Chapter 151 The Empty Altar
The grand ballroom sparkled under the glow of a hundred crystal chandeliers. Golden ribbons hung from the ceiling, and white lilies lined every table and corner, filling the air with their soft, sweet scent.
Guests filled the rows of chairs, dressed in elegant suits and shimmering gowns, their voices a gentle hum of excitement.
It was supposed to be the wedding of the year—Victoria’s masterpiece, Bridget’s dream. Everything was perfect. Everything except one thing.
The groom was missing.
Bridget stood at the altar, her hands clasped tightly around her bouquet. The white roses trembled slightly in her grip.
She smiled, a perfect, graceful smile that had been practiced for months, but her eyes flicked constantly toward the grand doors. Carson should have been there by now.
The orchestra played softly, a romantic melody that filled the hall. The priest cleared his throat quietly, glancing toward the doors as well. The guests whispered to one another, their curiosity slowly turning into confusion.
Victoria sat in the front row, her posture stiff, her chin high. She looked calm at first, confident that her son would walk through those doors any second. She had planned every moment of this day down to the color of the napkins. Carson was her pride; he wouldn’t dare ruin this.
But as the minutes passed, her fingers began to twitch against her clutch bag. Her lips pressed tighter, her jaw locked.
Bridget turned slightly toward one of the bridesmaids. “What’s taking him so long?” she whispered, her voice small, fragile.
The bridesmaid gave her a helpless look. “Maybe there’s traffic,” she said quickly, though they all knew the truth—Carson had left hours ago.
Bridget’s eyes darted around the room, searching for Victoria, but when their eyes met, the older woman looked away sharply, her expression unreadable.
The orchestra stopped playing. The silence that followed was heavy. The priest cleared his throat again, trying to stay composed.
“Perhaps we should give him a few more minutes,” he said softly.
A murmur ran through the crowd. Heads turned, people leaned close to whisper behind gloved hands.
“Is he late?”
“Did something happen?”
“Maybe he changed his mind.”
The words floated like poison through the air.
Bridget’s heart hammered in her chest. Her face still wore a faint smile, but her breath came in short, shaky bursts. She stared at the doors again, willing them to open. She imagined him walking in—apologetic, flustered, explaining some silly reason. She imagined the laughter that would follow, the relief, the applause.
But the doors stayed closed.
The clock on the wall ticked loudly. Ten minutes passed. Then fifteen.
Victoria stood abruptly. Her heels clicked sharply against the marble floor as she walked toward one of the organizers. Her voice was low but trembling.
“Where is he?” she asked. “Did anyone check the car?”
The man hesitated. “Ma’am, the driver says Mr. Carson took another car earlier. He hasn’t returned.”
Victoria’s face turned pale. Her mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out. For the first time in years, she looked uncertain—weak, even.
Bridget saw it. The panic spreading across Victoria’s face made her chest tighten. Her hands went cold.
She turned back to the guests. They were no longer whispering quietly. The murmurs had grown louder, bold, unstoppable. Phones came out. Pictures were being taken, videos recorded.
“Carson didn’t show up?”
“Poor girl.”
“Can you believe this?”
Bridget’s lips trembled. Her knees felt weak, but she refused to sit down. She stood tall, even as her vision blurred with unshed tears. She wanted to believe it was all a mistake. Carson wouldn’t leave her—not in front of everyone. Not like this.
The priest leaned closer, his voice gentle. “Miss, perhaps we should move to the side room while we wait.”
Bridget shook her head quickly. “No,” she whispered. “He’s coming. He promised.”
Her words barely reached anyone, but Victoria heard them. She walked up to the altar, her face a mask of control that was slowly cracking.
“Bridget,” she said quietly, “come with me. We’ll handle this privately.”
Bridget stared at her, eyes wide. “He wouldn’t do this,” she said again, but her voice broke on the last word.
Victoria sighed and reached for her arm, but Bridget pulled back. “He’s coming!” she cried, the sound echoing in the vast hall.
The guests fell silent.
For a long, painful moment, no one moved. The sound of distant cameras clicking filled the air.
Then, as if the world itself had given its answer, one of the groomsmen walked forward, holding a phone. His expression was grave. He leaned close to Victoria and whispered something.
Victoria froze. Her hand fell to her side. Her eyes darted to Bridget’s face, then away again.
“What did he say?” Bridget asked. “Where is he?”
Victoria didn’t answer.
Bridget’s breathing quickened. Her bouquet slipped from her hand and hit the floor, petals scattering. “Tell me where he is!” she shouted, her voice breaking.
Victoria swallowed hard. “He’s gone,” she said softly. “He left.”
The words sliced through the silence like glass.
Bridget shook her head slowly, her curls trembling around her face. “No,” she whispered. “No, he didn’t.”
But Victoria didn’t repeat herself. She turned to face the guests, forcing a tight smile. “The ceremony will be postponed,” she said loudly, though her voice quivered. “Please, enjoy the refreshments in the other hall.”
It was useless. The crowd was already buzzing again, a storm of voices and gossip. Reporters whispered excitedly. Cameras flashed. Everyone knew the truth now—the groom had run away.
Bridget stood frozen at the altar, staring at the empty aisle. Her veil fluttered softly as the air from the ceiling fans moved through the hall. She felt her world tilt, everything spinning around her.
Her dream dress suddenly felt heavy, suffocating. Her heart broke slowly, piece by piece, in front of hundreds of eyes.
Victoria turned toward her, trying to speak, but Bridget stepped back. She could barely breathe. The lilies that had smelled so sweet an hour ago now filled her lungs with bitterness.
Somewhere, the orchestra began to play again—soft, confused, as if trying to drown the whispers. But it was too late.
The grand wedding that was supposed to unite two powerful families had turned into a scene of disgrace.
And at the center of it all stood Bridget—alone, trembling, staring at the door that never opened.
The altar behind her gleamed under the lights, untouched, waiting for vows that would never be spoken.
The laughter, the whispers, the scent of lilies—all mixed into one haunting silence that filled the ballroom long after the guests had gone.
The altar remained empty.
So did Bridget’s heart.