All I Want Is You

Alexander's POV Alexander Veyne hated weddings. He had never said it aloud, of course. There were certain things a man like him was expected to tolerate. Long dinners. Endless charity galas. Family gatherings where everyone pretended not to discuss his personal life while discussing it anyway. Weddings were simply another obligation. At least, that was what he had always told himself. Until today. Today, he was going to become a husband. He stood in the private room behind St. Augustine's Cathedral, staring at his reflection in the mirror while his best man adjusted the collar of his tuxedo. Black, simple, and quite expensive. Everything about him was deliberately understated, from the platinum watch on his wrist to the cufflinks Camila had given him on their first anniversary. He glanced at the watch. 11:42 a.m. His eyes moved to the phone lying on the table. Still nothing. He picked it up, but there were no missed calls or messages. His jaw tightened. Camila was supposed to be here twenty minutes ago. He told himself not to overthink it. Brides were usually late. There were probably a dozen explanations. Maybe the traffic was worse than expected. Maybe the makeup artist had delayed her, or maybe one of the bridesmaids had forgotten something. There was always something. He placed the phone down. Five seconds later, he picked it up again. Still no message. "You're going to wear a hole through that phone." Alexander looked toward the door. His younger sister, Arielle, stood there with a smile on her face. She was dressed in a pale blue gown, her hair swept elegantly away from her face. "You're nervous," she said. "I'm not." "You've checked your phone six times." "How long have you been watching?" Alexander gave her a look. "Long enough to count how many times you've checked the phone." She laughed, then walked inside and closed the door behind her. "For someone who negotiates million-dollar deals without blinking, you're surprisingly bad at pretending you're calm." "I'm waiting for my bride." "Fiancée." He looked at her. She raised both hands. "Fine. Bride-to-be." Alexander glanced at the clock again. 11:44. "She's late." "She's probably on her way." "She should have been here already." The amusement disappeared from Arielle's face. "Did you two argue?" "No." "Are you sure?" "Arielle." "Okay. I'm just asking." Alexander picked up his phone again. He called Camila. The line rang. Once. Twice. Three times. He waited. His expression hardened. He called again. This time, the call went straight to voicemail. Arielle watched him carefully. "Maybe her phone died." "Camila doesn't let her phone die." "Maybe—" "She doesn't." His answer came too quickly. "Take a chill pill, Alex. Maybe her hairstylist ran late." Alexander slipped the phone into his pocket. He didn't know why the uneasiness had begun to crawl beneath his skin. He had spoken to Camila last night. He remembered her voice. The happiness in it. "Tomorrow, I'll finally be your wife," she had said to him. He had teased her about being sentimental. She had laughed. Then she had said something else. Something he hadn't thought much about at the time. "No matter what happens tomorrow, Alexander, don't let anyone change your mind about me." He had asked what that meant, but she avoided the question. He had assumed it was wedding nerves. Now, for the first time, he wondered if it had been something else. A knock interrupted his thoughts. His mother stepped into the room. She looked beautiful in an elegant ivory gown, but her smile faltered when she saw his expression. "Alexander." "Mother." "Everything is ready." His eyes moved briefly toward the clock. "Except the bride." His mother's smile disappeared. "Camila's family says she's on her way." "Who told you that?" Her hesitation was enough. "Her mother." "When?" "About twenty minutes ago." Alexander's gaze sharpened. "Why didn't you tell me?" "I didn't want to worry you." He almost laughed. "I've been standing here wondering why my bride hasn't arrived, and you thought keeping that from me would help?" His mother sighed. "Alexander, it's your wedding day. Please don't start—" "I need to know where she is." Before his mother could answer, the church bells began to ring. The ceremony was starting. Or it was supposed to. --- The cathedral was filled. Every seat had been taken. White roses lined the aisle. Candles flickered along the altar. Photographers stood at the edges of the room, careful not to interrupt the ceremony while still trying to capture every important moment. Alexander stood beside the altar. His father was seated in the front row. His mother sat beside him, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Arielle was among the bridesmaids. Everyone was waiting. The music began. A soft melody filled the cathedral and the guests turned toward the entrance. Alexander's shoulders straightened. This was it. The doors opened. Nothing. Noone came inside. The music continued. His eyes remained fixed on the entrance. The wedding planner glanced toward the back. The priest looked at his watch. A few guests shifted uncomfortably in their seats. The doors closed. Whispers began. Alexander pulled out his phone. He called Camila again. No answer. He lowered the phone. The music stopped. Silence swallowed the cathedral. His mother stood and the wedding planner hurried toward her. Alexander watched them speak. His mother's face changed, she looked toward him. Something was wrong. Very wrong. He walked toward her. "What happened?" She didn't answer immediately. "Mother." "The driver says he hasn't been able to reach her." Alexander stared at her. "What?" "He went to her house. No one answered." His heart sank. "Her parents?" "They aren't answering either." For a moment, Alexander couldn't speak. The cathedral suddenly felt too small. He looked toward the doors again. Camila wasn't coming. The realization settled slowly. She wasn't late. She wasn't stuck in traffic. She wasn't getting ready. She was gone. A notification appeared on his phone. His hand froze. Camila. He opened it immediately. One message. No explanation. No apology. Just a few words. I'm sorry, Alex. I can't marry you. And please, don't come looking for me. He stared at the screen. His breathing became shallow. He read it again and again. The words remained the same. Behind him, someone whispered. "She left him." Another voice answered. "On the wedding day?" Alexander locked his phone. He could feel hundreds of eyes on him. His father had risen from his seat and his mother looked devastated. The priest stood quietly beside the altar and somewhere among the guests, a camera shutter clicked. Then another. Alexander looked toward the doors. He didn't cry. He didn't shout. He didn't ask anyone to stop the ceremony. He simply turned around and walked. The whispers followed him. So did the cameras. --- Outside, the moment Alexander stepped onto the church steps, reporters rushed toward him. "Mr. Veyne!" "Alexander, where is Camila?" "Did she leave you at the altar?" "Was the wedding cancelled?" "Are the two of you still together?" "Alexander, are you going to comment on the rumors?" Security pushed through the crowd. Alexander kept walking. His expression was unreadable. He had spent his entire life learning how to control his emotions. Today, those lessons were the only thing keeping him from breaking in front of everyone. A microphone appeared inches from his face. "Mr. Veyne, did Camila call off the wedding?" He continued toward his waiting car. The reporters erupted behind him, and their questions became louder. His name echoed across the church courtyard. Alexander opened the car door and got inside. The moment it closed, silence returned. He leaned back. His hands rested on his thighs. For several seconds, he simply stared ahead. Then his phone vibrated. Unknown number. He opened the message. There were only two lines. Don't look for Camila. Some things are better left buried. Alexander's eyes narrowed. Before he could respond, another message appeared. Move on with your life. He stared blankly at the screen. For the first time that day, something stronger than humiliation settled inside him. Fear. Not for himself. For the woman who had just disappeared. Alexander slowly raised his eyes toward the driver's seat. "Drive." The car pulled away from the church. He looked down at the messages again. Then, beneath them, another notification appeared. A photograph. Alexander opened it. His entire body went still. It was Camila. But she wasn't alone. And the photograph had been taken less than an hour ago.