CHAPTER 220
The chapel fell into stunned silence as Alexander stood there, his chest heaving, the fresh tattoo stark against his pale skin. Blood from the healing ink had begun to seep through his torn shirt, making the design look even more raw and desperate.
“You are my moon, my wife,” he declared, his voice echoing off the stone walls. “I’ll grant you anything you want. I only ask that you don’t leave me!”
His words hung in the air like a prayer, desperate and pathetic. He looked at me with such hope, such blind faith that somehow this grand gesture would change everything.
I couldn’t help myself.”
A soft laugh escaped from behind my hand. Not because it was funny, but because it was so perfectly, tragically Alexander. Even now, even after everything, he still believed he could control me with his dramatic displays.
The sound of my laughter hit him like a slap. Alexander froze, his face crumbling as he saw my reaction. The hope in his eyes died instantly, replaced by something much more dangerous, complete and utter despair.}
“You think this is amusing?” he whispered, his voice barely audible.
I met his lost, soul–crushed gaze with calm indifference. After nine years of his manipulation, his lies, his empty promises, I felt nothing but cold detachment.
“Alexander,” I said clearly, making sure everyone in the chapel could hear, “I already have someone who truly loves me, and I love him as well. He is my husband, Marcus Fleming.“}
Marcus stepped closer to me, his presence warm and reassuring. I could see his ears flush with pride and joy at my words.}
“As for you,” I continued, never breaking eye contact with Alexander, “even if every man in this world were to die, I would never be with you again.”
The words landed like physical blows. Alexander staggered backward, his face going white as paper. His hands trembled as he pressed them against the bleeding tattoo on his chest.)
“You don’t mean that,” he whispered. “You can’t mean that.”
But I was already turning away from him. Marcus took my hand gently, and I felt the weight of my wedding ring–simple, elegant, chosen with love instead of obligation–as he slipped it more firmly onto my finger.
The nine–carat diamond caught the light streaming through the chapel windows, sparkling like a promise of the future we would build together.
Alexander could only watch in horror, his face twisted with anguish as the reality finally sank in. This wasn’t a game. This wasn’t a test. I was truly, completely done with him.”
“Lauren, no,” he breathed, reaching out toward us with shaking hands. “Please, don’t do this to me.“”
But I had already taken Marcus’s arm, allowing him to guide me toward the chapel doors. The guests began to stand, smiling and clapping despite the drama that had just unfolded. They were ready to celebrate our new beginning.
Marcus paused at the end of the aisle and, in a gesture that was both romantic and protective, swept me up into his arms in a perfect princess carry. I laughed with genuine happiness for the first time in what felt like years, wrapping my arms around his neck as he carried me toward the honeymoon car waiting outside.}
The chapel doors opened, and sunlight flooded in, making everything seem brighter and more hopeful. I could hear our friends and family following behind us, their voices filled with joy and celebration.D
But as we reached the threshold, Alexander’s voice rang out behind us one final time.
“Lauren!” The desperation in his voice made several guests gasp. “You can’t leave me! Not like this!“}
I didn’t turn around. I didn’t acknowledge him. Marcus kept walking, his grip on me steady and sure.”
We were almost to the car when I heard footsteps running behind us, faster and more frantic with each step. Then came the sound that made my blood run cold, the scrape of metal against stone.
“Oh my God!” someone screamed from the chapel doorway. “He’s got a knife!“}
Marcus immediately set me down and pushed me behind him, his body forming a protective barrier between me and whatever was happening. I turned to see Alexander stumbling out of the chapel, his face streaked with tears of rage and desperation.
In his right hand, he clutched the ornate silver cake–cutting knife that had been waiting on the reception table. The blade gleamed in the afternoon sunlight, and his knuckles were white from gripping it so tightly.”
“Stop!” Marcus shouted, raising his hands. “Alexander, put the knife down!“}
But Alexander wasn’t looking at Marcus. His wild, bloodshot eyes were fixed on me with terrifying intensity. Tears of what looked almost like blood streamed down his cheeks, mixing with the sweat and desperation that had transformed his face into something I barely recognized.
“You’re just afraid of getting hurt again,” he screamed at me, his voice breaking with emotion. The knife trembled in his hand as he took another step closer. “But it’s okay, I’ll show you my sincerity!“}
