Chapter 6 - High Noon at St. Patrick’s
St. Patrick’s Cathedral looked like the center of the universe at 11:30 AM.
News vans lined Fifth Avenue for three full blocks. Helicopters from major broadcast networks circled overhead, their blades chopping through the crisp autumn air. Over four hundred elite guests—politicians, foreign dignitaries, Wall Street titans, and society matrons—sat inside the cavernous cathedral under soaring stone arches, whispering in hushed, scandalized tones.
At the front of the altar stood Julian Rossi.
He was sweating profusely through his bespoke Tom Ford tuxedo, his pale face covered in hastily applied stage powder to conceal the dark circles beneath his bloodshot eyes. Beside the altar, Camila stood in an ivory silk slip dress, nervously adjusting a bouquet of white calla lilies, desperately attempting to look like a supportive angel while casting anxious glances toward the massive wooden doors.
“Julian, where is your father?” Camila hissed under her breath. “The reporters outside are asking about federal marshals! What is happening?”
“Shut up, Camila!” Julian snapped, wiping sweat from his brow with a trembling hand. “My lawyers are handling it. Once the media sees us walking out together, we control the narrative. We tell them Elena suffered a psychiatric episode, and we announced our renewed commitment. It saves the family image.”
“And what if she shows up?”
“She won't,” Julian snarled, his voice tinged with bitter delusion. “Christian wouldn't dare parade her here. His family board would fire him for causing a public scandal. They’re hiding like rats.”
The cathedral organ began to play—not the traditional wedding march, but a heavy, solemn prelude requested by the diocese.
Suddenly, the heavy double doors at the back of the cathedral were pushed open from the outside with a resounding thud that echoed off the vaulted ceilings.
A blinding barrage of camera flashes erupted from the vestibule.
The murmurs inside the cathedral died instantly into an absolute, breathless hush. Four hundred heads turned in unison.
Walking down the center aisle, arm in arm, were not a disgraced bride and an embarrassed heir.
It was Christian Moretti and me.
A collective gasp swept through the pews. I walked with my head held high, the midnight-blue silk of my gown flowing behind me like a liquid shadow, diamonds catching the light of the stained-glass windows. Beside me, Christian moved with the regal, uncontested stride of a conqueror, his gaze fixed straight ahead, radiating pure, lethal power.
Julian’s jaw dropped. The bouquet of white lilies in Camila’s hands trembled so violently that petals began drifting down onto the altar steps.
“What... what is this?” Julian stammered, stepping forward, his voice cracking loudly in the vast cathedral. “Security! Get them out of here! This is a private ceremony!”
Christian and I didn't stop until we reached the bottom of the altar steps, standing mere feet from the podium where the priest stood frozen in shock.
Christian raised his hand, gesturing to the back of the cathedral. Instead of security guards removing us, four uniformed federal officers and two process servers in dark suits marched down the side aisles, fanning out around the altar.
“Julian Rossi,” Christian spoke, his voice carrying effortlessly across the cavernous room, deep and commanding. “You invited four hundred of New York’s most prominent citizens to witness an exchange of vows today. But there is one vow you forgot.”
Julian backed away until his heels hit the altar step. “Christian... stop this. Don't do this here.”
“At midnight, in front of twenty witnesses, you gave Elena Vance twelve hours of total freedom,” Christian continued, pulling a folded legal document from his breast pocket and tossing it at Julian’s feet. “You proclaimed that she could choose any man in the city before noon, and you swore on your family’s honor that you would accept the outcome.”
A wave of shocked whispers erupted from the pews. Several high-society matriarchs covered their mouths in horror.
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“You... you tricked me!” Julian screamed, pointing a trembling finger at me. “She’s a fraud! She planned this with you!”
“I didn't plan your arrogance, Julian,” I spoke, stepping forward, my voice ringing clear and steady through the cathedral. “You treated me like property you could loan out for an evening of cheap entertainment. You believed my dignity was something you could buy, break, and discard. But you forgot one simple truth: you never owned me.”
