The bishop was holding his leather-bound liturgy book close to his chest, his eyes wide as he looked at the family.

“Bishop Thomas,” Celeste said, her voice turning shrill. “Please. Continue the vows. We can sort out this domestic nonsense later.”

The bishop looked at Margaret, then at the legal documents in my hands.

He slowly shook his head.

“Ms. Vale,” the bishop said gently. “Under these circumstances, with an active legal dispute regarding the groom’s familial status and financial standing, I cannot proceed with the sacrament.”

Celeste’s face contorted in disbelief. “What?” she gasped.

“We have a congregation waiting,” Celeste said, turning to Adrian. “Adrian, do something. Tell them to leave.”

Adrian did not look back at his bride.

His gaze was locked onto me, his jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscles pulsing in his cheek.

He took a slow step down from the altar, leaving Celeste standing alone on the steps.

He walked directly toward where I stood in the aisle, his eyes burning with a quiet, desperate fury.

The soles of his custom leather shoes clicked against the polished limestone floor.