Chapter 4 - The Shattered Altar
Victoria stared at Ethan’s hand gripping her wrist. She looked up into his eyes, and for the first time in three years, she saw no warmth, no trust, and no softness. She saw a complete, terrifying stranger.
"Ethan..." Victoria tried to soften her tone, tears welling in her own eyes, though her teeth were clenched tight. "Please. Think about what you're doing. Look at where we are! Look at our guests! My father is sitting in the second row! The press is waiting outside! We can talk about this privately after the ceremony—"
"The ceremony is over," Ethan said flatly.
He released her wrist like she was made of poison.
A collective gasp echoed through the pews. Victoria’s father, Arthur Hale—a heavy-set, silver-haired tycoon in his sixties—stood up from the front pew, his face dark with fury as he stepped into the aisle.
"Pierce!" Arthur growled, his deep voice carrying over the murmurs. "You will not embarrass my daughter in front of this city over the unverified ramblings of a street child and some forged paper! Get back up to that altar and finish these vows!"
Ethan slowly turned his head to look at Arthur Hale. The man who had financed his firm. The man who had held the mortgage on Ethan’s main workshop for five years.
"Mr. Hale," Ethan said, his voice terrifyingly calm as he reached down and scooped the stack of green checks into his suit pocket, keeping his other hand firmly on Lucy’s wet shoulder. "If you take one more step toward this child, I will tear your development firm apart line by line in open court."
Arthur froze. He looked at Ethan’s eyes, realized the leverage he thought he held meant less than nothing to the man standing before him, and slowly closed his mouth.
Ethan looked back at Victoria. She was trembling, her expensive cathedral veil hanging crookedly over her shoulder, her hands hovering helplessly over her empty, ruined wedding gown.
"Did you know?" Ethan asked her quietly. "Twelve years ago... when Olivia told me the baby wasn't mine... was that you?"
"Ethan, she didn't want to be with a penniless carpenter!" Victoria cried out, tears finally spilling over her mascara. "You were living in a garage! You had nothing! My father and I gave you a future! I built you! I loved you!"
"Did you buy her off?" Ethan asked, his tone dropping even lower, cutting through her excuses like a razor. "Or did you threaten her?"
Victoria swallowed hard. She couldn't meet his eyes. She looked down at the crushed white roses on the runner.
That silence was all the answer Ethan needed.
He bent down, picking up the wet tan accordion envelope and the faded 4x6 photograph of Olivia. He placed the photo carefully inside his inner breast pocket, right over his heart. Then, he looked down at Lucy.
The little girl was looking up at him, her lips blue, her body shivering violently under her wet sweatshirt.
"Lucy," Ethan said softly, his voice instantly dropping all of its terrifying ice, transforming into something tender and fiercely protective. "Where is your mother right now?"
"St. Jude's Mercy," Lucy whispered, wiping her nose with her sleeve. "Room 412. Intensive Care. She... she stopped talking an hour ago."
Ethan reached up, unbuttoned his expensive tuxedo jacket, and slid it off his shoulders. He wrapped the heavy, warm charcoal wool around Lucy’s shivering frame, carefully bundling her wet arms into the sleeves. He knelt down, scooped the eleven-year-old girl up into his arms, and held her tight against his chest.
He turned his back on the altar. He turned his back on the minister, the seventy guests, the Hale family, and Victoria.
"Ethan!" Victoria screamed behind him, stepping on her own satin train, tearing the lace hem as she reached out hopelessly. "Ethan, if you walk out that door, we are finished! You'll lose everything! The firm, the contracts, the Hale backing—you'll have nothing!"
Ethan stopped at the threshold of the chapel doors. He didn't turn around.
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"I haven't had anything for twelve years, Victoria," Ethan said softly into the chilly air. "I was just too stupid to know it."
He pushed through the heavy oak doors, stepping out into the pouring rain with his daughter held tight in his arms.
