---- Chapter 9 Carter Wolfe POV: Five minutes passed. Then ten. The smile on my face felt like it was carved from stone. The guests were no longer whispering; they were talking openly, their curious glances turning into pitying stares. My father came up to the altar. "Carter, where is she? People are getting restless." "She'll be here," | snapped, pulling out my phone. | dialed her number. It went straight to voicemail. | tried again. Voicemail. A cold, unfamiliar feeling began to creep up my spine. | opened our text chain. My last message was marked "Delivered." | sent a new one: "Where the hell are you?" One gray checkmark. Not delivered. She had blocked me. A roar of fury and disbelief built in my chest. | threw my phone to the ground, where it skittered across the marble floor, the screen cracking. "She's gone," someone in the front row murmured. "She actually left him at the altar." ---- "Can you blame her?" another voice replied, not bothering to whisper. "Did you see the way he looked at her when the dress tipped? Like he didn't even care." "He's nothing without her," a third voice chimed in, a business rival I'd always despised. "She wrote half his code. Without her to fix his mess, his little startup will be bankrupt in a year." The words were like gasoline on a fire. | lunged toward him, my fists clenched, ready to tear him apart. My groomsmen had to physically hold me back. "She wouldn't leave me!" | shouted, the words sounding hollow even to my own ears. "She loves me! She needs me!" The hotel manager appeared at my elbow, his expression grim. "Mr. Wolfe, I'm afraid the bride is no longer on the premises. She was seen leaving through a service exit ten minutes ago." The fight went out of me. My legs gave out, and | sank onto the steps of the altar, the starched collar of my tuxedo suddenly feeling like a noose. The wedding, my perfect day, ended in a chaotic, humiliating retreat. | insisted on staying, sitting alone in the grand, empty ballroom as the staff cleared away the untouched food and expensive floral arrangements. | waited until every last guest had departed, until the only sound was the hum of the vacuum cleaner, stubbornly believing she would walk back through those doors. ---- She never came. Finally, | retreated to my car, my mind a maelstrom of anger and confusion. How could she do this? It was just a stupid dress. A little prank to put her in her place. Why was she so upset? Did she know? Did she find out about Francine? No, | told myself, lighting a cigarette with trembling hands. Impossible. If she knew, she would have confronted me weeks ago. She didn't have the guts to play a long game like this. This was just a tantrum. A big, dramatic tantrum. She' d come back. She always did. | checked into a hotel downtown, not wanting to face the empty apartment. | called Francine. She arrived within the hour, dressed to the nines, looking nothing like the tearful victim from the bridal suite. | pushed her against the wall, my anger needing a release. But as | looked at her, at the wrinkles around her eyes and the predatory hunger in her gaze, my stomach turned. All | could see was Amira' s face. The hurt in her eyes as her dress fell apart. The quiet dignity with which she had walked away. A wave of revulsion washed over me. "Get out," | muttered, pushing her away. "Go to the next room. | need to be alone." | couldn't risk Amira calling and Francine answering. She would call. | knew she would. ---- Francine's face twisted into an ugly sneer, but she didn't argue. She knew who really held the power. For now. She left, and | was alone with the silence and the suffocating weight of my own stupidity.