Chapter 3 The Altar Of Ruthless

Ethan walked straight down the center aisle of the ballroom, his heavy footsteps echoing with terrifying authority. Within seconds, a dozen of his elite, black-suited private guards stepped forward, creating a human wall to push back the surging wave of reporters and flashing cameras. He didn't spare a single glance at the whispering crowd. His arms remained wrapped securely around the small girl clutched to his chest. Striding up the marble steps of the altar, he stopped directly in front of the trembling wedding registrar. "Start the vows," Ethan commanded, his deep voice slicing through the chaos like a blade. "Ethan! What the hell is going on here?" Arthur Thorne stepped forward, his face contorted in absolute fury. He slammed his hand against the altar table. "Who is this girl? You cannot marry a nameless beggar off the street and turn the Thorne family into a national joke!" Ethan ignored his father completely. He kept his gaze locked on the pale priest. "I said, start the vows. Now." The priest swallowed hard, his hands shaking. He looked at the mysterious girl wrapped in the oversized jacket. "Mr. Thorne... please, you must put the bride down so we may proceed properly." "No," Ethan refused flatly, his grip tightening around her. "She is hurt. Speak the vows while I hold her." In his arms, the nameless girl stirred. Her deep blue eyes fluttered open, looking at the massive crowd before shifting up to Ethan's rigid jawline. "I can stand," she whispered softly. Ethan snapped his head down, locking his eyes onto hers. "You don't have to. I can carry you." "Please," she murmured, her fingers clutching his white dress shirt. "Put me down. The priest said it is important." Ethan's jaw clenched, but he yielded to her request. He slowly lowered her feet to the marble floor. However, he didn't let her go. He kept one massive arm wrapped tightly around her waist, physically anchoring her small body against his chest. Weak from her sprained ankle, she subconsciously leaned into his warmth to hide from the blinding camera flashes. The reporters began shouting over the velvet ropes. "Mr. Thorne! Is this a stunt? Who is she?" Ethan slowly turned his head toward the media crowd. He raised his left hand, making a deliberate motion to command silence. "Don't make noise," Ethan spoke into the sudden silence of the room, his tone dripping with calm authority. "My wife has a headache." The entire ballroom went dead silent. Two hundred aggressive journalists froze, no one daring to breathe. They knew the immense financial power of the man standing on that stage. One wrong question could destroy their entire media network by morning. "Begin," Ethan muttered to the priest. Arthur Thorne tried to step forward again to disrupt the ceremony, but Ethan's elite guards instantly stepped inward, forming a tight circle around Ethan, the girl, and the priest. Arthur and Julian were left standing outside the barrier, completely helpless. The priest began reciting the sacred vows. When asked if he would take her as his wife, Ethan looked down at her head, smelling the faint scent of flour and vanilla clinging to her hair. "I do," he spoke clearly. When the priest turned to her, she looked at the heavy diamond ring resting in the velvet box. She had nowhere left to go. Her father had sold her out, but this stranger was offering her an empire of protection. "I do," she whispered. Ethan took the massive diamond ring and slid it onto her slender finger. It was far too loose. Sensing the problem, she quickly closed her fingers into a tight fist, holding the ring securely against her palm. "Marcus," Ethan called out to his assistant, noticing the loose fit. "Bring another ring. Sized down immediately." "Wait," she stopped him, her blue eyes looking up with sudden earnestness. "You don't need to do that. I have a ring. My grandfather's ring." With trembling fingers, she unhooked a simple silver chain hidden beneath the collar of his jacket. She slid off a plain silver hoop ring and held it out to him. "Will you wear this?" Ethan looked at the simple silver band. He raised his hand, allowing her small, cold fingers to slide the hoop onto his ring finger. It fitted his large hand perfectly. She looked up at him, a trace of worry in her eyes. "Is it tight?" Ethan looked down at his hand, then back into her beautiful blue eyes. The corner of his mouth twitched into a microscopic softening. "No, little one. It is perfect." "By the power vested in me," the priest announced quickly, eager to end the high-stakes tension, "I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride." The moment the words left the priest's mouth, the girl stiffened. Her small hands clutched the fabric of Ethan's shirt tightly, her entire body trembling as the reality of marrying a dangerous billionaire hit her. Ethan sensed her fear instantly. He pulled his new little bride even closer into his chest. He looked down at the priest, his gray eyes hardening. "Is it absolutely necessary?" The priest swallowed hard, glancing nervously at the reporters. "It is traditional, Mr. Thorne. The media expects a confirmation of the vows." Ethan cut his gaze back down to the girl in his arms. Sensing his movement, she clutched his shirt even harder, silently pleading with her eyes not to be humiliated in front of the flashing cameras. Without a word, Ethan leaned down. He didn't claim her lips, refusing to give the media the scandalous display they were hungry for. Instead, he gently cupped the side of her face with his massive hand and placed a soft, lingering kiss right on her forehead. The warmth of his lips against her cold skin sent a sudden shockwave through her body. As he pulled back, his face remained mere inches from hers. "Don't get your hopes up," Ethan whispered, his tone dropping into a cold, strictly professional murmur that only she could hear. "I am not interested in getting physical with you." The girl's fear instantly vanished, replaced by a flash of fiery defiance. She narrowed her blue eyes, tilting her chin up as she bit back smoothly. "Neither am I, Mr. Thorne." A microscopic flash of amusement crossed Ethan's face before his expression returned to a cold mask. He wrapped his arm securely back around her waist, anchoring her firmly to his side, and faced the sea of stunned reporters. "What?" Ethan demanded, his deep voice booming through the silent hall with pure arrogance. "Clap. I am a married man now." The absolute authority in his voice snapped the crowd out of their trance. Within a second, the front row of journalists began to clap frantically, and the applause quickly rippled across the entire ballroom into a thunderous roar. Julian stood outside the guard circle, his face dark with rage. Arthur Thorne simply watched his eldest son with a grim, tight expression. Ethan didn't wait for the applause to die down. He bent down and effortlessly swept his new little bride back up into a secure princess carry. With his guards aggressively pushing open a path through the crowded aisle, Ethan strode powerfully out of the grand ballroom, straight toward his waiting luxury vehicle.