Chapter 7 Nightmare aisle
Hannah
The day I got married felt like a funeral.
Like my funeral.
The morning passed in a blur of hands and fabric and voices that didn’t belong to me. Someone washed my hair. Someone else curled it. A woman I’d never met adjusted my veil and smiled like this was a blessing instead of a sentence. I sat still through all of it, my reflection staring back at me from the mirror with hollow eyes and a face that looked borrowed.
I barely recognized her.
Outside, the estate buzzed with controlled chaos. Security moved back and forth, radios crackling. Through the tall windows, I caught flashes of cameras and black lenses glinting like weapons. Paparazzi crowded the gates, shouting questions no one intended to answer. A few slipped past, bold and hungry, as if this spectacle belonged to them.
Maybe it did.
By the time they told me it was time, my body felt numb. Not calm. Not peaceful. Just… distant. Like I was watching everything happen from far away, like this was someone else’s worst day and I was only here to narrate it.
The aisle was longer than I expected.
There were about a hundred people seated, dressed in muted elegance, faces carefully arranged into expressions of polite curiosity. No joy. No warmth. Just restraint. This wasn’t a celebration. It was a performance.
Loretta sat in the front row.
She’d been forced to attend; everyone knew that. It was supposed to be a visual statement. See? No family strife. No broken bonds. But there were. So many.
She wore a pale blue dress and a face carved from stone. Her hands were folded neatly in her lap, spine straight, eyes fixed forward. She didn’t look at me when I appeared.
I almost wished she would. Almost.
Then I saw Timothy.
He stood at the altar in a black suit that fit him perfectly, shoulders rigid, jaw tight. When his eyes lifted to meet mine, there was no softness there. No hesitation. Just contempt. Bare and sharp, like he didn’t bother hiding it anymore.
My steps faltered for half a second.
I kept going.
Each step felt heavier than the last, like the floor was trying to swallow me whole. I could feel the weight of the cameras even inside, flashes going off despite the rules, despite the security. This was history to them. Scandal wrapped in lace.
When I reached Timothy’s side, he didn’t look away but he didn’t soften either. His expression didn’t change as the officiant began to speak, voice smooth and practiced. Words about unity and commitment floated past me, meaningless and cruel.
Do you take….
“Yes,” Timothy said when it was his turn. Quick. Sharp. Like ripping off a bandage.
When it was mine, my throat closed.
I thought of a thousand things in that moment. My childhood bedroom. The notebooks I’d hidden under my mattress. The night at the lounge; warmth, laughter, nothingness. Loretta’s voice telling me I was dead to her.
“Yes,” I whispered.
The word echoed louder than it should have.
The rings were cold. Timothy slid his onto my finger without looking at me, his touch brief and impersonal. When it was my turn, my hands trembled so badly I nearly dropped it. He sighed under his breath as I finally managed to slide it into place.
The kiss was worse.
He leaned in stiffly, his lips brushing mine like an obligation he resented. There was no warmth, no pause. Just contact. Proof. When he pulled back, his face remained hard.
We turned and walked back down the aisle together.
I didn’t look at the crowd. I didn’t look at Loretta. I stared straight ahead as flashes exploded around us, cameras shouting louder than the people. The doors closed behind us, cutting off the noise just enough to make the silence unbearable.
The car waited outside, sleek and black.
As soon as the door shut behind us, Timothy wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Lose them,” he snapped at the driver. “Take the long way. Circle if you have to.”
He didn’t look at me.
The car lurched forward, tires crunching on gravel. Through the tinted windows, I saw Loretta step outside, surrounded by people, her face already twisting with emotion she’d held back for the cameras.
Timothy leaned forward suddenly. “Stop.”
The driver hesitated. “Sir…”
“Stop the fucking car.”
The door was open before I could react. Timothy stepped out, straightening his jacket as he made his way toward Loretta. I stayed frozen in my seat, fingers clenched around my bouquet, watching through the glass like an outsider to my own life.
He called out her name. “Lori!”
She turned. For a moment, just a moment, hope flickered across his face.
“I didn’t want this,” he said urgently. “You know I didn’t. This is all wrong.”
She crossed her arms. “Then why did you go through with it?”
“They forced me,” he said. “Both families. The press. The timing. I tried…You know I did.”
“You didn’t try hard enough,” she snapped.
“That’s…that’s not fair. I love you,” he said, voice faltering. “I’ve always loved you. This marriage doesn’t mean anything. It’s just on paper. We can….”
“Stop,” Loretta said, holding up a hand. Her eyes flicked past him for half a second. I shrank back instinctively, even though she couldn’t see me clearly. “You married her. That’s what matters.”
“It was never her,” he said desperately. “Never. And I will divorce her. You know I will. I just have to give it some time.”
The words hit me harder than I expected.
“I won’t be your secret,” Loretta said. “And I won’t be your mistake.” She stepped back. “You made your choice.”
“I didn’t have one,” he said.
She laughed bitterly. “There’s always a choice.”
Then she turned and walked away.
Timothy stood there for a moment, shoulders stiff, fists clenched at his sides. When he finally got back into the car, his face was darker than before.
“Drive,” he said curtly.
The car pulled away.
We rode in silence for several minutes. The bouquet slipped from my numb fingers onto the seat between us. My heart hammered painfully in my chest.
“I’m sorry,” I said quietly. The words felt inadequate, but they were all I had. “I know this isn’t what you wanted. I never wanted this either.”
He laughed. It wasn’t amused. It wasn’t kind.
“Don’t,” he said coldly. “Don’t pretend we’re in this together.”
I swallowed. “We are married now. Whether we like it or not. We should at least try to…”
He turned to me then, finally looking at me fully.
His eyes were sharp. Unforgiving.
“I resent you,” he said flatly. “Every time I look at you, I’m reminded of everything I lost. My relationship. My reputation. My life.”
“That’s not fair,” I whispered.
“I don’t care,” he snapped. “I hate that I’m married to you. I hate that you’re here. And I don’t want to hear another word about how hard this is for you.”
I flinched.
“You will not talk to me unless necessary,” he continued. “You will not pretend we’re anything more than strangers bound by paperwork. And you will not expect kindness from me.”
The car slowed as iron gates came into view.
“This is your new home,” he said, turning away. “Get used to it.”
The gates opened.
And as we drove inside, the weight of the silence settled over me, heavy and final, and I realized with a sick certainty that the worst day of my life wasn’t over yet.
It had just begun.