Chapter 2 - THE WEDDING WHERE THE BRIDE REFUSED TO SAY YES
At 9:36 that morning, I stood behind the service entrance of the Mariner's Crown Hotel, wearing a wedding dress that suddenly felt like a costume from someone else's life.
Through the glass doors, I could see the elegant lobby.
Tall flower arrangements lined the entrance. White candles flickered along polished marble tables. A string quartet was playing something delicate and romantic.
Everything was beautiful.
That was what frightened me most.
Christian had planned an elaborate public celebration while secretly arranging to destroy me.
Detective Ortiz stood beside me, speaking quietly into her phone. Two plainclothes officers were stationed inside, while additional police were checking the service corridors.
My father had wanted me to remain at the hotel where we had met the detective.
I had almost agreed.
But then Ortiz discovered that Natalie had left her phone location active near the wedding venue, and I asked to remain nearby while the officers found her.
I wasn't there to play detective.
I wanted to know whether Iris was alive.
And I wanted my best friend to look me in the eyes.
"Stay beside me," Ortiz said. "If the situation changes, you're leaving immediately."
I nodded.
Through the lobby, I saw our wedding coordinator, a cheerful woman named Melissa, carrying a clipboard.
She was arranging place cards and reminding the musicians about the ceremony schedule.
She had no idea what was happening.
Then I heard Christian's voice.
"Charlotte has been under a lot of stress lately."
I froze.
He was speaking to a small group of guests near the ballroom entrance.
His expression was sympathetic, almost sorrowful.
"She's been struggling emotionally. If she behaves strangely today, I hope everyone will show her compassion."
A guest touched his arm.
"Oh, Christian. That's terrible."
He lowered his head.
"I just want to help her."
I felt something inside me turn cold.
He wasn't merely looking for me.
He was preparing everyone to distrust anything I said.
If I accused him of threatening me, he could claim I was unstable.
If I refused to sign his documents, he could accuse me of becoming irrational.
If I disappeared, people might believe I had simply suffered some kind of emotional breakdown.
My father appeared beside us.
"He started laying the groundwork before the ceremony," he murmured.
"He's been doing that for three years," I replied.
We watched Christian greet another guest.
The man standing beside the main floral arrangement caught my attention. He wore a black suit and an event-security earpiece, but he wasn't one of the hotel's regular security employees.
I recognized his broad shoulders.
He was one of the men from the apartment recording.
I touched Ortiz's sleeve.
"That's him."
She followed my gaze.
"Are you certain?"
"Yes."
She quietly alerted the officers.
The man looked toward the lobby.
For half a second, his eyes met mine.
He stiffened.
Then he moved his hand toward his jacket.
"Back," Ortiz said immediately.
She placed herself between us as another officer approached him from the side.
The man turned.
An officer called out to him.
He started walking faster.
Within seconds, the peaceful atmosphere of the lobby had changed. Guests stepped aside as officers intercepted him near the elevators.
Christian looked over.
His expression didn't change at first.
Then he saw me.
I will remember that moment for the rest of my life.
The color drained from his face.
For three years, he had known me as the woman who apologized when dinner was late, cried at sad movies, and worried about whether his employees had enough money to buy Christmas presents.
He had never seen me standing beside police officers, looking directly at him without a trace of affection.
"Charlotte!"
He hurried toward me.
"Sweetheart, thank God! I've been looking everywhere!"
Detective Ortiz stepped forward.
"Mr. Reynolds, we'd like to speak with you."
Christian stopped.
His gaze flickered from her face to my father's expensive suit.
Then he gave a nervous laugh.
"What's going on?"
I spoke before anyone else could answer.
"I saw the recording."
He blinked.
"What recording?"
"The apartment. Brooklyn. The eight-million-dollar debt."
His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
Then he reached toward me.
"Charlotte, baby, I think someone's trying to manipulate you."
"Don't touch me."
My words were quiet.
But he stopped.
Several guests were watching now.
Christian glanced toward them and lowered his voice.
"Please don't embarrass yourself in front of everyone."
For a moment, I saw the familiar man I had once loved.
The one who could turn every argument into a conversation about my shortcomings.
The one who always made me believe I was unreasonable for asking simple questions.
But something had changed.
I no longer needed his approval.
"There's no wedding, Christian."
His face hardened.
"Don't be ridiculous."
"I'm not marrying you."
A flicker of anger crossed his eyes.
Then he smiled again.
"We can discuss this privately."
He gestured toward a nearby conference room.
"I have some important documents we should review."
I almost laughed.
Even now.
Even with the police standing between us.
He was still trying to get my signature.
"Those documents aren't going to save you," I said.
Christian looked at my father.
"Mr. Prescott, surely you can talk some sense into your daughter."
My father studied him for several seconds.
"You have no idea who you're speaking to, do you?"
Christian frowned.
Before my father could continue, a commotion erupted near the ballroom.
A fire alarm began sounding.
Guests turned toward the exits.
Someone shouted that smoke was coming from a service corridor.
Detective Ortiz immediately directed me toward a protected hallway with my parents.
Another officer moved to intercept Christian.
But in the confusion, Christian slipped through a staff-only door.
By the time officers reached the loading area, a delivery vehicle had already pulled away.
Christian was gone.
The man near the flowers was detained, but the person I had nearly married had disappeared.
And Natalie was nowhere to be found.
Twenty minutes later, I sat in a private hotel office beside my mother while Ortiz coordinated the search.
My wedding bouquet rested on a chair.
The white roses looked painfully ordinary.
Then someone knocked.
An officer opened the door.
Brooklyn Hayes stood outside.
Her blonde hair was disheveled, and her sage-green maternity dress was wrinkled.
Without Christian beside her, she looked younger.
And frightened.
My mother stood immediately.
"Get that woman away from my daughter."
Brooklyn didn't protest.
She looked directly at me.
"Charlotte, I know you hate me."
I felt anger rise so sharply that my hands began to shake.
"Hate you?"
She swallowed.
"I heard what you said in that hallway."
"Good. Then you know there isn't going to be a wedding."
Brooklyn put one hand on her stomach.
"I didn't come to talk about Christian."
Detective Ortiz entered.
"Ms. Hayes, you need to come with me."
Brooklyn began crying, but not the theatrical tears I had expected.
These were silent, frightened tears.
"Please," she whispered. "Just listen."
She looked at me one final time.
"My brother didn't agree to any of this."
I said nothing.
"He doesn't even know Christian found someone with his blood type."
Ortiz stepped closer.
"Where is your brother now?"
Brooklyn's face crumpled.
"I don't know."
"What do you mean?"
"Frank took him yesterday. Christian said it was for treatment, but Evan called me during the night."
Her voice dropped to a whisper.
"He told me the building didn't look like a hospital."
The room became silent.
Brooklyn looked at me, terrified.
"Charlotte, if the police don't find him, they're going to use him to force you into that clinic."
May you like
And then she said the words that changed everything.
"Christian didn't just choose you because you were kind. He chose you because someone gave him your name three years ago."
