Chapter 9 Missing Rings

Chloe started her walk, her uncle's’s arm feeling formal beneath her gloved hand. The long aisle felt endless, flanked by a sea of faces: family, competitors, investors all judging the quality of this exchange.

She took a breath and forced her face into the expression she’d practiced for a week: Serene. Happy. Deeply, deeply in love.

Rhys was standing at the end of the aisle beside the officiant, the picture of a dashing groom, but it was all surface..

He offered a hurried, dismissive nod to the officiant and then turned to watch Chloe approach. His eyes, the startling blue she usually found so compelling, were vacant, already mentally back in whatever important crisis had delayed him. He offered no reassuring smile, no acknowledgment of her anxiety. Just a slight, impatient shifting of his weight.

When she finally reached him, her uncle quickly handed her off, already looking past them to network with an influential guest in the front row.

"You're late," Chloe murmured, her voice tight, as the music faded and the officiant cleared his throat.

Rhys leaned in, offering a quick, entirely insincere press of his lips to her cheek. His voice was a hurried whisper, "A crisis at the central office. Handled it. We’re here now, aren’t we?.

The sheer arrogance of his response was a physical blow. After making the grandest, most public scene possible by keeping 400 people waiting?

She turned her attention to the officiant, her heart already hardening. The warmth she'd been hoping for, the last ember of hope for a future with Rhys, was extinguished. She would proceed with the ceremony, but she would do so with the cold clarity of a woman performing a duty. The contract with Rhys was a legal necessity; the contract with Rhys was her emotional, personal truth.

The ceremony began.

The exchange of vows was a blur of rehearsed phrases. Chloe spoke her lines in a clear, steady voice, reciting the promise of "fidelity and commitment" as if reading from a poorly edited script. She kept her gaze fixed on the podium, avoiding Rhys's eyes, avoiding the silent crowd. The only reality in the room was the heavy, floral perfume and the mounting tension.

Rhys, for his part, stumbled over his words. He was clearly trying to catch up, his mind still cycling through whatever corporate chaos he'd left behind. When the officiant prompted him to speak, Rhys paused, furrowed his brow, and had to be gently prompted a second time. "I do," he finally mumbled, sounding less like a declaration of love and more like he was approving a requisition form.

Chloe felt a wave of icy calm settle over her. This public performance was becoming a caricature, a validation of every doubt she’d ever had about his maturity and his respect for her. She was watching her future with him implode in slow motion, surrounded by the people who mattered most to their business.

Then came the moment for the symbolic sealing of the contract.

"And now, as a symbol of the eternal bond between you, we shall exchange rings," the officiant announced, his voice taking on the sonorous formality required for this ritual. He turned, extending his hand to the Best Man. "May I have the rings, please?"

The Best Man, Rhys’s friend David, looked utterly bewildered. He patted the pockets of his tuxedo jacket left side, right side, vest pocket. His eyes went wide with panic. He shook his head minutely, frantically, his lips forming the silent word, No.

Rhys, who had been adjusting his tie and looking restlessly at the seated guests, finally realized the ceremony had paused. He looked at the Best Man, then at the officiant’s outstretched hand, and finally, his face went white.

He started a clumsy, panicked search of his own tuxedo pockets.

"They're... they're not with you?" Rhys stammer at his friend, his voice a stage whisper that carries with painful clarity throughout the hushed ballroom.

"I thought you had them!" the Best Man mouthed back, looking horrified. "You said you'd keep them until the last minute because they were so valuable!"

A hush of nervous, embarrassed murmuring swept through the crowd. This was no minor delay; this was a fundamental breach of wedding etiquette, a moment so clumsy it temporarily halted the process.

Chloe stood perfectly still. Her mind, surprisingly, was not panicking. It was evaluating. He forgot the rings. The physical, priceless symbols of their alleged commitment, and he had simply forgotten them because a central report was more important.

The officiant, a seasoned professional, attempted to recover. He spoke clearly over the nervous chatter. "It appears we have encountered a slight, unforeseen logistical delay. We can certainly pause the ceremony until the rings are retrieved, or perhaps, if a family heirloom is present"

"Please proceed," Chloe requested, her voice steady. "We can finalize the exchange later. The intent is what matters here."

It was a masterful save, delivered with a politician’s precision. The officiant, grateful for the lifeline, quickly adjusted the script, skipping over the ring exchange and moving straight to the final, binding declarations.

Rhys, chastened, simply stared at her, his lips pressed into a thin line. He was realizing, in that disastrous moment, that the pliable, obedient bride he thought he was marrying had just usurped control of the ceremony.

The final words were spoken. The papers were signed on the podium. The officiant, with a palpable sense of relief, made the final announcement.

"By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife!"

The applause was hesitant, then surged forward, relief overcoming the embarrassment. Rhys pulled her into a quick, rough kiss, a possessive seal on a flawed transaction.

Chloe endured it, her focus already past him. As they turned to face the cheering crowd, she let her eyes scan the ballroom, past the grinning relatives and the calculating investors.

Her eyes settled on the emergency exit doors at the back of the room, near the security station.

David was standing there. He was watching her. Not with pity, not with judgment, but with the flat, professional calm that was his signature.

Their eyes met over the heads of the cheering throng. The public ceremony was a disaster, a farce sealed without rings and with a late, petulant groom. But the other contract, the one signed in private, the one that guaranteed her freedom, was still intact.

As Rhys began to steer her toward the reception line, Chloe’s lips barely moved, her voice a silent echo in the noise. "You owe me a new contract," she whispered.

The marriage to Rhys was legally done. The performance was over. And Chloe knew, with cold certainty, that the real, complicated relationship was only just beginning.