Chapter 3
Julianna pushed herself up from the marble floor, ignoring the dull ache in her joints. She smoothed the front of her ruined gown, though the stains of dust and crushed petals were permanent. No one looked at her now; all eyes were locked on the heavy wooden case resting on the stone flags near the baptismal font. The man in the lead—whose lapel pin identified him with a discreet, silver monogram—kept his gaze fixed squarely on Richard, watching the groom unravel with scientific interest.
"Open it," the man instructed softly. It was not a request, but a physical weight pushed onto Richard’s shoulders.
Richard swallowed hard, his throat working convulsively. He looked frantically toward the pews, seeking support from his business associates and family members who sat frozen in their rows, but they had all shrunk back, suddenly keen to distance themselves from whatever catastrophe was unfolding. With leaden steps, Richard approached the case. His hands hovered over the dark wool blanket for a long, agonizing moment before he gripped the fabric and yanked it away.
Beneath the wool lay a vintage steamer trunk, reinforced with heavy iron latches. It was identical to the trunk Richard had shipped overseas nearly eight months ago, claiming it contained family heirlooms meant for their new estate. Richard’s knees buckled slightly, and he caught himself against the edge of a wooden pew, gasping for air as if he had been struck in the solar plexus.
"This... this is impossible," Richard whispered, his voice barely audible over the hum of the church’s heating system. "You were supposed to be miles away. Deep in the Atlantic."
The silver-pinned man stepped closer, his shadow falling over the trembling groom. "The ocean gives up its secrets eventually, Richard. Especially when human error leaves a paper trail a mile wide. You thought buying your way into high society would bury the past, but the dead have a stubborn way of knocking on doors when you least expect them to."
Julianna walked slowly toward them, her heels clicking rhythmically against the stone. She stopped beside the trunk, her face set in a mask of cold, unyielding grief. She looked down at the iron latches, remembering the late nights she had spent listening to Richard pace their penthouse study, muttering about loose ends and financial survival. She had thought he was stressed about the merger. She had been a fool, blinded by the luxury he offered and the charming, protective persona he wore like a tailored suit.
"Open the latches, Richard," Julianna said quietly. Her voice lacked the fury of his earlier screams, carrying instead a quiet, terrifying finality that made the groom flinch harder than any physical blow could have managed.
May you like
Richard shook his head frantically, backing away until the back of his legs hit the wooden pew. "No. No, I won't. You don't know what you're doing. This is a setup. Julianna, listen to me, they're lying to you!"
"Open it," Julianna repeated, stepping forward and flipping the left iron latch herself with a sharp, metallic snap that echoed through the sanctuary.
