Chapter 2

My father stared down at me and the dog, his face a mask of disbelief and rage. The wedding guests had spilled out onto the church steps, a silent, judging audience to our family's implosion.

"Sarah, get up," he said, his voice quieter now, but laced with a cold fury. He was trying a different tactic. "Let's go somewhere private and talk. Clearly, you're not well."

He was trying to be reasonable, to frame my actions as a temporary breakdown, something that could be managed and contained. He wanted to find the "real" reason, the one that made sense in his world of logic and social contracts.

"I am perfectly well, Dad," I said, not looking up from Betsy. "And there's nothing to talk about. I am not marrying Mark. I am going home."

I stood up, holding Betsy's collar gently. She stayed close to my side, still eyeing my father warily.

"I am not letting you leave," my father said, blocking my path. "You're going to get in the car with your mother and me, and we are going to sort this out."

"No," I said.

I saw the resolve hardening in his eyes. He was about to use force again. I knew I had only one card left to play, a terrible, extreme one.

I let go of Betsy and took a step back, towards the top of the long, steep stone staircase. "If you or anyone else tries to stop me," I said, my voice ringing out with chilling clarity, "I will throw myself down these stairs."

A collective gasp rippled through the crowd. My mother let out a small scream. Mark's face went white.

"Sarah, don't be ridiculous," my father said, but his voice wavered. He took a half-step back.

"I am not being ridiculous," I said, my eyes locked on his. "I mean it. Don't come any closer."

The onlookers started whispering again, their shock turning into condemnation. "She's lost her mind," someone said. "Threatening her own father like that." "What a monster, doing this to poor Mark." Their words were like little stones, but they couldn't touch the cold certainty inside me. I was a ship that had already set its course, and I would crash on the rocks before I let them turn me around.

Mark' s mother, Eleanor Davis, finally broke her stony silence. She marched up the steps until she stood right in front of my parents.

"Richard, Alice," she said, her voice dripping with venom. "What is the meaning of this? Our families had an agreement. We expect an explanation for your daughter's... theatrical breakdown."

The conflict was no longer just about me and Mark. It was about family honor, about social contracts, about the merger of two influential families that was now collapsing in the most public way imaginable.

I didn't wait to hear my parents' stammering response. This was my chance. While all eyes were on the brewing fight between the parents, I turned, scooped a surprised Betsy into my arms-she was heavy, but adrenaline is a powerful thing-and ran. I didn't go towards the parking lot where the wedding limo was waiting. I ran around the side of the church, towards the street.

My white dress was cumbersome, and the heels were a mistake, but I kicked them off, feeling the rough pavement under my stockinged feet. I didn't look back. I could hear shouting behind me, my name being called, but I just ran faster. I had to get away. I had to get Betsy safe. I had something I needed to do.

A few blocks away, I flagged down a taxi. The driver gave me and the large, panting dog in my wedding dress a very strange look, but he didn't ask questions.

"Where to, lady?"

I gave him my address, and we pulled away from the curb, leaving the chaos of my failed wedding behind.

Back in the quiet of my own apartment, the one I was supposed to be leaving today, I let Betsy down. She immediately went to her water bowl and drank thirstily. I peeled off the expensive wedding dress, letting it fall in a heap on the floor. I changed into jeans and a t-shirt, feeling more like myself than I had in months.

I sat on the floor, and Betsy came and rested her head in my lap. I stroked her soft fur, her presence a warm, solid comfort.

"I'm sorry you got scared, girl," I whispered. "I'm sorry he kicked you. But we're safe now. I just need to figure some things out. I promise, I'll protect you. I'll protect him." The last part was barely a whisper.

My phone, which I'd left in my purse in the bridal room, was now being lit up by an endless stream of calls and texts. I ignored them all until I saw a message on a group chat with my bridesmaids. It was from my friend, Jessica.

The message contained a screenshot of a news article.

LOCAL HEIR MARK DAVIS IN CAR ACCIDENT AFTER FIANCÉE ABANDONS HIM AT THE ALTAR.

My blood ran cold. I clicked the link. Mark had apparently driven away from the church in a rage, lost control of his sports car, and crashed into a tree. He was alive, but he'd been taken to the hospital.

Jessica's text below the link was sharp. "Sarah, what did you do? He could have died! You need to go to the hospital. Now."

My heart pounded in my chest. This was a nightmare. A new, complicated nightmare. Before I could process it, a new text message popped up. It was from Mark's number.

I'm okay. Don't worry. But Sarah... they had to cut my clothes off me. The doctors. They almost lost it. The St. Christopher medal you gave me. The one I promised I'd never take off. It's here with me. Please come.

The medal. It wasn't just any medal. It was my grandfather's. I had given it to Mark after my grandfather died, a symbol of my trust, a piece of the person I loved most in the world. Mark had sworn he'd wear it forever. The thought of it being lost, or in the hands of strangers...

A cold, clear purpose cut through my panic. The message was designed to pull at my heartstrings, to make me feel guilty and rush to his side out of love. But that's not why I was going.

I looked down at Betsy, who was watching me with an intensity that was almost human.

"I have to go get it back," I told her, my voice low. "I have to get Grandpa's medal."

I stood up, grabbing my keys. I was going to the hospital. Not for Mark, the man lying in the bed. I was going for the small piece of silver he wore around his neck. It was the last piece of the puzzle I needed.