”
Her head snapped up.
Álvarez.
The name sliced through her like a knife.
Her lips parted, but no sound came out. Álvarez. Where had she heard it before? It clawed at the back of her mind, tugging at every whispered rumor, every late-night conversation she had overheard.
“I do,” Gabriel said firmly.
The priest turned to her. “Do you, Isabella Torres, take this man—”
Her heart pounded so loudly she could barely hear herself whisper, “I do.”
“Then by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may sign here.”
Her hand shook so badly the pen almost slipped. She scrawled her name across the page, her signature jagged and messy.
Gabriel took the pen next, his movements calm, deliberate. She leaned closer, eyes darting to the paper.
There it was.
Gabriel Álvarez.
The name rang a louder bell now. Her blood ran cold.
She turned to look at him, her lips parting, but the words caught in her throat.
Álvarez.
Could it be—?
Her knees felt weak, the ground shifting beneath her as the priest murmured a final blessing. Gabriel’s hand brushed lightly against hers as he closed the book, his eyes flicking to her face.
“You’re trembling,” he said softly, almost like a taunt.
"No, I'm," she replied, adjusting her dress.
"Yes, you're," he said coldly.
And Isabella knew. Deep down, though she couldn’t yet piece it all together, something was terribly, terrifyingly wrong.
- Writer
