“Viper 1, all teams are in position,” Hayes’s voice crackled quietly in my ear.
I glanced to my left. Two men in tailored black suits stood subtly by the eastern exit. I glanced at the balcony. Two more agents. Outside, federal law enforcement vehicles were parked discreetly around the perimeter, engines idling.
“Copy that, Director. Hold the perimeter until my signal.”
The music swelled, shifting into a dramatic, triumphant bridal march. The massive oak doors at the front of the church swung open.
There she was. Jessica.
She looked immaculate. Her gown was a cascade of imported silk and lace. Her veil caught the light perfectly. Her smile was practiced, flawless, and completely hollow. She walked down the aisle like a conquering queen, holding the arm of an uncle since my father was waiting at the altar. Trent stood at the end of the aisle, looking like the perfect, wealthy groom.
It was the ultimate illusion. A castle built on a foundation of my blood.
As Jessica walked down the aisle, her eyes darted slightly to the side. She noticed the men in the black suits standing by the exits. For a fraction of a second, her steps faltered. But then, her smile widened. I could see the narcissistic logic calculating in her eyes: Trent’s family must have hired private security for the VIPs. How elite. She didn’t realize those men weren’t there to keep the peasants out. They were there to keep the rats in.
She reached the altar. My father kissed her cheek and handed her to Trent. The priest stepped up to the microphone, raising his hands to silence the crowd.
“Dearly beloved,” the priest’s voice echoed through the vaulted ceilings. “We are gathered here today to witness…”
“Hayes,” I whispered into my comms. “Lock it down.”
Click. It wasn’t a loud sound, but in the acoustics of the silent cathedral, the heavy, simultaneous locking of every single exit door echoed like a gunshot.
A murmur rippled through the back pews. People turned around in their seats, confused. Jessica’s smile finally cracked, her brow furrowing in irritation at the interruption. Trent looked at the priest, who looked equally bewildered.
“What is going on?” my mother whispered loudly from the front row.
I stepped out from the shadows of the vestibule and walked directly into the center aisle.
The heavy, rhythmic thud of my polished military boots against the marble floor cut through the whispers. I didn’t rush. I walked with the slow, terrifying deliberation of an executioner approaching the block.
Heads began to turn. Gasps erupted as people took in the sight of a decorated military officer interrupting a high-society wedding.
But the real shock didn’t come from the crowd. It came from the altar.
My mother’s face turned the color of ash. She clamped a hand over her mouth, stifling a horrified scream. My father physically stumbled backward, knocking over a tall floral arrangement. It shattered on the marble, but no one looked at it.
They were staring at a ghost.
I reached the base of the altar. I looked up at my sister. The perfect, arrogant bride was shaking so violently her veil trembled.
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