Chapter 14
1233 Words
Chapter 14
The Wedding Day
The morning of my wedding felt unreal in the quietest way.
Not because it was extravagant. It wasn’t. There were no towering floral arches or crowds of strangers pretending to care. There was no spotlight, no performance. Just a small seaside chapel with pale stone walls, the sound of waves in the distance, and a handful of people who mattered.
That was the kind of wedding Anthony wanted.
That was the kind of wedding I could breathe through.
I stood in front of the mirror in the small room behind the chapel, smoothing my hands over the simple white dress. It fit me perfectly, like it had been made for who I was now, not who I used to be. My hair was pinned back loosely. No heavy jewelry. No dramatic makeup.
No pretending.
A woman from the inn, the same kind receptionist who had given me my first key, adjusted a small strand of hair near my face and smiled.
“You look peaceful,” she said.
I stared at my reflection. Peaceful. It was a word that used to feel impossible.
“I am,” I admitted.
Outside, I could hear low voices. Quiet laughter. The murmur of people settling into wooden pews. Anthony’s voice stood out, warm and steady, speaking to the priest.
My phone had been silent for weeks. I had changed the number. Closed old accounts. Cut every thread James could tug on.
No one knew where I was.
No one, except Anthony.
And yet, my stomach tightened, not with fear, but with the strange weight of finality. Marriage once meant vows that trapped me. A promise that I took seriously while the man beside me used it as decoration.
Now, marriage meant something else.
Choice.
The door behind me opened.
I turned, expecting Anthony.
But it wasn’t him.
A man stood in the doorway, tall and familiar in a way that stole the air from my lungs. His hair was darker than I remembered, his face harder, but his eyes were the same. Sharp. Watching. Not cruel, but proud in a way he rarely allowed himself to show.
My father.
For a second I couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. I felt seventeen again, standing in his office, begging him to understand love while he stared at me like I was making the biggest mistake of my life.
“Daphne,” he said quietly.
My throat tightened instantly. “What are you doing here.”
His gaze flicked over me. The dress. The calm in my face. The lack of fear.
“I was invited,” he said.
I blinked. “By who.”
Before he could answer, Anthony appeared behind him, one hand resting lightly at my father’s shoulder like he belonged there.
“I hope you’re not angry,” Anthony said, stepping into the room. “I wanted this to be… complete.”
My heart pounded, not with panic, but with something raw.
“You called him,” I whispered.
Anthony nodded. “I did.”
My father’s jaw tightened, but there was no anger in it. Only regret, restrained like everything he ever felt.
“I didn’t know where you were,” he said. “For years, I didn’t know if you were safe. And then one day I received a call from a man who said he could bring me to you.”
I stared at Anthony. “How did you even—”
“I still have access to certain networks,” Anthony said gently. “And your father’s name is not easy to hide when you know where to look.”
My father took a step toward me. Slowly. Carefully. Like he was afraid I might disappear again.
“You look well,” he said.
I swallowed hard. “I am well.”
His eyes softened, just slightly. “You should have been well all along.”
The words cracked something in me.
“I left,” I said quietly. “I made that choice. I walked away from you.”
My father shook his head. “I made you choose.”
I held my breath as he stepped closer, his voice lowering.
“I thought I was protecting you,” he said. “I thought if I cut you off, you would come back. I thought you would realize that love without power can ruin you.”
He exhaled sharply. “I didn’t expect you to suffer in silence. I didn’t expect you to build a man into a millionaire and still be treated like nothing.”
My eyes burned, but I refused to let tears fall. “You were right about him.”
“I was,” my father said. “But I was wrong about you.”
My chest tightened. “What does that mean.”
“It means,” he said slowly, “I underestimated you. I thought you needed my protection. But you walked away from everything and still stood up again. That is not weakness, Daphne. That is strength.”
For a moment I couldn’t speak.
Anthony watched quietly, giving us space, his presence solid and grounding.
My father’s voice turned rough. “I missed you.”
The words landed hard.
I had missed him too. In ugly, quiet ways. In moments I didn’t allow myself to admit it. In moments when I wondered if my life would have been different if he had simply hugged me instead of making me choose.
“I’m sorry,” I said, the words trembling slightly. “I thought you hated me.”
My father’s face tightened. “I hated the man you chose. I hated the idea of you giving yourself away to someone who didn’t deserve it.”
He paused. “I never hated you.”
My throat ached. “I wanted you to be proud of me.”
He stared at me for a long moment, then nodded once. “I am.”
The room felt too small suddenly. My breathing turned shallow. The emotion was rising, and it terrified me more than anger ever had.
Before I could stop myself, I stepped forward and hugged him.
My father froze for half a second, then wrapped his arms around me tightly. His embrace was strong, familiar, protective, and for the first time in years I allowed myself to feel it fully.
“I’m here,” he said quietly against my hair. “I’m not letting you go again.”
When we pulled apart, Anthony smiled softly.
“That’s my cue to let you two have a minute,” he said. “I’ll be right outside.”
He left, closing the door gently.
My father looked at my face. "He hurt you, didn't he?"
I didn’t bother denying it. “Yes.”
My father’s jaw clenched. “If I had known—”
“You would have dragged me home,” I said, trying to keep my voice light.
“I would have burned his life down,” he corrected coldly.
I let out a shaky breath. “You still might.”
My father’s eyes sharpened. “You want me to.”
I hesitated only a moment. “I want justice.”
He nodded once. “Then you’ll have it.”
A knock sounded at the door.
The woman from the inn peeked in. “They’re ready.”
I nodded. “I’m coming.”
- Writer
