My heart feels like it's caught in my throat, each beat too loud, too frantic. I move with careful steps, my hands trembling beneath the layers of silk. The gown is suffocating, each inch of delicate fabric a constant reminder of the role I'm forced to play—pretending to be someone I'm not.
The veil presses heavily on my head, an anchor I can't remove. I can't stop. I can't turn back now. I've made it this far.
The chapel looms ahead, its heavy wooden doors slightly ajar, revealing just enough for me to glimpse what lies beyond. Him.
Elijah.
I've never seen him. I don't know what he looks like or what he expects of me, but I can feel his presence—like a storm on the horizon, dark and ominous. The thought of facing him makes my stomach churn, dread gnawing at my insides. This isn't what I wanted.
But Susan is gone, just like that, and now I have to be her. I am forced to be her, to save our lives that she threw away to find her freedom and happiness, leaving everything behind for me.
The corridors are silent, the air thick with tension. The sound of my white heels on the marble floor echoes in the stillness, each step a reminder of my isolation. The world feels distant, as if I'm drifting through a dream—or maybe a nightmare.
I reach the entrance, and I can sense the weight of the guests' expectations pressing down on me, even before I step inside. I feel their eyes on me like invisible hands reaching out to judge. I want to scream that I'm not her. I want them to understand. But there's no time for that. No room for explanations.
Taking a deep breath, I steady myself.
And then, the doors swing open.
The world shifts.
Everything changes.
As I step inside, it's like the ground beneath me tilts. The room is bright with candlelight, filled with murmurs that hush the moment they see me. Their gazes sweep over me, lingering on the dress, the veil, and the familiar shape of someone who should be Susan and not me.
The woman they expect.
I feel like an imposter, thrust into a life that isn't mine, that I don't want.
But I have to keep walking. I have to keep moving.
"You look beautiful, princess." My father says, stepping close and stretching his arm for me to hold onto.
I grab his arm with trembling hands, my body betraying the turmoil inside me. He notices and, with gentle care, places his other hand over mine—a quiet reminder that he's here, right here, with me.
But it's no use. The emotions I've been holding back crash over me, and the tears spill from my eyes before I can stop them. I can't do this. Not anymore. It's all wrong, so wrong. My legs falter, and I stop in my tracks.
Dad turns, concern spread across his face, but before he can say a word or I can confess what's tearing me apart, I feel an arm circle my waist.
"Princess, it's fine." Mama's soft and steady voice reaches me, anchoring me to the present.
Right, of course, there was no way she would have let me tell my father about anything, not on her watch.
"Please, daughter, think about Father, you don't want him to be the man who murdered his wife and family, do you?" She whispers against my ears, reminding me to behave. I nodded, agreeing. There was nothing I could do but swallow the tears down my throat.
"Let's take her together." Mama suggested tightening her grip over my waist, reminding me how she wouldn't let me do anything against her wish.
Defeated I looked over the other end and noticed the biggest problem I was supposed to tackle. Elijah.
He stands at the altar, his back to me. For a moment, I see only the broad expanse of his shoulders and the dark suit that clings to him. I glimpse the shape of his hands—elegant, powerful, yet distant. I try not to imagine what his touch might feel like or what his voice might sound like.
But then he turns, and everything freezes.
He's... different than I imagined. Taller, more imposing. His features are sharp, his eyes dark and intense, burning with an unspoken promise. When our gazes lock, my breath catches in my throat. The veil is meant to shield me, but it feels inadequate.
His gaze sweeps over me, and I realize he's seeing me—not Susan but me.
A heavy feeling settles in my stomach.
This is it.
The realization hits me like a punch. I don't know him, and he doesn't know me, but in that moment I feel like, I'm already drowning.
There's no turning back.
His expression is unreadable, but I see something dark in his eyes—something calculating. It's as if he anticipated this moment. But there was no way he'd be able to tell us apart.
It's impossible, as there were not many people who were able to tell the difference between us.
'There is no way he'd be able to tell us apart,' I assured myself, walking close to him to the altar.
He stretched his hand, and my father placed my hands over his. I felt a jolt run through my entire body, a warmth spreading like wildfire in just a split second. It was confusing—an unexpected spark that clashed with the dread swirling inside me. My heart raced as I tried to reconcile the feeling with the reality of this moment, the weight of my sister's absence pressing down on me.
Was I really about to marry a man my sister was promised to, while feeling this strange connection? The warmth of his hand sent a jolt through me, but guilt twisted in my gut.
This was supposed to be her life, not mine.
The room felt both electric and suffocating, and I fought against the urge to pull away. But as his fingers wrapped around mine, I realized there was no escaping this reality. This was my life now, tangled in someone else's choices, and I had to find a way to navigate it.
I stop in front of him, the space between us vast and cold, filled with a silence that suffocates.
He doesn't speak. Not yet. But I can feel him watching me, assessing me, as if he's trying to uncover my true self. How can I tell him? How can I confess that I'm not who he thinks I am?
The officiant's voice breaks through the silence, but it feels distant, as if I'm hearing everything from underwater. His words are formal and detached. He asks if I'll take Elijah to be my husband.
I want to say no. I want to turn and run, to tear off the veil and scream that this is all wrong. That this isn't my life.
But I can't.
I can't because I have no choice. Susan is already gone.
So I answer, my voice barely a whisper, trembling in the tense air. "Yes."
It feels like I've sealed my fate with that one word, the weight of it heavy on my chest.
Then Elijah's hand is on mine, his grip firm, almost too firm. His fingers curl around mine, claiming it, and I realize he's not just holding my hand—he's owning it. I want to pull away, but I can't.
I keep my gaze lowered, my breath shallow, as the ceremony continues. Each word is a reminder that there's no escape, and- I was trapped.