Chapter 4 - St. Jude’s Pews
The Gothic revival architecture of St. Jude’s Parish loomed against the pale, overcast Saturday morning sky like a stone fortress. Sleek luxury sedans and polished SUVs lined the cobblestone courtyard, disgorging Dayton’s elite in a dazzling display of silk ties, designer fascinators, and diamond-encrusted jewelry. Inside, the scent of burning beeswax, white lilies, and expensive perfume hung heavy in the vaulted nave.
The rehearsal dinner the night before had been a disaster of whispered gossip and panicked glances from my parents, but today’s wedding was supposed to be Lucas’s grand triumph—the crowning social event of the season.
Until the side doors of the chapel swung open.
A hush swept through the crowded pews, moving like a wave from front to back. Necks craned, whispers died instantly, and dozens of high-society heads turned in unison.
I walked down the central aisle on Alexander’s arm.
The emerald-green velvet dress hugged my silhouette with unapologetic grace, the high slit catching the amber light of the stained-glass windows with every step. The diamond drop necklace at my throat glinted coldly against my skin, and my dark hair was swept back into an intricate, flawless chignon. But it wasn't the dress that silenced the church—it was the man beside me. Alexander wore a bespoke midnight-blue tuxedo, his tall, lean frame radiating an aura of effortless, terrifying power. He didn't look like an invited guest; he looked like an emperor inspecting his territory.
Up at the altar, Lucas stood beside his stunning bride, Chloe, adjusting his boutonnière. When he saw us walking down the center aisle, his hand froze on his lapel. His face turned the color of curdled milk.
Seated in the front row, my mother turned around in her pew, her eyes bulging as she took in my appearance. Beside her, Aunt Marlene dropped her ivory lace program, the paper fluttering uselessly against the carpeted floor. My father, sitting rigidly in his tuxedo with my mother, gripped the wooden back of the pew so hard his knuckles turned translucent white.
We didn't take the back pews where the family outcasts usually sat. Alexander guided me directly to the second row—reserved exclusively for the immediate family of the groom.
My mother half-rose from her seat, her face twisted in furious, desperate panic. "Emily, what do you think you're doing? Those seats are for family—"
"And where else would a wife sit, Mrs. Miller?" Alexander’s voice cut across the cavernous church, carrying effortlessly into every corner of the nave. Several guests in the third row muffled gasps behind their gloved hands.
My father grabbed my mother’s arm, yanking her back down into the pew with a vicious jerk, his eyes fixed on Alexander with murderous hatred. He mouthed something silent and furious, his lips curling back from his teeth.
Lucas looked like he was about to vomit on the altar flowers. The priest cleared his throat nervously into the microphone, trying to regain control of the room, and began the processional music.
For twenty minutes, the ceremony dragged on through traditional vows, soaring organ hymns, and polite platitudes about love and devotion. But nobody was listening to the priest. Every eye in the church was darting back and forth between the altar and the second row, where Alexander sat with his arm draped casually across the back of my pew, his thumb lightly brushing my shoulder.
When the priest finally pronounced Lucas and Chloe husband and wife, the polite applause felt hollow and strained. As the wedding party turned to recess up the aisle, my father leaned over the wooden divider, his face purple with rage.
"You think you're clever, don't you?" my father hissed, his voice trembling with venom as the organ swelled. "You and your little billionaire toy. Enjoy the party tonight, Emily. Because by tomorrow morning, you won't even have a roof over your head."
Alexander didn't even blink. He simply turned his head, looked my father dead in the eye, and smiled a cold, razor-thin smile.
May you like
"Try cashing your business accounts on Monday morning, Arthur," Alexander replied softly. "You might find the balance is a bit lower than you expect."
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