Chapter 2 - The Vows That Choked
St. Patrick’s Cathedral was a masterpiece of stained glass and suffocating expectations.
Julian stood at the altar, the scent of imported white roses suddenly making him nauseous.
The organ music swelled, signaling the arrival of the bride.
Chloe Mercer appeared at the end of the aisle, a vision in custom Vera Wang and calculated perfection.
She was smiling for the cameras, a flawless actress stepping into her ultimate leading role.
But Julian couldn't see her.
All he could see was the sterile white of a hospital room in his mind's eye.
All he could hear was the faint, impossible sound of a newborn baby shifting against Elena's chest.
A son.
He had a son.
The realization hit him like a physical blow to the ribs, knocking the wind out of his lungs.
For five years, they had tried, failed, and wept in empty nurseries.
He had blamed Elena, using her alleged infertility as the final excuse to discard her for a newer, shinier model.
Now, she was holding the heir to the Sterling dynasty, and he was about to marry a woman he suddenly couldn't stand to look at.
"Julian?" the priest whispered, prompting him to speak.
Julian blinked, realizing the music had stopped and Chloe was standing directly in front of him.
Her perfectly manicured hand was clutching his, her smile tight with barely concealed irritation.
"The rings, Mr. Sterling," the best man hissed from behind him.
Julian fumbled, dropping the heavy platinum band onto the marble floor with a loud, embarrassing clatter.
A collective gasp echoed through the elite crowd.
Chloe’s eyes flashed with venom, though she kept her lips curved upwards for the paparazzi.
"Get it together," she muttered under her breath, her voice devoid of any bridal warmth.
He picked up the ring, his hands shaking violently.
He repeated the vows, but they tasted like ash in his mouth.
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He was legally binding himself to a viper, while his true legacy was lying in a hospital bed across the city.
The trap had closed, and Julian had built it himself.
