They walked down the aisle.

Together.

It was a violation of every tradition.

The bride was supposed to be walked by her father.

Or she was supposed to walk alone.

She wasn't supposed to walk with a man who was actively suing the groom's company.

A figure stepped out from the front pew.

Daniela.

She was wearing a dress that was technically a bridesmaid's dress.

But it was white.

And it was lace.

And it had a train.

It was a wedding dress in everything but name.

She blocked their path.

Her eyes were wide, brimming with fake tears.

"Celeste!" she cried out, her voice pitching perfectly to carry to the back of the church.

She reached out, trying to hug Celeste.

"Where have you been? We were so worried! Bryce has been frantic!"

Celeste sidestepped.

Daniela hugged empty air.

She stumbled slightly, her heels catching on the carpet.

She recovered quickly, leaning in close to Celeste.

"Did you enjoy your night, slut?" she hissed, her voice low enough that only they could hear. "Did you sleep it off?"

Celeste smiled.

It was a sharp, jagged smile.

"I wasn't sleeping, Dani," she said loudly. "I was taking out the trash."

Daniela blinked.

She looked at Basile.

She licked her lips, her gaze raking over him.

Even now, she couldn't help herself.

"And who is this?" she asked, putting a hand on her hip.

Basile looked at her.

He looked at the white dress.

He looked at the desperate hunger in her eyes.

"So this is the illegitimate one," he said.

He didn't whisper.

His deep voice echoed off the vaulted ceiling.

A collective gasp went through the church.

Daniela froze.

Her face went white, then splotchy red.

Her illegitimacy was the open secret of the Franco family.

The one thing no one ever, ever mentioned out loud.

The air crackled. The sound of a dozen camera shutters firing from the back of the church was like a volley of gunshots. Reporters who had snuck in were capturing Daniela's mortification in high-definition, their flashes reflecting in the tears welling in her eyes. The guests began to murmur, their whispers rising like a tide.

"Excuse me?" Daniela squeaked.

"Move," Basile said.

He didn't touch her.

He just walked forward.

Daniela scrambled out of the way to avoid being trampled.

She looked like a child playing dress-up next to him.

They reached the altar.

Bryce stepped forward.

He looked nervous.

He looked at Basile, then at Celeste.

"Celeste," he said, holding out his hands. "Baby. You're late. Let's... let's just get this started."

He tried to take her hand.

Basile stepped between them.

He stood like a wall of black wool and muscle.

Bryce shrank back.

The priest cleared his throat nervously.

"If everyone is seated..." the priest began.

Celeste walked past Basile.

She walked past Bryce.

She walked up the steps to the lectern where the readings were supposed to be done.

She grabbed the microphone.

It gave a high-pitched feedback whine.

Everyone covered their ears.

Celeste looked out at the sea of faces.

Friends.

Business partners.

People who had laughed at her behind her back for years.

"There will be no wedding today," she said.

Her voice was steady.

"But don't worry. I didn't come empty-handed."

She looked up at the choir loft.

She nodded.

A giant screen descended behind the altar.

It was meant for a slideshow of Celeste and Bryce's childhood photos.

A montage of their love story.

The projector hummed to life.

A photo appeared.

It was vivid. High definition.

It showed a yacht.

On the deck of the yacht, two people were intertwined.

Bryce.

And Daniela.

Bryce's hand was up Daniela's skirt.

Daniela's head was thrown back in laughter.

The timestamp in the corner of the photo was dated three months ago.

While Celeste was in Paris securing a deal for the family business.

The silence in the church was deafening.

Then, the murmurs started.

Like a wave crashing.

"That's fake!" Ophelia shrieked from the front row. "That's Photoshop!"

The slide changed.

It wasn't a photo this time.

It was a document.

A scanned copy of a birth certificate.

Child's Name: Adrian Franco Colon.

Mother: Daniela Franco.

Father: Bryce Colon.

Date of Birth: Two years ago.

Celeste gripped the microphone.

"Congratulations, Bryce," she said, her voice ringing with cold clarity. "You've been a father for two years. And congratulations, Daniela. Your son finally has a name."

She looked at her sister.

Daniela was standing in the aisle, her hands instinctively clutching her stomach.

The gesture confirmed everything.

The crowd went wild.

Phones were out.

People were recording.

Livestreaming.

Bryce looked like he was going to vomit.

He turned to Celeste.

"Celeste, please," he begged. "It was a mistake. She threw herself at me! I was drunk!"

Daniela let out a wail. "You said you loved me!"

Celeste looked at Bryce.

She looked at the man she had thought was her soulmate.

He was sweating.

He was pathetic.

"You're right," Celeste said into the mic. "It was a mistake."

She reached into her purse.

She pulled out the velvet ring box.

Inside was the three-carat diamond engagement ring he had given her.

A ring she later found out he had bought with her own money.

"I don't recycle," she said.

She tossed the box.

It sailed through the air.

It landed in the baptismal font with a loud plop.

Holy water splashed onto the stone floor.

"You're crazy!" Elmore shouted, rushing toward the altar. "You've ruined the family name!"

Celeste laughed.

It was a dry, humorless sound.

"The name was already ruined, Father," she said. "I'm just turning on the lights so everyone can see the rot."

She stepped down from the lectern.

She stood in front of Bryce.

He tried to grab her arm.

"We can fix this," he hissed. "Think about the merger. Think about the stock price."

Basile moved.

It was a blur of motion.

He kicked Bryce's legs out from under him.

Bryce hit the marble floor hard.

Basile planted a polished dress shoe on Bryce's chest, pinning him down.

"She's not thinking about your stock price, Colon," Basile said.

He pressed down.

Bryce wheezed.

"She's thinking about mine."

The chaos was absolute.

Reporters had breached the security line.

Flashes were popping like strobes in a nightclub.

Elmore was trying to grab the microphone, but the sound guy-Basile's plant-had cut the feed.

Celeste walked back to Basile.

She placed a hand on his arm.

"Let him up," she said. "He's not worth dirtying your shoes."

Basile looked at her.

He slowly removed his foot from Bryce's chest.

Bryce scrambled backward, crab-walking away from them, gasping for air.

Celeste turned to the crowd.

She didn't need a microphone anymore.

The acoustics of the church carried her voice.

"Since we're all here," she said. "I have one more announcement."

She signaled the booth again.

The screen changed one last time.

A PDF document appeared.

It was stark. Official.

The Seal of the City of New York.

Certificate of Marriage.

Groom: Basile Delgado.

Bride: Celeste Franco.

Date: September 12th.

The gasp this time was louder than the one for the affair.

This wasn't just scandal.

This was business.

This was war.

Elmore stared at the screen.

His eyes bulged.

He did the math instantly.

The trust fund.

The grandmother's clause.

Upon marriage, Celeste Franco gains full control of her 15% stake.

"You..." Elmore pointed a shaking finger at her. "You gave him the shares?"

"I kept my shares, Father," Celeste said coldly. "But I merged my voting rights."

She leaned into Basile.

He wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

It was a protective, possessive weight.

"Meet the new majority shareholder block of Franco Group," Celeste said.

A lawyer in a dark suit walked out from the sacristy.

It was Vance, Basile's head counsel.

He handed a stack of papers to Elmore.

"You've been served, Mr. Franco," Vance said cheerfully. "Audit starts Monday morning."

Elmore clutched his chest.

Ophelia was fanning herself, looking like she might faint for real this time.

Daniela was sobbing on the floor, her white dress stained with dirt.

Bryce was still on the ground, staring at the marriage certificate like it was his death warrant.

It was.

Celeste looked at the tableau of destruction.

She felt... light.

The crushing weight that had been on her chest since she woke up in the sanitarium was gone.

"I think we're done here," she said to Basile.

"Agreed," he said.

He took off his suit jacket.

He draped it over her shoulders.

It was warm.

It smelled like him.

"Let's go home, wife," he said.

He emphasized the word.

Wife.

They turned and walked back down the aisle.

The guests parted like the Red Sea.

No one dared to stop them.

No one dared to speak.

They walked out into the sunlight.

The air was fresh.

Celeste took a deep breath.

She had burned her life to the ground.

And from the ashes, she was going to build an empire.