STOLEN VOWS

The Perfect Disaster The scent of roses and expensive perfume filled the grand cathedral. Soft classical music played from the string quartet at the front, and golden light streamed through the stained-glass windows, making everything feel like a fairytale. But Clara felt nothing. Her fingers tightened around the bouquet in her hands, the weight of the diamond ring on her finger pressing into her skin. Something felt wrong. She glanced at the massive clock above the altar. Ten minutes late. Her groom, James, should have been standing at the altar by now. A murmur spread through the pews, whispers rising like a quiet storm. Her bridesmaids exchanged nervous glances, while her mother, seated in the front row, fidgeted with the pearl necklace around her throat. Her father stood by her side, his grip on her arm firm. “Be patient,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “James will be here.” Clara swallowed hard. Would he? Her stomach twisted, anxiety clawing at her chest. Something wasn’t right. Then, the cathedral doors slammed open. A collective gasp rippled through the guests as heavy footsteps echoed against the marble floors. Clara turned—and her breath caught. The Man Who Shouldn’t Be Here Smith Carter. Billionaire. Powerbroker. James’s uncle. And the last person who should be crashing this wedding. He strode down the aisle with the kind of confidence that made people shrink away, his tailored black suit sharp against his broad frame. His piercing blue eyes locked onto Clara like a predator sizing up its prey. “What… what is he doing here?” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the murmurs. Her father’s grip on her arm tightened. “I don’t know. But whatever it is, it’s not good.” Smith reached the altar and turned to the crowd, his expression unreadable. Then, with a voice that carried across the grand cathedral, he spoke: “James isn’t coming.” Silence. The entire room seemed to freeze. Clara’s heart pounded. “What?” she breathed. Smith’s gaze flicked to her, sharp and unyielding. “He ran.” Her bouquet slipped from her fingers, petals scattering across the floor. The whispers in the crowd grew louder. “This can’t be happening,” her mother hissed from the front row, her face turning pale. Clara’s chest tightened, her breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. James ran? No. No, this had to be some mistake. She turned to Smith, her voice trembling. “Where is he?” Smith didn’t blink. “Gone.” Clara clenched her fists. “You expect me to believe that he just—just left?” A muscle ticked in Smith’s jaw. “Believe what you want. But James isn’t here.” The reality of it hit her like a punch to the stomach. He left me. The wedding guests were staring, waiting, judging. Her father stepped forward, his voice low and dangerous. “This is a disgrace. We need to fix this—” Smith cut him off. “I already have.” Clara’s blood ran cold. “What… what do you mean?” she asked, barely able to force the words out. Smith’s lips curled into a smirk. “You’re still getting married today, Clara.” The room spun. “What?” He took another step closer, his voice smooth as silk. “To me.” A Bride with No Choice The cathedral exploded into chaos. Shocked gasps. Outraged whispers. Clara’s mother shot to her feet. “This is madness!” Her father’s eyes narrowed. “Smith, you can’t be serious.” Smith didn’t waver. “I don’t joke.” Clara stared at him, her mind struggling to process what he was saying. This isn’t real. This is a nightmare. “This is insane,” she whispered. “You can’t just decide—” “I can,” Smith interrupted, voice cool. “And I have.” She shook her head. “I won’t.” His smirk deepened. “You will.” Clara turned to her father, desperate. “Tell him no!” Her father’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t speak. A sick feeling settled in her stomach. Her mother’s voice was cold. “This family can’t afford a scandal, Clara.” Clara’s breath hitched. “You’re not seriously considering this?” Her father exhaled heavily. “We don’t have a choice.” Clara’s hands trembled. No choice? This was her life. Her future. She turned back to Smith. “Why are you doing this?” He tilted his head, studying her. Then, stepping closer, he lowered his voice so only she could hear: “Because you were never meant to be his.” The words sent a chill down her spine. Clara’s fingers curled into fists. “You don’t own me.” Smith’s lips brushed her ear as he whispered, “I do now.” The Vows That Shouldn’t Have Happened The priest hesitated, clearly unsure whether to continue. Smith turned to him. “Proceed.” The old man swallowed but nodded. Clara’s pulse pounded in her ears. This isn’t happening. Smith reached out, his fingers closing around hers. His grip was firm—unshakable. “Say the words, Clara.” She looked up at him, defiance burning in her eyes. “Go to hell.” Smith smirked. “Already there, sweetheart. Now, say them.” Her father’s voice was low but sharp. “Clara.” Her mother’s warning glare. The guests watching, waiting, judging. Clara’s throat tightened. She felt trapped. No way out. Her chest rose and fell rapidly. Smith squeezed her hand. “Say it.” She could fight. She could scream. She could run. But it wouldn’t change anything. James was gone. And Smith… Smith wasn’t giving her a choice. Her lips trembled. “I…” She swallowed hard. “I do.” A triumphant gleam flashed in Smith’s eyes. The priest turned to him. “And do you, Smith Richmond, take Clara—” “I do.” His answer came without hesitation. The priest nodded. “Then, by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” Clara barely had time to react before Smith pulled her in. His lips crushed against hers in a deep, possessive kiss. A kiss that wasn’t just for show. A kiss that claimed her. The guests erupted into stunned whispers. Her fingers clenched against his chest, her heart hammering. When he finally pulled back, his lips still ghosting over hers, he smirked. “Dear ex,” he murmured against her mouth, “as I’ve always said… you can only be my bride.”