Chapter 2 — The Wedding Debacle

Margot

The sun streamed through the Glass Chapel's towering floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a golden glow over the polished marble floors. The light refracted into soft rainbows on the walls, as if nature itself were applauding the occasion. The faint scent of fresh flowers mingled with the sterile chill of the climate-controlled air, a perfect harmony of ethereal beauty and modern precision. It was perfect. Too perfect, Margot thought, as she stood at the altar, her hands clutching her bouquet so tightly that the eucalyptus stems bit into her palms.

Her chestnut brown hair was swept into an elegant chignon, every strand exactly where it needed to be, and her ivory silk dress fit her like it had been sculpted onto her body. This moment was years in the making—a culmination of meticulous planning, endless checklists, and sleepless nights. Everything was perfect.

Except for the fact that Tyler wasn’t looking at her.

Margot’s stomach tightened, a bead of sweat prickling beneath the lace trim of her bodice. She didn’t need to turn her head to confirm it. His gaze wasn’t on her trembling lips or her piercing blue eyes. He was staring somewhere else—anywhere else. His fingers fidgeted with the cuffs of his tailored suit, tugging at them as though they were too tight. A faint sheen of sweat glistened on his brow, and his jaw clenched and unclenched, as if he were biting back words. Margot’s chest constricted further, and a voice deep within her whispered—no, screamed—something was wrong.

She forced herself to smile as she began her vows, her voice steady at first. "Tyler, when I met you, I didn’t just find love—I found stability, comfort, and someone who saw the world the way I did. Today, I promise you not only my love but my partnership, my loyalty, and my faith in the life we’re building together…”

Her words hung in the air, unanswered. The silence seemed to elongate, stretching taut like a rubber band on the verge of snapping. Tyler shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his polished shoes scuffing softly against the marble. He didn’t smile. He didn’t react. His brown eyes darted briefly to hers before flicking away, as if the weight of her gaze was too much to bear.

Margot’s voice wavered. “Tyler?” she whispered, her throat dry. Her bouquet trembled in her hands.

He finally turned to her, meeting her eyes with an expression she couldn’t quite decipher. His lips parted, and for a fleeting moment, Margot allowed herself to hope he would say something to anchor her, to steady the ground that felt like it was shifting beneath her feet.

But when he spoke, his words shattered her world. "I thought I could go through with this," he said softly, his voice breaking slightly, "but I can’t—it’s not right."

The bouquet slipped from her hands, the sound of roses and eucalyptus hitting the floor echoing louder than the collective gasps of the audience. For a moment, everything blurred—the guests, the towering glass walls, even Tyler himself. Surely, she had misheard him.

“What?” The word came out as a strangled whisper, her lungs struggling to draw air. The perfect symmetry of the Glass Chapel suddenly felt distorted, warped by the nightmare unfolding before her.

Tyler cleared his throat, tugging at his cuffs again. “I’m sorry, Margot. I—I thought I could do this, but I can’t.”

Her heart pounded in her ears, drowning out the hum of the air conditioning and the rustle of the audience. Behind her, whispers rippled through the crowd, hushed but venomous. She turned her head slightly, her gaze catching on her mother in the front row. Her mother’s lips were pressed into a thin, disapproving line, her piercing gaze a silent reprimand. Beside her, Sophia had risen halfway from her seat, her warm brown eyes wide with alarm and concern. Margot caught a faint whisper from Sophia—“Oh no”—a soft thread of support amidst the chaos.

“No,” Margot croaked, her voice cracking as she turned back to Tyler. “No, you don’t get to do this. Not here. Not now.”

Her piercing blue eyes locked onto his, demanding an answer, a reason, anything to make this stop. Tyler rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze darting downward as if he couldn’t bear to look at her. "This isn’t about you," he said, his voice barely audible. "It’s something I have to do."

“Something you have to do?” Margot’s voice rose, sharp and incredulous. Her pulse thundered in her ears. “You wait until I’m in my wedding dress, in front of all these people, to tell me this? How could you do this to me?”

Her voice echoed off the glass walls, and for the first time, Margot didn’t care about appearances. She didn’t care that her mascara was beginning to smudge, or that the whispers were growing louder, or that her carefully constructed world was crumbling. Her breath came in shallow, ragged gasps as she took a step closer to him, her fists clenched at her sides.

“Margot…” Tyler began, but his voice faltered. He looked as though he wanted to say more, to explain, but instead he turned and walked down the aisle, his measured footsteps reverberating through the hushed space.

“Tyler!” Margot yelled after him, her voice breaking. “Don’t you dare walk away from me!”

But he didn’t stop. He didn’t turn around. He just kept walking, his broad shoulders disappearing through the glass doors at the back of the chapel.

The silence that followed was crushing. Margot stood frozen at the altar, her chest heaving, her hands trembling. The whispers swelled around her like a rising tide, threatening to drown her. She glanced down at the bouquet scattered at her feet, the delicate petals bruised and broken, and something inside her snapped.

She couldn’t stay here.

Clutching the hem of her dress, she turned and fled, her heels clicking frantically against the marble as she bolted down the side aisle. The bridal suite loomed ahead, its door slightly ajar. She stumbled inside, slamming the door shut behind her.

The pristine room mocked her with its perfection—the champagne flutes neatly arranged on the table, the untouched slices of wedding cake waiting on delicate porcelain plates. A mirror on the far wall caught her reflection—her disheveled hair, her smudged mascara, her trembling hands clutching at the lace of her bodice. She looked like a stranger. Like someone who had lost everything.

Margot sank onto the velvet chaise, her breath coming in shallow gasps as tears streamed down her face. Her vision blurred as she reached for her leather-bound planner on the nearby table.

She flipped it open with trembling hands, her eyes scanning the pages filled with hours of preparation. Each color-coded entry stared back at her, a cruel reminder of the time and energy she had poured into this day. Every detail had been accounted for. Every contingency planned. Except this.

Her fingers traced the gilded edges of the planner, her throat tightening. This was supposed to be her safety net, her armor against chaos. A memory of her mother’s voice surfaced unbidden: “If you plan everything perfectly, nothing can go wrong.” But it had gone wrong. Horribly, irrevocably wrong. And the planner hadn’t saved her. It couldn’t save her.

With a strangled sob, Margot hurled the planner across the room. It hit the wall with a dull thud, flopping open on the carpet like a wounded bird. She buried her face in her hands, the tears coming hot and relentless.

For the first time in years, Margot Langston had no plan. And it terrified her.