The Third Canceled Ceremony

"Since your mind is made up, I wish you all the best."

I thanked him quietly and closed the closet door.

Just as I latched the last suitcase, my phone screen lit up.

It was a new post from Cassandra on her private social media.

The photo was a selfie of her wearing the Thorne family's heirloom necklace.

The caption: "The one and only."

As if she were afraid I’d miss it, she had tagged me.

This was nothing new. It felt like half her posts were engineered just for me, either by tagging me directly or setting the privacy so I was the only one who could see them.

In the past, these petty games would have sent me into a spiral.

I would have fought with Julian, screamed at him.

And every time, he would dismiss it with a casual wave. "She's just a pawn, Seraphina. You're my wife. Don't be so petty."

He was so sure of my love, so certain I would never leave, that he felt free to hurt me without a second thought.

I smiled, but inside, my heart was fracturing.

Suddenly, a text from my assistant, Chloe, popped up: "Miss Vance is here."

My gaze lifted, and I saw her.

Cassandra, in a flowing dress, swept past the reception area and walked straight into Julian's study.

The heavy oak door swung shut in front of me.

I lowered my eyelids as my mind drifted back.

Julian had once held me in that very room.

His eyes had gleamed with a strange fire as he gestured to the Chicago nightscape. "Doesn't this feel thrilling?" he'd murmured. "Like we're having an affair."

He’d held me tight, his skin slick with sweat.

"After the ceremony," he’d panted, "I'll tell the whole world. You, Seraphina, are my Donna."

I smiled at the memory of my naive self, the pathetic girl who’d believed his sweet lies time and time again.

Then came the first humiliation. Then the second.

Now, with the legal death of his empire tucked safely in my bag, there would be no third.

…

Two hours later, as I was about to leave, one of Julian's bodyguards approached me. "The Don asked you to bring him a glass of whiskey."

He was notoriously picky, drinking only one specific vintage of single malt, with ice cubes of a precise dimension.

In this house, I was the only one who knew how he liked it.

I sighed and went to the liquor cabinet.

I didn't expect to find Cassandra there, leaning against it as if she owned the place.

When she saw me, a contemptuous smile curled her lips.

"Your temper has certainly improved, Seraphina. I thought for sure you'd have stormed the study by now to demand answers."

She deliberately raised her wrist, showing off the fresh tattoo of the Thorne family's thorny rose.

"Is that so?" I lowered my eyes, picking up the bottle. "Care for a glass? It's quite good."

My calm seemed to throw her off.

She looked me up and down as if I were some alien creature.

"Still playing the part of the silent, dutiful wife? Do you really think Julian won't abandon you?"

"Let me tell you something. The only reason Julian married you was because the heir of a rival family was obsessed with me back then."

"He needed to declare his sovereignty, so he took the fastest route: he claimed you."

"What nonsense are you spouting, Cassandra?"

Julian's tall frame filled the doorway of the narrow liquor lounge.