Chapter 1 — Prologue: Shattered Vows

Claire

The chapel was a storybook dream come to life. Rows of wooden pews, polished to a gleaming finish, were adorned with cascading white roses and ribbons that fluttered in the spring breeze drifting through the open windows. Sunlight poured through the stained-glass panels, painting splashes of ruby, emerald, and sapphire onto the stone floor. Every detail—the delicate lace on the altar cloth, the perfectly aligned programs on each pew—was exactly as I’d planned.

It should have been perfect.

But my feet were killing me in these heels. And my palms felt clammy against the bouquet of white peonies trembling slightly in my grip.

*Breathe, Claire,* I told myself. *This is just pre-wedding jitters. Everyone feels like this, right?*

The murmurs of the crowd behind me grew restless, a low hum of voices weaving through the stillness like an ominous undercurrent. Aunt Peggy’s voice rose above the others. “He’s late?” she hissed, loud enough for half the chapel to hear.

Emily, my sister and maid of honor, shifted beside me, brushing my elbow. Her hand was steady, but I caught the flicker of unease in her hazel eyes—so much like my own—as she glanced toward the towering oak doors of the chapel.

The string quartet faltered, their melody dissolving into an awkward pause. My stomach twisted into a tighter knot. I turned slightly toward the priest, catching the faintest hint of discomfort in his gaze as he too glanced at the doors.

Leo wasn’t here yet.

He was late.

*It’s nothing,* I told myself, even as my heartbeat thudded in my ears. *He’s just running behind.* I thought of Leo’s laugh, easy and carefree, and the way he’d held my hand that night on the carousel. He’d kissed my cheek as we spun in lazy circles, whispering that he couldn’t wait to marry me.

That was the Leo I knew. The Leo I loved. The Leo who wouldn’t let something as important as his wedding day fall apart.

But then the whispers began.

“Is he coming?”

“Poor thing. She must have known.”

My throat tightened, the whispers clawing at my composure like tiny, relentless daggers. Emily’s hand gripped mine, her knuckles white. She opened her mouth, but before she could speak, the priest stepped forward, his voice low and measured.

“Perhaps we should take a moment,” he said, his tone both apologetic and strained. His words hung in the air like a death knell.

I nodded stiffly, though every movement felt mechanical, as if my body had been taken over by some unfeeling autopilot. My bouquet slipped slightly in my grip, and I barely noticed.

Emily leaned close, her voice soft but urgent. “Claire, let’s step aside for a moment.”

The next few minutes blurred into a haze of sympathetic glances, whispered apologies, and Emily’s firm but gentle hand guiding me to a small side room off the chapel.

“Do you want me to call him?” she asked, kneeling beside me as I sank onto a worn velvet chair.

I shook my head, staring down at the bouquet in my lap. The peonies’ pristine petals were already starting to wilt, curling at the edges. “No. I don’t…” My voice cracked, and I swallowed hard. “I don’t want to be that woman. The one begging for an explanation.”

Emily hesitated, then reached out to squeeze my hand. “It’s going to be okay, Claire. Whatever’s going on, we’ll figure it out. You’ll get through this.”

Her words were meant to reassure, but they only sparked a fresh wave of humiliation. I didn’t want to “get through this.” I wanted to rewind the day, to go back to the morning when my hair had been perfectly pinned, my makeup flawless, and the world hadn’t cracked open beneath my feet.

I don’t know how long I sat there, staring at nothing, before Emily’s phone buzzed on the nearby table. She glanced at it, her expression shifting from concern to something darker.

“What is it?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Claire…” She hesitated, her hesitation louder than any words.

“Let me see.”

Emily didn’t stop me as I snatched the phone from the table. The screen was open to Instagram.

And there it was.

Leo. My Leo. Standing in front of a Parisian café, his arm draped casually around a woman with platinum-blonde hair and a smile as dazzling as the diamond pendant resting against her collarbone.

The caption read: *Fresh starts and bright futures!*

My stomach dropped. The air in the tiny room felt heavy and suffocating, thick with the cloying scent of peonies and roses. My chest tightened, a sharp, searing ache spreading through my ribs.

Emily leaned closer, her voice low and urgent. “Claire, don’t—”

But I was already scrolling. There were more photos. Leo and the blonde—*Sophia Delgado,* her tag revealed—laughing over glasses of champagne, strolling along the Seine, posing beneath the Eiffel Tower.

A fresh start.

I couldn’t reconcile the man in the photos with the one I thought I knew. How could the Leo who’d whispered promises of forever under a blanket of stars be the same man smiling so easily with her?

Fragments of memories broke loose, unbidden. The way he’d surprised me with tickets to a weekend getaway, the nights we’d stayed up late planning our future. The way he’d kissed my temple and told me I was his safe harbor.

“Claire,” Emily said again, her voice firmer now. She knelt in front of me, gripping my shoulders. “Listen to me. This is not your fault. Do you hear me? Whatever he’s done, this is on him. Not you.”

Her words barely registered. My thoughts were fractured, splintering between disbelief and anger. Anger at Leo. Anger at Sophia. Anger at myself for not seeing this coming.

My hands trembled as I set the phone down.

“I need to go,” I said suddenly, rising to my feet.

Emily looked startled. “Go where? Claire, just wait—”

“No,” I cut her off, my voice shaking but resolute. “I can’t stay here.” My throat tightened, but I forced the words out. “I can’t sit in this room and let everyone out there… pity me.”

Emily’s expression softened, and after a moment, she nodded.

“Okay,” she said quietly. “Let’s go.”

We slipped out through a side door, avoiding the lingering guests who were undoubtedly still whispering about the runaway groom and the bride left behind. The stained-glass windows cast fractured rainbows on the floor as we passed, their beauty a cruel contrast to the shattered pieces of my reality.

The drive back to my apartment was silent. Emily offered to come inside, but I shook my head. I needed to be alone.

Once inside, I kicked off my heels and sank onto the couch, still in my wedding dress. My phone buzzed on the coffee table, but I ignored it. I didn’t need to read the messages to know what they said. Pity. Sympathy. Maybe a few offers of wine-fueled girl’s nights to “help me move on.”

Instead, I stared at the photo still burned into my mind. Leo’s smile hadn’t changed, even as everything else had.

Then, without thinking, I grabbed my laptop. My hands trembled as I typed his name into Google, followed by “Paris.”

And there it was. A recent post from Sophia Delgado’s account, geotagged to a café along the Seine.

The same café where they’d posed for their photo.

My heart beat faster. I didn’t know what I was doing or what I hoped to accomplish. But one thing was clear: I couldn’t just sit here.

Leo had taken everything—my trust, my dignity, my money. And now, he was flaunting it for the world to see.

If he thought I was just going to let him get away with it, he was dead wrong.