Darling, You Lose

Chapter 41: The Wedding Begins

“You’ll be my wife in less than an hour,” Rafael whispers into Elena’s ear, his voice like dark silk, almost affectionate, but she knows better. The words are a command, not a promise, and they send a shiver down her spine that she can’t shake off.

Elena stiffens but doesn’t let him see it. She keeps her posture perfect, hands gripping the bouquet tighter than she means to. The wedding dress is heavy, its layers a prison she’s trapped in, and with every second that passes, she feels it tightening around her chest. The cold, oppressive weight of the life she's about to be locked into.

Her heart is racing, but her face remains calm. She forces a smile, one that barely touches the corners of her lips. She has to appear as though she’s going along with everything, as though she’s accepting this fate, even though inside, everything is screaming to get out.

This is the moment.

Her fingers curl tighter around the hidden detonator tucked within her bouquet. If this is going to work, she has to wait for the perfect moment. Timing is everything. If she does this too soon, everything will be ruined. If she waits too long, it might be too late.

“You look beautiful, Elena,” Rafael murmurs, brushing his hand along her back as if he has every right to touch her. His fingers linger, possessive, controlling, and Elena wants nothing more than to pull away, but she doesn’t. She can’t. Not yet.

The church is quiet, too quiet, save for the low hum of whispers from the few guests already seated. Elena can feel the tension in the air. The guests, those who have come for the spectacle, the show of wealth, power, and control that this wedding represents, don’t know the truth. They don’t know how far Elena has fallen.

She barely even notices the guests. All her focus is on Rafael, and the men standing around them. His security team is everywhere, watching, guarding. Their eyes are sharp, scanning for any hint of betrayal. She knows they’re watching her every move, knowing that one misstep, one moment of weakness, will expose her attempt to escape. But she’s careful. She’s learned to be careful.

The ceremony is about to begin. The officiant is already standing at the altar, his eyes flicking to her nervously. He’s just a pawn in Rafael’s game, and Elena can feel the weight of the moment pressing down on her. This is it. She doesn’t have a choice anymore. Once those vows are said, she’s trapped. Forever.

“Everything will be perfect,” Rafael says, his breath warm against her ear. His hands linger on her waist for a second too long, and she has to fight the urge to pull away. He’s too close.

“I’ll be yours, Rafael,” she replies, the words tasting bitter in her mouth. But it’s the only thing she can say. She can’t fight him now. Not yet. Not with so many eyes on her.

Rafael smiles like a man who’s already won, like he’s already claimed his prize. And in many ways, he has. He’s got her here, in front of him, at the altar, where she’s supposed to swear herself to him.

The tension in her body is palpable. She’s standing there, poised, ready to do what she must, when her eyes catch something—someone—slipping through the back of the church. She stiffens, almost imperceptibly, and her heart jumps into her throat.

There’s no mistaking the tall figure weaving through the crowd. It’s Alexander.

Her breath hitches, and she feels a rush of hope flood her chest. She didn’t think he’d make it in time, but there he is, hidden among the guests. He’s watching her, his eyes locked on hers, and for the first time since she walked into this church, she feels a sense of relief.

He’s here.