The Price of Luxury

Chapter9

The cathedral was a masterpiece of Gothic architecture, but today it feels like a mausoleum. Thousands of white orchids lined the aisle, their scent heavy and suffocating. Elena stood at the altar, wearing the stiff, high-necked bridesmaid dress Arthur had selected for the bridal party.

The brass doors at the back of the church opened. Juliet appeared, walking down the aisle on her father’s arm. Her face was hidden behind a thick, multi-layered cathedral veil. To the five hundred guests in the pews, she looked like a vision of perfection. To Elena, she looked like a ghost marching toward a scaffold.

When Juliet reached the altar, Arthur took her hand. Elena watched his grip. His fingers clamped around Juliet’s wrist over the spot where the bruises were hidden beneath the heavy silk of her sleeves. Juliet didn't flinch, but her shoulders tensed.

The priest began the liturgy. The words of love, honor, and cherish echoed off the vaulted ceiling, sounding hollow and transactional.

"Do you, Arthur Vance, take this woman..."

"I do," Arthur said, his voice loud, confident, and commanding. He looked at Juliet not with love, but with the pride of a collector who had finally secured a rare artifact.

"Do you, Juliet Martinez, take this man..."

There was a long, agonizing pause. The silence stretched for several seconds. The guests began to whisper. Elena held her breath, her heart hammering against her ribs. Say no, she prayed silently. Just run, Jules.

Behind the veil, Juliet swallowed hard. She looked at her father in the front row, then at Arthur’s unyielding, icy gaze.

"I do," Juliet whispered.

The veil was lifted, and Arthur kissed her. It wasn't a gentle kiss; it was a public declaration of ownership. Elena felt a tear slip down her cheek, knowing that her best friend had just walked into a prison from which there was no easy escape.