Chapter 3 - The Wedding MarchI remembered everything.
The gala. The champagne. The drugged drink.
The hotel room. The man. His whispered apology. The shame.
The pregnancy. The fear. The hope.
The hospital. The nurse. The words I never wanted to hear: "I'm sorry, honey. The baby didn't make it."
The grief. The years of grief. The slow, creeping suspicion that something wasn't right.
And then—the phone call. A woman's voice, cold and triumphant: "He's alive. You'll never see him again."
Elara.
My sister.
She was the one who had taken him.
She was the one who had told me he was dead.
She was the one who had raised him as her own. Who had convinced him I was dead. Who was about to marry the man who should have been his father.
The man who was also the father of my child.
Noah Ashford.
The billionaire heir.
The man I'd spent one drugged night with.
The man Elara was about to marry.
"You look like me," Leo had said.
Of course I looked like him. He had my eyes. My chin. My smile.
And now, somewhere above, Elara was walking down the aisle in a white dress, holding my son's hand, lying to everyone about who she really was.
The music started.
The wedding march.
My blood turned to ice.
"No," I whispered. "No. No. No."
I scrambled to my feet. The door was locked from the outside. I'd tried it before, when I first woke up. It wouldn't budge.
But I was stronger now. I remembered everything. And I wasn't going to let her win.
I threw myself against the door.
It shuddered but didn't break.
Again. Harder.
The music swelled.
I screamed.
I threw my body against the door with all my strength. Wood splintered. The lock cracked. The door swung open.
I stumbled up the stairs, my legs weak, my vision swimming.
The main hall was a blur of white and gold. Flowers everywhere. A sea of guests in expensive suits and dresses. The aisle was lined with rose petals. And at the end of it—
Elara.
Beautiful. Radiant. In a dress that cost more than most people's houses. Her veil cascaded down her back like a waterfall of silk.
And beside her—
Leo. My son.
Holding the ring pillow. Looking so small and lost and confused.
"Mommy," he had called her.
Mommy.
No.
I opened my mouth. I tried to scream. But no sound came out.
Then I saw him.
The groom.
Noah.
He stood at the altar, tall and broad-shouldered, his dark hair perfectly styled, his eyes fixed on Elara.
He looked so cold. So distant.
He didn't know.
He didn't know the woman he was about to marry was a liar.
He didn't know the child carrying his rings was his son.
He didn't know I was alive.
"Stop," I whispered.
No one heard me.
"I said STOP!"
The hall went silent.
Every head turned.
Every eye fell on me.
I stood at the entrance, disheveled, covered in dust and dirt, my dress torn, my hair a wild mess.
Elara's face went white. Then red. Then white again.
She smiled. A brittle, plastic smile.
"This is my sister," she announced to the crowd. "She's not well. She's been in a facility for years. I'm so sorry you had to see this."
She snapped her fingers. Security guards appeared on either side of me.
"Take her away," she said sweetly. "She shouldn't be here. She's having an episode."
"Don't touch me!" I screamed, struggling against them. "Noah! Noah, listen to me! She's lying! That's my son! He's not hers! She stole him from me!"
Noah's eyes met mine.
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And for just a moment, something flickered in them. Doubt. Curiosity. Recognition.
"I think she's telling the truth."
