Chapter 5 - The Walk to the Altar
The morning sun broke through the gray autumn mist over St. Patrick's Cathedral.
Crowds of onlookers and society reporters lined the barricades along Fifth Avenue, their flashbulbs exploding as limousines arrived.
Inside the bridal suite of the church, Lily sat motionless before the vanity mirror.
Her face was chalk-white beneath her translucent veil.
Every muscle in her slender shoulders was tense with dread.
"Breathe, Lily," I told her, kneeling beside her velvet chair.
"I can't do it, Eleanor," she gasped, her breath coming in ragged, shallow bursts.
"When I hear the organ play, I feel like I'm marching to my own execution."
"Julian just sent a message to my phone saying if I hesitate at the altar, he'll make last night look like a gentle warm-up."
I gently took her trembling hands into mine.
"Look at me, Lily."
She forced her gaze to meet mine.
"You are not a victim walking to an execution," I told her with fierce conviction.
"You are the bait that drew the monster out of his cave."
"Do you trust me?"
"With my life," she whispered.
"Then stand up tall, hold your bouquet, and look him straight in the eyes."
"Do not flinch."
"Do not apologize."
"When you reach that altar, you are not surrendering."
"You are delivering him to the executioner."
The church bells began their deep, resonant toll.
Outside the heavy doors, the wedding coordinator waved her clipboard frantically.
"Two minutes, Miss Vance! The groom has taken his place!"
My father entered the room, his black tuxedo pressed impeccably, but his eyes were filled with unspeakable sorrow.
He walked over to Lily and kissed her forehead.
"Forgive me, sweetheart," Thomas murmured, his voice breaking.
"Don't cry, Dad," Lily said, her voice finding an unexpected tremor of strength.
"Eleanor promised it ends today."
The heavy cathedral doors groaned open.
The thunderous roar of the pipe organ shook the stone pillars, echoing off the vaulted ceilings.
Eight hundred members of the social elite rose to their feet in unison.
At the far end of the long red carpet stood Julian Sterling.
He looked pristine, handsome, and entirely untouchable in his morning suit.
Beside him stood Harrison Sterling, beaming with the smug pride of a conqueror claiming his prize.
My father took Lily's arm and stepped onto the aisle.
I took my place among the bridesmaids, my fingers discreetly tapping the encrypted radio unit hidden in my bouquet.
"Target in position," I murmured into the microphone.
"All teams standing by," Marcus answered cleanly in my earpiece.
Lily stepped forward, her veil swaying with every step.
Julian watched her approach, his smirk deepening with every second.
He leaned slightly toward his best man and whispered something that made the other young man chuckle.
He had no idea that four plainclothes federal agents were seated in the third row.
He had no idea that every exit from the cathedral had been sealed by tactical units five minutes ago.
As Lily reached the altar steps, my father kissed her cheek and placed her hand into Julian’s.
Julian squeezed her fingers with deliberate, bruising force.
"You made the right choice, little girl," Julian whispered under the cover of the organ music.
Lily looked directly into his cold eyes.
For the first time in six months, she did not look away.
May you like
"No, Julian," Lily whispered back, her voice clear and steady.
"You did."
