Chapter 2 - The silent lockdown
The absolute pandemonium that erupted in the cathedral was a masterclass in high-society hysteria. Billionaires, politicians, and socialites shoved against one another, their designer formalwear tearing as they scrambled for the heavy mahogany exit doors. The illusion of civilized elegance vanished in an instant, replaced by the primal urge to escape the scarred phantom standing at the altar. Ethan did not run. His military-honed instincts, buried beneath years of corporate luxury, violently reawakened. He lunged toward the massive arrangement of white roses, his powerful hands tearing brutally into the thick, thorny stems. The thorns shredded the sleeves of his midnight-navy tuxedo and sliced deeply into his palms, but he felt absolutely no pain.
Emily! Ethan shouted, ripping away a heavy swath of ivory blossoms and wire mesh.
He breached the hollow center of the floral structure. Emily fell forward into his arms, her delicate angelic face pale and streaked with tears. Ethan violently ripped the thick pale cloth from her mouth. She gasped for air, sobbing uncontrollably, her body trembling with a profound, bone-chilling shock. She clung to his broad shoulders, her manicured fingers digging into his tuxedo jacket. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, lifting her entirely out of the ruined flowers, shielding her trembling form against his chest.
I've got you, I've got you, Ethan murmured frantically, scanning the chaotic altar over her shoulder.
He looked for the imposter, the woman who had worn his bride’s face. But the space before the altar was empty. The dropped silicone mask lay abandoned on the black-and-white marble tiles, a grotesque, discarded skin staring blankly at the vaulted ceiling. The mysterious bride had vanished into the panicked, surging crowd, utilizing the sheer volume of screaming guests to mask her escape.
Daddy, a small, frightened voice called out.
Ethan spun around. Lily stood perfectly still amidst the chaos, her champagne-colored flower-girl dress untouched by the panic. Her enormous blue eyes were wide, staring at the spot where the scarred woman had stood. Ethan rushed forward, pulling Emily with him, and scooped his daughter up with his free arm. The three of them retreated instantly toward the heavy oak doors of the cathedral's private sacristy, slipping inside and engaging the heavy iron deadbolts just as the first wave of police sirens began to wail in the distance outside.
The sacristy was dark and smelled of old incense and ancient wood. Ethan set Lily down on a heavy wooden bench and gently guided Emily to sit beside her. Emily covered her face with her hands, her shoulders heaving as the trauma of the last hour crashed over her. She had been ambushed in the bridal suite, injected with a localized paralytic, and shoved into the hollow core of the floral arrangement while entirely conscious, forced to watch a monster steal her identity and walk down the aisle toward the man she loved.
Who was she, Ethan? Emily wept, looking up at him with watery blue eyes. Why did she look exactly like me?
I don't know, Ethan lied. It was a subtle, microscopic hesitation, but his piercing blue eyes darkened for a fraction of a second. He turned away, pacing the stone floor of the small room, pulling his encrypted mobile phone from his pocket to contact his elite private security team.
Lily sat quietly on the bench, her golden pigtails slightly messy. She swung her tiny pearl shoes back and forth, staring at her father's broad back.
Daddy, Lily said, her voice eerily calm for a six-year-old who had just witnessed a nightmare. What did the lady mean?
Ethan froze mid-stride. He slowly turned to face his daughter, the chilling whisper of the scarred woman echoing relentlessly in his mind. Ask your daughter what happened to the first Emily.
I don't know, Lily-bug, Ethan said softly, crouching down to her eye level. The lady was sick. She was trying to scare us.
Lily shook her head, her rosy cheeks pale in the dim light. She wasn't sick, Daddy. She was sad. She told me the first Emily went into the dark water.
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Emily stopped crying, lowering her hands. She looked at Ethan, her delicate features contorting in sheer confusion. The first Emily? Ethan, my name is Emily. What is she talking about? Who went into the water?
Ethan stared at his daughter, the blood draining entirely from his sculpted jaw. He stood up slowly, looking at the heavy oak door of the sacristy as if the devil himself were waiting on the other side. Because before Ethan became a billionaire, before he built his empire, there had been another woman in his life. A woman whose name was also Emily. A woman who had vanished without a trace from his private yacht seven years ago, leaving nothing behind but a pool of blood on the deck and a mystery that Ethan had spent millions of dollars to bury. And now, someone had crawled out of the dark water to attend his wedding.
