Chapter 146 Chapter 146

Chapter 146 Chapter 146
Chapter 146

Isabella lay there on the cold marble floor, blood pooling around her body like something terrible and final. Her chest rose and fell in shallow movements, each breath a fight she was losing.

The church had gone completely silent. Five hundred people holding their breath, watching a woman die in the doorway, watching the end of a tragedy that had consumed so many lives for so long.

Landon stood at the altar still, his hand gripping Sienna’s so tight it almost hurt. But neither of them moved. Neither of them looked away. This was the woman who’d tortured Sienna, who’d tried to destroy their lives, who’d chosen violence over acceptance. And now she was dying.

Isabella’s eyes fluttered, struggling to focus. The light was leaving them already, dimming like candles being snuffed out one by one. Her lips moved, trying to form words through the blood and the pain and the reality that her body was shutting down.

“I…” she managed, her voice so faint it barely carried across the space between them. “I only wanted…”

She stopped, coughing. More blood came up, staining her chin, making the words harder to form.

“I only wanted to be loved,” she finished, and the words were so quiet, so broken, so human that for just a second she wasn’t the monster anymore. Just a woman dying alone, unloved, unforgiven.

Sienna felt something twist in her chest. Not forgiveness exactly. Not sympathy for everything Isabella had done. But something smaller, sadder. Pity maybe. For a life wasted on obsession. For a heart that turned love into poison. For a person who could have been different if someone, somewhere, had loved her right.

Isabella’s hand trembled where it lay in her own blood. Her breathing got worse, more labored, each inhale rattling in her chest like gravel in a tin can.

Then her eyes found Landon one last time. Really found him. Really saw him. And whatever she saw there, in his face that showed no emotion, no grief, no regret, it seemed to break something in her that hadn’t been broken yet.

“Sorry,” Isabella whispered. The word barely audible. But it was there. Real. Final.

Sorry for what exactly, nobody knew. Sorry for the kidnapping, the torture, the violence? Sorry for loving him wrong? Sorry for becoming what she became? Sorry for dying when she’d wanted so badly to live?

Maybe all of it. Maybe none of it. Just sorry.

Her chest rose one more time. Fell. Rose again, weaker. Fell.

Then didn’t rise again.

Isabella Hart died on the marble floor of Saint Thomas Church at eleven thirty seven in the morning on a Saturday in late autumn. Died in a pool of her own blood. Died alone despite the hundreds of people watching. Died with Landon’s name probably the last thought in her mind.

And just like that, it was over.

The silence stretched for what felt like forever but was probably only seconds. Then movement again. Sounds again. Life continuing again because it always did, even after death.

Sirens that had been wailing in the background suddenly got louder as ambulances and police cars pulled up outside the church. Medics rushed in with equipment, with urgency, with training that kicked in automatically even though they must have known it was too late.

They checked for a pulse anyway. Pressed fingers to her neck where blood still pumped sluggishly from the wound. Looked at each other with expressions that confirmed what everyone already knew.

Gone.

Police officers came in next, taking charge of the scene, asking questions, moving people back, treating the church entrance like the crime scene it now was. Yellow tape went up. Photos were taken. Procedures were followed because that’s what happened when someone died violently, even someone who’d brought that violence on themselves.

The medics covered Isabella’s body with a sheet. White at first, then slowly turning red as blood soaked through. They lifted her onto a stretcher with professional efficiency, with movements that showed they’d done this too many times before.

As they wheeled her past, Sienna caught one last glimpse of Isabella’s hand hanging off the side of the stretcher. Still covered in blood. Still reaching for something she’d never have. Then the sheet was tucked in, the hand disappeared, and Isabella Hart became just another body being removed from just another crime scene.

The police wanted statements. Wanted to talk to Landon, to Sienna, to the guard who’d pulled the trigger, to everyone who’d witnessed what happened. But one look at the bride in her wedding dress, at the groom still holding her like she might disappear, and they backed off.

“Later,” one officer said quietly. “We’ll get statements later. Take care of your wife.”

Wife. The word hit Landon like a physical thing. In all the chaos, all the violence, all the death, he’d almost forgotten. They were married now. The ceremony had finished. The pronouncement had been made. Sienna was his wife.

He turned to her, really looked at her for the first time since Isabella had burst through those doors.

“Are you okay?” he asked, searching her face for trauma, for fear, for anything broken.

Sienna took a shaky breath, her hand still on her belly where their baby grew, where life continued despite death happening right in front of them.

“I think so,” she said. Then more certainly, “Yes. I’m okay.”

“It’s over,” Landon said, and his voice cracked slightly on the words. “It’s really over. She can’t hurt you anymore. Can’t hurt us anymore. It’s done.”

Sienna nodded, tears finally falling. Not for Isabella. For everything. For the relief. For the horror. For the strangeness of starting married life with a dead body being carried out of their wedding.

“I feel sorry for her,” Sienna admitted quietly, knowing it might sound crazy but needing to say it anyway. “Not for what she did. I’ll never forgive that. But for what she could have been if she’d just let go. If she’d chosen something other than this.”

Landon pulled her close, careful of her dress, of her belly, of everything precious about her.

“You’re too good,” he whispered against her hair. “Too kind. Even now.”

They stood like that for a moment while chaos continued around them, while police worked and guests whispered and the church that had witnessed their vows now witnessed the cleanup of a death.

Then a voice cut through everything. Strong. Commanding. Refusing to let this moment define their day.

Eleanor.

She stood in the aisle, still in her mother of the groom dress, mascara smeared from crying during the vows and probably from the shock after, but her spine straight and her voice clear.

“Everyone,” she called out, and somehow five hundred people stopped what they were doing and looked at her. “Everyone, listen to me.”

The church went quiet again.

“What happened here was terrible,” Eleanor said, and her voice carried to every corner. “What that woman did, what she tried to do, it was horrific. But it’s over now. She’s gone. And we are not going to let her win by ruining this day.”

She looked at Landon and Sienna, her eyes fierce with love and determination.

“My son just married the love of his life,” Eleanor continued. “We just witnessed the most beautiful vows I’ve ever heard. We are here to celebrate love, to celebrate family, to celebrate everything good that survives everything bad.”

She gestured toward the doors, toward the world outside.

“So here’s what we’re going to do,” Eleanor said firmly. “We’re going to forget this whole scenario. We’re going to leave this church. We’re going to go to the reception at the Plaza like we planned. We’re going to eat and drink and dance and celebrate this marriage the way it deserves to be celebrated.”

Some guests looked uncertain. Others nodded slowly, understanding what Eleanor was doing, why she was doing it.

“Isabella Hart took enough from this family,” Eleanor said, her voice getting stronger. “She took peace. She took safety. She took months of our lives lived in fear. But she will not take this day. She will not take their joy. She will not win.”

She looked around at everyone, making eye contact, making sure they understood.

“So we leave. We go to the reception. We forget what happened here. And we give my son and his beautiful wife the celebration they deserve. Are we clear?”

Slowly at first, then faster, guests started nodding. Started agreeing. Started choosing to move forward instead of staying frozen in trauma.

“Good,” Eleanor said, satisfied. “Then let’s go. The party is waiting. And this marriage is worth celebrating.”

She walked down the aisle to Landon and Sienna, took both their hands in hers.

“Come on,” she said gently to them. “Let’s go celebrate your marriage. Let’s go live your life. Let’s go prove that love wins.”

And somehow, impossibly, that’s exactly what they did.

They walked out of Saint Thomas Church as husband and wife, leaving behind the blood and the death and the woman who’d tried to destroy them.

Outside, their car waited. Decorated with flowers and ribbons and “Just Married” signs that seemed almost absurd after everything that had just happened.

But they got in anyway. Landon helped Sienna with her dress, with her train, with everything that made her his bride.

And as they drove away toward their reception, toward their celebration, toward their future, Sienna looked back one last time at the church.

The police were still there. The yellow tape still marked the crime scene. The spot where Isabella had died was probably still stained with her blood.

But it was getting smaller in the rearview mirror. Further away with every second.

And ahead of them, the Plaza Hotel rose against the skyline, ready for a party, ready for joy, ready for love to prove it could survive anything.

Even this.

Especially this.