Priest Asks Bride to Step Aside as Groom Proposes to Her Sister—Her Reaction Stuns Everyone
Clara rose from the couch, pacing as fragments of the day looped through her mind—Liam’s trembling hands, the flicker in his eyes when he looked at her, the way he seemed… trapped.
It didn’t add up. None of it did.
The unanswered calls, the blocked numbers, the mocking posts—all gnawed at her.
Sitting still felt impossible.
Clara stopped pacing, her resolve hardening.
“I have to find them,” she said, her voice steadier than she expected.
“If they won’t come to me, I’ll go to them.”
Her parents exchanged anxious looks but didn’t intervene.
Phoebe stood quickly.
“You mean the hotel? The honeymoon suite?”
Clara nodded.
“That’s where they’ll be. And I’m not going to spend another night wondering.”
Her father stepped forward, his voice low but resolute.
“And when you do, we’ll be behind you. Whatever this is, Clara, you won’t face it alone.”
For the first time since the ceremony, she felt something other than despair.
It was fragile, but it was there—a spark of resolve burning through the haze of betrayal.
Minutes later, she was in the car, the road a blur beneath her headlights.
Every mile tightened the knot in her chest, her mind swinging between fury and dread.
She had once imagined arriving at this hotel hand in hand with Liam, radiant with love.
Now she was storming toward it with a broken heart, desperate for the truth.
The hotel rose out of the darkness, its windows glowing warm against the night sky.
Clara parked, her pulse quickening as she stepped out, the evening air sharp against her skin.
The lobby doors opened with a soft rush, but she barely registered the polished marble or the faint scent of lilies drifting through the air.
Her focus was locked on the elevators—on the room number burned into her memory.
When she reached the suite corridor, the silence pressed close around her.
She paused outside the door, her breath caught in her throat, her hand hovering just above the wood.
