Chapter 1 — Shattered Vows
Charlie
The room had never been quieter.
The grand ballroom of the Somerset Grand Hotel, with its vaulted ceilings and glimmering crystal chandeliers, was filled with rows of impeccably dressed guests. Yet it felt as if the very walls were holding their breath, waiting for something—anything—to fill the void left by Alex Carter’s absence. At the end of the aisle, where the groom should have stood, the polished parquet gleamed, mocking her with its emptiness.
The murmurs of whispered questions swirled through the air like smoke, curling into every corner. Charlie Hayes stood at the center of it all, a statue in white, clutching her phone in one trembling hand.
Her eyes scanned the message on the screen for the fifth time, her mind willing the words to rearrange themselves into something that made sense. But they didn’t. They wouldn’t.
I can’t do this. I’m sorry.
That was it. Five words, stark and cruel, detonating her carefully constructed world.
Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, drowning out the whispers for a moment. Her chest tightened, the air around her growing thick and suffocating. She felt the weight of every set of eyes drilling into her, each gaze sharpening the ache in her chest. Her hands trembled, and she gripped the phone tighter, as if it could anchor her in this surreal moment.
Somewhere in the periphery, her mother’s hand flew to her mouth, her father’s face hardened into quiet fury, and her cousin whispered too loudly, “Did he really just—” before being shushed by a more tactful relative.
The ivory satin of her gown clung to her like a suffocating second skin, each breath she took shallow and jagged. The room blurred as her vision tunneled to the glowing screen.
“Charlie?” Sophia’s voice cut through the haze, soft but insistent. Her best friend stepped closer, her dark curls bouncing with the movement and her brown eyes wide with concern. “What’s going on? What did he say?”
Charlie didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Her throat was locked tight, her mind spinning. The calla lilies in her other hand slipped from her grip, hitting the polished marble floor with a muted thud. The faint scent of the flowers mingled with the sterile perfume of the room, clinging to her senses.
Sophia’s hand grasped her arm, grounding her just enough to keep her upright. “Hey, talk to me. What did he say?”
Wordlessly, Charlie extended the phone. She couldn’t bear to say it aloud. The moment Sophia read the message, her sharp intake of breath confirmed it.
“That son of a—”
“Sophia.” Charlie’s voice cut through, sharp but brittle. It was the first word she had spoken since the text arrived. She straightened her spine, forcing herself to stand tall, though the effort felt Herculean. Years of courtroom practice kicked in, the instinct to mask vulnerability in front of an audience.
The murmurs in the room grew louder now, a low hum of speculation and pity crawling across her skin like tiny needles. Her gaze flicked toward the grand double doors at the end of the aisle. They were still closed, but the absence of the groom was glaring.
Her father stepped forward, his jaw clenched. “Charlie, we can fix this. I’ll—”
“No.” The word came out sharper than she intended, slicing through the room like a whip. Her father froze, his hand halfway to her shoulder. “There’s nothing to fix.”
She turned slowly, her gaze sweeping over the sea of familiar and unfamiliar faces. She saw pity in some, smugness in others. A few avoided her eyes altogether, pretending to check their phones or adjust their ties, but she knew they were listening. Waiting.
When she finally spoke, her voice was steady, though it felt like it belonged to someone else. “Thank you all for coming,” she said, her tone clipped and professional, as if she were delivering a closing argument in court. “But it seems there won’t be a wedding today.”
A ripple of gasps and whispers followed her words, but she didn’t stop to listen. She turned on her heel, the layers of her dress swishing around her legs, and began walking toward the doors. Each step felt heavier than the last, the weight of her dignity precariously balanced on her shoulders.
Sophia was at her side in an instant, looping her arm through Charlie’s as if to shield her from the stares. “You don’t have to do this alone,” she murmured.
“I do,” Charlie replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “Just—don’t, Sophia. Please.”
The ballroom faded behind her as the doors swung open. The cool air from the hallway brushed against her flushed skin, a momentary reprieve from the suffocating tension. Her heels clicked against the marble floors, the sound echoing in the empty corridor. The muffled hum of jazz music from the ballroom drifted after her, a cruel reminder of the celebration that would never happen.
The elevator ride to the penthouse suite was silent, save for the faint hum of the machinery. When the doors opened, Charlie stepped into the suite she’d chosen so carefully for what was supposed to be the happiest night of her life. The room was a vision of elegance, from the champagne on ice to the rose petals scattered across the bed. It was perfect. And utterly meaningless.
She crossed the room with purpose, her movements mechanical. The veil was the first to go, tossed onto a nearby armchair. Then the earrings, the bracelet, the shoes. By the time she reached the vanity mirror, her hands were already working to undo the buttons of her gown.
When the dress pooled at her feet, she stood there for a moment, staring at her reflection in the mirror. The woman looking back at her was unrecognizable. Her auburn hair, meticulously styled into a low bun, was beginning to come undone. Her piercing blue eyes, usually so sharp and focused, were rimmed red with unshed tears.
She reached up, tugging at the loose strands of hair, her fingers trembling. Her grip tightened on the edge of the vanity as she leaned forward. “What the hell were you thinking?” she whispered to herself, her voice cracking.
Her mind drifted, unbidden, to moments with Alex that now seemed glaringly obvious in hindsight. The way he’d dodged questions about their future, the slick charm he used to deflect her concerns, the faint smile that never quite reached his eyes when she talked about her plans. How had she missed it? Had she ignored it, too determined to make this work, too afraid of failure?
Her lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, the tears threatened to spill again. But then, like a flicker of light in the darkness, a new emotion stirred. Anger. It started as a faint ember, warming her chest, then grew stronger, sharper, cutting through the haze of heartbreak.
On the vanity, her engraved fountain pen caught the light. She picked it up, running her thumb over the delicate cursive initials etched into the cap. “C.H.” It had always been a symbol of her control, her precision. Now it felt like a cruel reminder of how little control she actually had.
Her phone buzzed on the vanity, the screen lighting up with notifications. She didn’t need to check to know what they were. The whispers from the ballroom would already be spreading like wildfire, amplified and distorted by social media.
Controlling. Cold. Too ambitious for her own good.
She could already hear the narratives forming, the judgments being made by people who knew nothing about her.
Her fingers tightened around the pen, her knuckles turning white. “No,” she said aloud, her voice firmer now. She stood, her tears drying as a new resolve took hold. She wasn’t going to let him—let any of them—define her.
She crossed the room to the closet, pulling on a pair of tailored black trousers and a crisp white blouse. The wedding was over, but her fight was just beginning.
By the time she stepped out of the suite, the city’s night air cooled her face, grounding her. The muffled sounds of traffic and laughter from passing pedestrians filled the air, a sharp contrast to the oppressive silence of the ballroom.
The whispers and stares would fade. The humiliation would pass. But one thing was certain: Alex Carter had no idea who he’d just crossed.
And that was his first mistake.
