Chapter 3 Vows Sealed In Blood
CHAPTER 3
(Vows Sealed In Blood)
The chapel doors swung wide, and a hundred heads turned.
The weight of Lauren's bloodied dress clung to Anna like chains as the organ thundered its opening notes.
Her pulse roared louder than the music, thudding in her ears like war drums.
Every eye fixed on her… the unwanted bride wrapped in death.
She kept her head bowed, praying no one would see the stains, that the dim candle light would blur the crimson shadows spanning the ivory folds.
But she could feel the whispers already… soft, sharp, slithering like knives.
At the altar, William Fairchild stood tall and terrifying, a storm of steel and shadow in his black suit.
His eyes flickered over her once, expressionless before returning to the priest.
Anna's knees trembled as she climbed the steps. The priest's voice echoed, solemn and final.
“Do you, Lauren Lancaster, take William Fairchild as your lawful husband?”
Just at that moment. Her lips wouldn't move. Her throat locked.
She looked at William. His gaze was a warning, a command.
Behind him, Margaret Lancaster's eyes glittered like sharp knives, her step mother's venomous glare searing into Anna's back.
“Yes,” Anna whispered, so faint she barely heard it herself.
The priest nodded, satisfied. “And do you, William Fairchild—”
“I do,” William's voice was low, clipped, final.
The ring slid into Anna's finger, heavy as iron shackles.
When the priest smiled, declaring them man and wife, William moved instantly.
His hand clamped the back of her neck, and his lips brushed her's… cold, perfunctory, a kiss for the cameras, not for her.
A shiver tore down her spine.
The guests applauded, flashes from discreet cameras capturing the moment that would soon be splashed across society magazines.
Helena clapped delicately, her gaze locked on Anna. “Adorable,” she murmured, venom dripping.
“Bloodstains and all. What a fairytale.”
Anna's knees weakened. She wanted to vanish, to scream but she smiled faintly instead.
The cage was locked, the key gone, and William's hand was still crushing hers.
The reception glittered like a golden lie.
Crystal chandeliers dropped from the ceiling, violins played, champagne flowed like rivers. Guests clinked glasses and laughter rose, but Anna felt only the suffocating weight of the gown and the whispers that followed her like shadows.
“.... I've never seen something like this before “
“…Red designs on a white wedding dress, it's a bold but unforgettable move.”
“....The red embroidery on the gown is so avant-garde.”
If they looked closely, they'd see that it wasn't designs of any sort…
It was death. Anna thought.
At the head table, she sat stiff beside William. He didn't touch her. He didn't speak. He only cut his steak with surgical precision, each movement cold and exact, as though dissecting rather than dining.
Across from them, Helena lounged in her chair, eyes shining with malice.
“Well,” she drawled, loud enough for those nearby to hear, “doesn't she look radiant? So radiant, one might almost forget she wasn't the original bride.”
A ripple of uneasy laughter passed through the table. Anna's face burned hot as she lowered her gaze.
“Helena.” Daniel's voice was a warning growl, but she waved him off with a smirk.
“What? I'm only complimenting my new sister in law. She should be flattered. After all, this is her first time at the head of the table, isn't it?”
Anna's hands clenched beneath the tablecloth.
Daniel's wife, Camille, touched his arm gently, whispering something meant to soothe. He brushed her off with an absent nod, his gaze fixed elsewhere… on Anna.
Unease crawled over Anna's skin. His stare wasn't William's cold appraisal. Daniel's look was hotter, heavier. It lingered. It stripped. It burned.
She glanced at Camille, the elegant brunette seated loyally beside him, and bile rose in her throat.
Daniel didn't even care.
He lifted his glass toward her in a silent toast, lips curving into a smile that made her stomach twist.
Anna dropped her gaze to her plate, refusing to meet his gaze again.
“Smile,” William muttered under his breath, his lips barely moving. His tone was cool enough to frost glass.
Anna's head jerked toward him, startled. His eyes didn't meet hers, they stayed fixed forward, as though he were enduring torture with the same dispassion he'd bring to a quarterly board meeting.
“If you want them to believe this farce,” He repeated quietly. “Then smile.”
Her throat tightened. She forced her lips into a curve. The false joy burned more than her blistering shoes.
Helena's laugh cut through the music. “Poor Anna. You look like a rabbit caught in a trap. Don't worry… soon you'll get used to wearing Lauren's shoes. If you can fill them.”
Anna's chest ached. She wanted to scream at Helena or run.
William said nothing. Did nothing. He let Helena's words hang in the air like poison.
A sudden clink of crystal, silenced the music.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Edward Fairchild's booming voice commanded attention. He rose with a glass in hand.
“Tonight we celebrate not only a union of two lives,” he declared, gaze sweeping the hall. “But the union of two dynasties. The Fairchilds and the Lancasters. Together, our strength is doubled. Our future secured.”
Applause erupted. Glasses lifted. The sound was thunderous, triumphant.
Anna lifted her own trembling flute, stomach churning.
Across the table Margaret's glass rose too… but her venomous eyes never left Anna. Hatred blazed in them, undisguised.
“Finally,” Edward continued with a smile. “The merger is complete.”
Cheers filled the air. Everyone seemed satisfied. Everyone except Anna.
“And,” Daniel said suddenly, raising his glass higher, “to Lauren's secrets.”
The room froze. Just for a moment.
Anna's breath caught.
Daniel's eyes sparkled as they slid over her, lingering like a hand pressing too hard.
“May the new Mrs Fairchild handle them better than the last.”
Gasps rippled faintly, before polite laughter smoothed them over, guests assuming it was some private jest.
William's head turned. For the first time all evening, his eyes locked onto Anna's.
Dark. Sharp. Searching.
Her blood ran cold. Because in his gaze, she saw it… suspicion.
Then Lilian Fairchild, William's cousin, an average woman, with brunette hair and a raspy voice, raised a glass.
“A toast,” she declared. “To the bride and groom, to the merger of two families. To fortune and legacy!”
The crowd cheered once again. Lifting their glasses.
Anna's pulse pounded. This wasn't a toast to love. It was a toast to ownership.
But before she could drown in bitterness, Daniel's voice slid in again, smooth and mocking.
“Welcome to the family.” He whispered, with the smile of a wolf.
Anna's chest hollowed in realization. This wasn't a wedding. It was a transaction. Purely business transaction and nothing else.
The toast ended. Champagne was drained. But Margaret's glare seared into her like fire.
And Daniel's stare returned, slow, deliberate, burning with something dangerous.
From the dais, William's eyes narrowed at his cousin's wandering attention.
His jaw ticked once, but he said nothing. His silence was its own brand of warning… one Daniel had ignored many times before.
Beside him, Helena smirked into her wine, delighted at the cracks already forming in the façade.
Edward Fairchild lifted his glass toward Vincent Lancaster in a toast, but his son's black eyes were fixed firmly on Anna.
And in that moment, William Fairchild… cold, calculating, controlled.. allowed one dangerous thought to cross his mind.
She won't survive this family.
