Betrayal on My Big Day

The wedding planner's voice crackled through the venue's sound system, announcing a fifteen-minute delay. Guests shifted uncomfortably in their seats, murmuring among themselves as the processional music faded.

"I'm so sorry for the inconvenience," Liana announced, stepping onto the small platform where the string quartet had been playing. She still wore that strange white garment, her voice carrying an artificial sweetness that made my skin crawl. "There's a small traditional ceremony we need to perform before the wedding can begin."

I stood frozen at the edge of the garden, my wedding dress suddenly feeling like a costume in some elaborate play I'd never auditioned for.

Through the crowd, I spotted Celine's concerned face. She was already on her phone, her brow furrowed. I gave her a reassuring nod that felt as hollow as my confidence.

Four men in dark suits appeared at the venue's entrance, carrying an ornate wooden coffin. The crowd gasped collectively. The casket was beautiful in a disturbing way—polished mahogany with intricate carvings of serpents and birds, lined with blood-red silk that seemed to shimmer in the afternoon light.

"What is this?" someone called out from the back.

"It's part of an ancient tradition," Liana explained smoothly. "My brother has been trapped in a spiritual limbo for three years. Only the pure energy of a bride can help break the curse."

The men positioned the coffin in the center of the garden, surrounded by burning incense sticks that filled the air with a sweet, cloying scent. Strange symbols—circles with crosses through them—were drawn in what looked like crushed herbs around the perimeter.

"Angelica," Lincoln appeared at my side, his face pale. "I'm sorry about this. It will just take a few minutes."

I searched his eyes for any sign that he was as disturbed by this as I was. Instead, I found only discomfort and a strange resignation.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Liana called out, her voice taking on a theatrical quality. "The bride will now perform the ritual of awakening."

She approached me, taking my hand in hers. Her skin was cool and dry, like paper.

"You need to walk three times around the coffin," she whispered, her breath hot against my ear. "While I chant the ancient words."

Before I could respond, she was guiding me forward. The crowd parted, creating a path to the coffin. I caught glimpses of faces—confusion, curiosity, embarrassment. Someone was laughing nervously. Others were already raising their phones, filming what they thought was some bizarre wedding custom.

My cheeks burned as I began walking slowly around the coffin. The incense made my eyes water. Inside, I could see what appeared to be a man lying perfectly still, his features peaceful as if in deep sleep.

"That's Leif," Liana explained loudly enough for the front rows to hear. "My poor brother."

I completed the first circle, feeling like a performer in a circus act. Liana began chanting in what sounded like gibberish—words that might have been Latin or something entirely made up. The second circle felt longer, more humiliating.

"Everyone stay quiet," Liana instructed as I began the third circle. "The spirits are listening."

I noticed movement inside the coffin—a slight twitch of the man's fingers. My heart skipped a beat. Was he really in a coma? Or was this all some elaborate hoax?

As I finished the third circle, Liana grabbed my hand suddenly.

"One more thing," she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "You need to seal the ritual."

Before I could ask what she meant, she was pulling me toward the coffin. In the center of the lid was a small metal nail, protruding slightly from the wood.

"Press your palm against it," she instructed.

"I don't understand—" I began.

"Just do it," she hissed, her grip tightening painfully on my wrist.

I hesitated, looking to Lincoln for help. He stood frozen, his expression unreadable.

"Trust me," Liana said, her eyes suddenly cold. "It's just tradition."

Something in her tone made me comply despite my instincts screaming otherwise. I extended my hand toward the nail.

In one fluid motion, Liana grabbed my wrist and slammed my palm down onto the coffin lid. The sharp metal pierced through my white glove and into my flesh.

Pain exploded through my hand as blood immediately soaked through the delicate fabric. I screamed, trying to pull away, but Liana held me firmly in place for one excruciating moment longer.

"Oh my God!" someone shouted from the crowd.

Lincoln rushed forward, finally breaking from his trance. "What happened?"

"It was an accident," Liana said quickly, releasing my hand. "She moved suddenly. I didn't mean—"

Blood dripped onto the red silk lining of the coffin as I clutched my wounded hand to my chest. Through tears of pain and shock, I saw Lincoln's face—not angry at Liana, but concerned. For me? Or for the situation?

"She needs stitches," a woman in the crowd called out, stepping forward. She introduced herself as a nurse. "That wound is deep."

"We can handle it after the ceremony," Lincoln said firmly, guiding me to a chair. "It's just a small injury."

I stared at him in disbelief as he turned back to the crowd, apologizing for the disruption. In that moment, something inside me shifted—a realization that the man I was about to marry was not who I thought he was.

Behind Lincoln's back, Liana smiled at me—a small, satisfied curve of her lips that told me everything I needed to know.

This was no accident.