Page 64 of Of Vows and Betrayal

“You look beautiful,” he says, his voice a hollow echo of its former self.

I try to smile, but it feels like my face might crack under the strain. “Thanks, Dad,” I manage to whisper.

He stands up and walks over to me, his movements slow and deliberate. “I wish there were another way,” he says, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. “I’m so sorry, Ophelia.”

“Don’t be,” I reply, forcing myself to keep my voice steady. “This is my price to pay. I’m the one who betrayed you.”

He shakes his head, a look of profound sadness in his eyes. “You didn’t, not really. You made a mistake. You let yourself be driven by your heart, just like your mother did. I can’t blame you for that. It was my role to protect you. It was my role to ensure you were safe. I failed you.”

His words bring tears to my eyes and a lump in my throat. I can’t cry—I won’t cry. I won’t let Dario know how much he’s breaking me.

I clear my throat. “Ah, he’s old. With a little luck, I’ll be a widow soon enough,” I say in a failed attempt at humor.

The door opens, and Dario’s imposing figure fills the doorway. He’s dressed in an impeccably tailored suit, a predatory smile on his face. “Are you ready, my dear?” he asks, his voice dripping with mock sincerity.

I nod, feeling the bile rise in my throat. “Yes, I’m ready.”

“Good,” he says, his eyes gleaming with triumph. “It’s time.”

He steps aside, and two guards enter the room, positioning themselves on either side of me. I take a deepbreath, the tight bodice of the dress constricting my lungs, and walk toward the door. My father follows behind, his footsteps heavy and reluctant.

The hallway outside is dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of old wood and musty fabric. Each step echoes loudly in the oppressive silence, a grim reminder of the path I’m about to take.

Despite the chapel being small, with only a few pews on either side, it’s extremely bare. There are only a handful of guests, including the judge, sitting in the last pew, looking at the scene, his face devoid of any emotion.

Why is he here?

As I reach the entrance to the chapel, I pause for a moment, feeling the weight of the impending ceremony pressing down on me. The guards position themselves at the doors, and my father takes my arm, his grip trembling slightly. Together, we step into the main part of the chapel.

The murmurs of the few guests die down as we walk down the aisle. The judge’s cold, emotionless gaze follows our every move, adding to the already suffocating atmosphere. I focus on putting one foot in front of the other, the tight dress making it difficult to breathe.

Dario stands at the altar, his eyes locked on me with a predatory gleam. My heart pounds in my chest, each beat a painful reminder of the reality I’m being forced to accept. As we reach the altar, my father gives my hand a gentle squeeze before stepping back, his eyes filled with sorrow.

The priest begins the ceremony, his voice a distant drone as I stand there, feeling like I’m trapped in a nightmare. Dario’s smug smile never falters, his eyes gleaming withtriumph.

“Do you, Ophelia, take Dario to be your lawfully wedded husband?” the priest asks, his voice echoing in the small chapel.

Before I can open my mouth, the chapel doors burst open with a resounding crash. Gasps ripple through the small crowd as everyone turns to see who dares to interrupt.

Javier stands in the doorway, his eyes wild with desperation and fury. “Stop this wedding!” he shouts, his voice echoing off the stone walls.

Dario’s face twists in rage, his grip on my hand tightening painfully. “What is the meaning of this?” he demands, his voice a low growl.

“She’s not yours, Carmine. She’s mine.” Javier continues walking up the aisle.

Even if I’m grateful for the interruption, I’m getting angry at Javier—well, angry despite the bleeding wounds of my heart aching at seeing him again. He betrayed me in every way possible, and he has the audacity to come here and claim me as if he has any right to me when I’m standing here because of him.

“I don’t belong to you,” I tell him, standing taller.

“You heard her.” Dario lets go of my hand now that he knows I won’t run away.

“Ophelia, please.” I see the anguish in Javier’s eyes, but instead of swaying me, it hardens my resolve, and I just stare at him.

His face shifts, taking on a violent fierceness. “She’s mine because I took her innocence.”

There are a few gasps among the guests, and gossipstarts again. I narrow my eyes at him; I could murder him right there.

Dario gets his gun out of his holster, and I take a step back. My father rests a hand on my shoulder. “I know she’s a filthy whore. I didn’t expect her to be pure. She’s her mother’s daughter after all. I have far fewer qualms about all the things I’ll do to her tonight.”

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