A Week Later:
The sun streamed weakly through the gauzy curtains, casting a golden haze over Helena's bedroom. The atmosphere inside was suffocating, filled with a silence that even the light shuffling of the maids couldn't break. Helena sat before her ornate vanity, draped in the heavy, intricate fabric of her wedding gown. It was breathtaking—a masterpiece of white lace and shimmering pearls that cascaded down her form like a dream. But the dream was hers in name only; the woman in the mirror stared back with lifeless eyes and a frown that tugged at the corners of her lips.
Her hands rested limply in her lap as a maid pinned her veil into place with delicate care. Another was dabbing her cheeks with blush, and yet another was fastening tiny diamond studs to her ears. But Helena barely felt their hands, their chatter, or their fussing. Her focus remained on her reflection.
She looked beautiful, yet all she saw was a hollow shell. Her heart felt heavy, like it was weighed down by the very gown she was wearing. A bride was supposed to feel joy on her wedding day, wasn't she? Yet here she was, longing for an escape that felt impossible.
Her gaze shifted down to her trembling hands. She wanted nothing more than to vanish, to find some way to dissolve into thin air and leave all this behind. But her parents still didn't know. They didn't know what had happened, didn't know what Matthew and Hazel had done. And they couldn't know, not now. She had kept their betrayal locked away like a dark, poisonous secret. How could she explain to them that the man they had welcomed so warmly was nothing but a liar, a cheat?
Her chest tightened at the thought of her mother's proud face as she fussed over wedding arrangements. Her father, oblivious but loving, would be heartbroken if she called everything off. And yet, wasn't she heartbroken already?
The sound of heels clicking against the floor pulled her out of her thoughts. She glanced at the mirror, her glassy eyes focusing on the doorway just as Emily entered. Dressed in a sleek navy gown, Emily looked stunning, but her expression was far from celebratory. Her sharp eyes zeroed in on Helena, and she immediately noticed her friend's gloomy demeanor.
"Maids," Emily said curtly, clapping her hands once. "Can you give us a moment? I need to speak with the bride."
The maids exchanged glances but obeyed without question. They filed out of the room quietly, leaving Helena and Emily alone. The door clicked shut behind them, and the silence that followed was deafening.
Emily crossed her arms and tilted her head, her voice soft but firm. "Helena," she began, stepping closer. "What's going on? And don't tell me it's nothing. I've seen happier people at funerals."
Helena let out a hollow laugh, the sound bitter as it left her lips. "What do you think is going on, Emily?" she replied, her voice low and flat. "It's my wedding day. I should be happy, right? Over the moon, glowing, all that nonsense."
Emily frowned, pulling up a chair and sitting beside her. "Helena, you're not fine, and we both know why. You're marrying a man you don't trust. A man who—"
"Stop," Helena interrupted, holding up a hand. Her voice cracked as she spoke. "Don't say it. Don't say his name. Don't talk about her."
Emily's eyes softened as she reached for Helena's hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "You can't keep bottling this up," she said gently. "You're about to walk down that aisle and tie yourself to someone who doesn't deserve you. Someone who's proven he doesn't respect you."
Helena's throat tightened, and she looked away, her eyes misting with unshed tears. "What am I supposed to do, Emily?" she whispered. "Call it off? Humiliate my parents in front of all those people? They think Matthew is perfect. They think I'm happy. What do I tell them? That he's been sleeping with my sister? That the man they adore is a liar?"
"Yes," Emily said firmly. "Yes, that's exactly what you tell them. Because none of this is your fault, Helena. You didn't ask for any of this, and you shouldn't have to live with it just to save face."
Helena shook her head, a tear slipping down her cheek. "You don't understand. My father… he loves me so much. He'd be devastated. And my mother—God, she would find a way to blame me. She always does. Hazel can do no wrong in her eyes."
Emily's expression darkened at the mention of Hazel. "Your mother is blind, and Hazel is—" She stopped herself, taking a deep breath before continuing. "Helena, listen to me. You deserve better than this. Better than Matthew, better than Hazel, better than all of it. And if your parents can't see that, then that's on them, not you."
Helena swallowed hard, her emotions threatening to overwhelm her. "I just… I don't know how to do this, Emily. I feel trapped. I feel like no matter what I do, I'll lose."
Emily leaned closer, her voice soft but urgent. "You don't have to decide right this second. But you need to ask yourself one thing: when you look back on this day, years from now, will you be able to live with the choice you made?"
Helena's reflection blurred as fresh tears filled her eyes. She stared at herself, the bride she didn't recognize, and wondered if she would ever be able to look at that face without regret.
As the air hung heavy with Helena's turmoil, a soft knock suddenly echoed through the room, pulling both women out of their tense conversation. Helena tensed, wiping at her eyes quickly while Emily straightened in her chair. Before either of them could respond, the door creaked open, and Helena's father stepped in, his broad frame filling the doorway.
"Helena," he said warmly, his voice carrying the soft timbre of affection. He was dressed impeccably in a sharp black suit, a boutonnière pinned neatly to his lapel. His graying hair was combed back, and his face bore a smile so genuine it made Helena's stomach twist with guilt.
Emily, noticing Helena's frozen state, nudged her sharply in the side. "Smile," she hissed under her breath.
Helena forced her lips into a smile, one that she prayed didn't look as hollow as it felt. She turned in her chair to face her father, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. "Hi, Dad," she said softly, her voice steady despite the storm inside her.
Her father's smile widened as he stepped further into the room. "You look beautiful, sweetheart," he said, his eyes brimming with pride as they took in her wedding gown and meticulously styled hair. "Just like your mother on our wedding day. I can't believe my little girl is getting married."
Helena's forced smile wavered slightly, but she nodded. "Thank you, Dad," she murmured.
He walked closer, resting a hand gently on her shoulder. "I just wanted to say how proud I am of you," he continued. "You've grown into such a wonderful woman, and to see you marrying the man of your choice—someone you love—it fills my heart with joy."
Emily's eyes flicked to Helena, worry flickering across her face as she saw how hard her friend was working to hold herself together.
Helena nodded again, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm… happy too, Dad."
Her father's smile remained bright as if he didn't notice the tightness in her voice. "Good, that's all I've ever wanted—for you to be happy. You've always been my pride and joy, Helena. I know Matthew will take good care of you."
Helena swallowed the lump rising in her throat and managed another forced smile. "He will," she replied, though the words felt like ash in her mouth.
Her father stayed for a few more minutes, chatting about how everything was going smoothly downstairs and how everyone was excited to see her walk down the aisle. He seemed so genuinely happy, so oblivious to the turmoil she was drowning in. Helena did her best to respond appropriately, nodding and smiling when required, though Emily's sharp eyes never left her face.
Finally, her father glanced at his watch and clapped his hands together. "Well, I'd better head back downstairs before your mother sends out a search party," he said with a chuckle.
He bent down and kissed her lightly on the forehead. "I love you, Helena. Today is going to be perfect, you'll see."
"Love you too, Dad," she whispered, her voice cracking slightly as she watched him turn and leave the room.
As the door clicked shut behind him, the air in the room felt heavier than ever. Helena exhaled shakily, her forced composure crumbling as she buried her face in her hands.
Emily reached out and squeezed her shoulder. "You okay?" she asked softly, though she already knew the answer.
Helena shook her head, her voice muffled as she said, "He's so happy, Emily. He has no idea… no idea about any of it."
Emily sighed, her grip on Helena tightening. "I know," she murmured. "But you can't keep living like this, Helena. You're only going to break under the weight of it all."
Helena didn't respond, her mind swirling with thoughts of her father's smile, Matthew's betrayal, and the nightmare she was about to walk into.
Helena sat in silence for a long moment after her father left, her hands trembling slightly as she rested them on her lap. The weight of the day was pressing down on her chest like an iron anchor. She glanced at Emily, who was watching her with a mixture of concern and quiet resolve. Finally, Helena took a deep breath and spoke, her voice barely audible.
"It's time to leave," she whispered, her words sounding more like a resignation than excitement.
Emily hesitated, her mouth opening as if to argue, but she quickly closed it. She knew there was no point—not now, not when everything was already in motion. "Okay," she said softly. "Let's go."
Helena rose from her chair with an almost mechanical grace, her wedding gown flowing around her like a shroud. The weight of the intricate lace and satin seemed to mirror the heaviness in her chest. Emily adjusted the train of her dress and straightened her veil before gesturing toward the door.
The moment they stepped out of the room, they were greeted by a line of guards in tailored black suits. Their presence was both reassuring and suffocating, a constant reminder of the grandeur and expectations tied to the day. One of them stepped forward, bowing slightly as he gestured toward the staircase.
"This way, Miss Helena," he said, his voice formal and detached.
Helena nodded mutely, her face devoid of emotion. Emily walked beside her, offering silent support as they descended the grand staircase. The mansion was eerily quiet, the usual bustle replaced by an almost reverent stillness. The only sound was the soft rustling of Helena's gown and the faint click of her heels against the marble floors.
As they reached the main entrance, the double doors were already open, revealing the pristine white limousine waiting in the circular driveway. The vehicle gleamed under the midday sun, its polished surface reflecting the towering columns of the estate. A small team of staff stood by the car, their expressions blank and professional as they waited to assist.
Helena paused for a moment at the top of the steps, her gaze fixed on the limousine. Her heart was racing fast in her chest, each beat echoing in her ears like a war drum. She felt Emily's hand brush against hers, a subtle gesture of reassurance.
"Helena," Emily said gently. "You've got this."
Helena didn't respond. Instead, she forced her legs to move, descending the steps with deliberate slowness. The guards followed closely, their presence looming like shadows. One of the staff members opened the limousine door, bowing slightly as Helena approached.
"Your car is ready, Miss Helena," he said.
Helena hesitated for a fraction of a second before stepping inside. The interior of the limousine was lavishly decorated, with plush white leather seats and delicate floral arrangements adorning the corners. The scent of fresh roses filled the air, a stark contrast to the suffocating tension that clung to Helena like a second skin.
Emily slid in beside her, and the door closed with a soft thud. The limousine began to move smoothly down the long driveway, flanked by a convoy of security vehicles. Helena stared out of the tinted window, watching the familiar landscape blur past.
She felt trapped—trapped in this car, in this dress, in this life that no longer felt like her own. The weight of the day pressed down on her shoulders, and she clenched her hands tightly in her lap, her knuckles turning white.
Emily broke the silence after a few minutes. "Are you okay?" she asked, her voice soft but insistent.
Helena turned to her, her eyes hollow. "No," she said simply. "But I don't have a choice, do I?"
Emily frowned but didn't argue. Instead, she reached out and took Helena's hand, holding it tightly. "You're stronger than you think," she said quietly. "You'll get through this. And no matter what happens, I'll be right here."
Helena nodded slightly, though her gaze remained distant. She turned back to the window, her reflection staring back at her like a stranger. The closer they got to the wedding venue, the heavier the air felt. Her chest tightened, her breath shallow as the reality of what awaited her loomed larger with each passing second.
The limousine finally slowed to a stop, the soft hum of the engine cutting off as they reached the grand entrance of the venue. A red carpet stretched out before them, lined with elegantly dressed guests and photographers eager to capture every moment of the day. Helena's heart sank as the door opened, the murmurs of the crowd growing louder.
Emily squeezed her hand one last time before letting go. "Ready?" she asked.
Helena took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling in a slow, deliberate rhythm. "As I'll ever be," she murmured, stepping out of the limousine and into the blinding light of the cameras.