Chapter 8
817 Words
There was a drone hovering above the Locke estate.
Talia spotted it from the bridal suite window, its quiet buzz cutting through the stillness like a reminder she couldn’t escape. Beyond the sculpted hedges and rose-draped arches, paparazzi lined the iron gates like hungry wolves, long lenses peeking through every gap, waiting for the moment the mystery bride revealed herself.
She stepped back, heart thudding.
This wasn’t a wedding.
It was a media circus.
Trending hashtags. Exclusive NDAs. Betting odds whispered behind designer sunglasses. Speculation already spiraling, whether the bride was pregnant, unstable, or worse… a gold digger who’d played her cards right.
The silk of her dress shimmered as she turned. Champagne, not white, Evelyn had opinions, very firm ones. White suggested innocence, she’d said. And this situation is anything but.
Talia had agreed without argument, but standing here now, she saw it for what it was: a quiet rebellion. The color warmed her skin, made her glow like sunrise instead of surrender.
The stylists had done their work too well. Soft glam. Glossed lips. Lashes curled to perfection. She looked radiant. Almost unreal. A version of herself that belonged in glossy magazines, not late-night writing sessions and thrifted sweaters.
“You’d laugh at this, Grandma,” she whispered to her reflection.
“Me, in a mansion, marrying a billionaire… in heels I can barely walk in.”
No parents hovered nearby. No mother fussing over the veil. No father pacing the hallway with nerves and pride tangled together.
Just memories.
Warm hands. Quiet lullabies. The clean scent of papaya soap and safety.
A knock interrupted her thoughts.
“Bride check!”
Phoebe poked her head in, eyes widening. “Oh my God. You look like a damn goddess.”
Talia let out a breathy half-laugh. “A goddess walking into Olympus on fire.”
Phoebe crossed the room, fixing a loose strand near the veil. “I’d say run… if he weren’t Cassian freaking Locke.”
That earned a real laugh — brief, shaky, but genuine.
Then another knock. Lighter. Almost hesitant.
Mia stepped in, dressed in dusty rose satin, eyeliner sharp enough to cut glass. Her gaze flicked from Talia to Phoebe, who offered a slow, knowing smirk.
“You must be Mia,” Phoebe said.
“And you’re the infamous best friend,” Mia replied, already amused. “I like you.”
“Good,” Phoebe said. “I brought snacks in my purse in case the speeches suck.”
Mia blinked once. Then grinned. “We’re going to get along just fine.”
Downstairs, Cassian stood beneath a white-draped altar, sunlight pooling behind him like a halo he didn’t ask for.
His black tux was immaculate, tailored to perfection, but his tie sat slightly loose, like even today, he refused to be fully controlled.
The guest list sparkled.
Socialites. CEOs. Fashion editors. Influencers. People who’d RSVP’d just to say they were there.
He scanned the crowd once. Checked his watch.
Then,
He saw her.
The garden stilled.
Talia stepped into view, bouquet trembling just slightly in her grip. The champagne silk hugged her frame like a secret. The veil brushed her shoulders, catching light as she moved.
Beside her, Charles Locke offered his arm. Solid. Steady.
She hesitated.
Then nodded, slipping her hand into his.
“You don’t need my name,” he murmured as they began walking.
“But you have my support.”
Cassian’s breath caught.
He didn’t hear the music. Didn’t see the cameras tilt forward.
All he saw was her.
He mouthed, You look beautiful.
She almost tripped.
The ceremony unfolded like clockwork. Clean. Polished. Designed for optics.
But there were moments the cameras couldn’t stage.
The way Cassian’s fingers brushed hers, and didn’t let go.
The way his voice softened when he said, “I do,” like it meant more than rehearsal ever allowed.
The way he hesitated when the officiant said, “You may kiss the bride.”
Not for show.
For her.
Talia’s breath caught.
He leaned in.
The kiss was soft. Slow. Careful, and somehow devastatingly real. For one suspended heartbeat, the noise vanished. The fear quieted. Her hand lifted, resting against his chest, feeling the steady truth of his heartbeat beneath silk and vows that weren’t supposed to matter.
Then applause erupted.
Cameras clicked.
Flower petals rained down.
They walked hand in hand, smiles practiced, bodies close. To the world, they were perfection.
To Talia...
Her heart felt like a battlefield.
Fantasy and fear.
Pretending and wanting.
Safety… and the ache of almost-love.
Behind her, Phoebe and Mia linked arms, grinning like chaos incarnate.
“Babe,” Phoebe whispered, “you might’ve just pulled off the greatest heist of the decade.”
Mia winked. “And you looked hot doing it.”
Talia managed a shaky smile.
This was the wedding no one expected.
And somehow...
The beginning she never saw coming.
- Writer
