The spider's web
799 Words
Miles away in his private study, Victor Ashridge shifted slightly in his armchair, his leg wrapped and propped on an ottoman. Pain hummed under the morphine like an old tune with no end.
So instead of walking his son to the edge of a new life, Victor sat with a blanket over his legs, watching that life unfold on a screen.
The video feed was perfect. Erica had ensured it. A high-end, clean stream from the church, flawless audio, discreet camera angles, no latency. He could see every gesture, every shift in the wind that tugged at the ivory linens and brushed against Elira’s veil.
And he could see Dominic.
His son looked beautiful and strong.
Beside him, Lena, his secretary, sat silently. She hadn’t gone to the wedding. Hadn’t dressed for it. Had simply stayed by him.
When he’d asked her why earlier that morning, between pain meds and a groggy breakfast, she’d answered without fanfare: “You shouldn’t watch alone.”
Victor appreciated the honesty in her actions more than most people’s words.
Now, as Dominic reached for Elira’s hands on the screen, Victor turned toward her.
“Tell me something, Lena,” he said. “Why didn’t you ever catch his eye?”
Lena didn’t look away from the screen. She remained calm and lovely. Her trademark all these years.
“Because I never let myself.”
Victor raised a brow, interested now. “You loved him.”
She exhaled. “I love someone else.”
The word floated in the room like a feather. Light, yet full of everything unsaid.
“You could’ve had him if you’d wanted,” Victor said, studying her.
Lena finally turned to him. Her eyes weren’t sad.
He nodded slowly, a kind of respect passing between them like wind through long grass. They turned back to the screen. The vows were brief.
“I didn’t meet Elira,” he muttered.
“Oh,” Lena said softly.
“And Erica, hovering in the background like a spider in silk.”
“She looks like she’s up to something,” Lena agreed.
His fingers curled slightly around the edge of the blanket. “Watch her.”
“Sure.”
On screen, the kiss came. Poised for the camera. The thirteen guests stood to applaud.
Victor took a slow breath. “I wish I could’ve stood for him.”
“You are,” Lena said, reaching gently for his hand. “In every way that counts.”
"I don't know how she convinced Dominic about this marriage," Victor muttered, his voice raspy as he stared at Erica on the screen. "She pulled my son right into her palm just as she did Becky."
Lena observed the monitor silently. "Erica's ambitious, Victor."
"Not just that" he continued, his hand tightening into a fist against the fleece blanket. "She's a predator. Get Gabriel on the phone."
Minutes later.
"Mr. Ashridge?"
"Gabriel," Victor began. "Erica’s husband... Mark. What do you actually know about his death?"
Gabriel shifted the phone to the other ear. "It... it happened a long time ago, sir. Official word was self defence murder. But..." He hesitated. "...the streets whispered a different story back then. They say Erica stabbed him to death during an argument."
"Gabriel, keep your eyes on her," Victor said, his voice dangerously calm. He turned his head slowly toward his secretary. "Lena."
"Yes, Victor?"
"Call the event coordinators. I want us to host a grand wedding reception for Dominic and Elira in one week’s time."
Lena blinked, surprised. "A reception?"
"Next weekend," Victor continued, "invite every board member, every international partner, and every major press outlet in the city. I am going to grace the occasion in person."
He turned back to the screen, watching Erica theatrically wipe away a tear as Dominic and Elira turned toward the exit.
"If she wants the Ashridge name so badly," Victor whispered, "I am going to play along to find out why."
The wedding was over.
The guest had long since disappeared into sleek cars, murmuring goodbyes swallowed by champagne.
Erica let herself rest.
She was exhausted.
Planning a wedding, the Ashridge wedding, was not for the faint of will. It had taken manipulation, sheer force of personality, and money to make it seamless.
There were glitches, of course; a little PR move when a tabloid newspaper reported family problems. But every wave got smoothed out. She pushed every button forward, until her daughter walked down that aisle, looking every inch the woman she needed her to be.
She smiled. She had played her part and looked perfect while at it.
And now it was done.
- Writer
