The morning mist clung to the skyscrapers of Portis like a silver shroud, mirroring the cold uncertainty in Clara Snow’s heart. Seven years had vanished since that fateful night she pulled a bleeding Clyde King from his wrecked car, an act of mercy that left her with a secret child and a lifetime of longing. Now, the once-glittering Snow dynasty lay in ruins, reduced to mountain of debt and bitter memories. Clara stood before a cracked mirror, her hands trembling as she smoothed the lace of a rented gown. She wasn't marrying for love or even for herself; she was selling her soul to a wealthy stranger to fund the life-saving surgery her son so desperately needed. The heavy weight of the King family’s influence loomed over the city, yet she felt like a ghost walking through her own life, prepared to sacrifice everything for a heartbeat.
Across the city, Mary Cox smirked at her reflection in a diamond-encrusted vanity. The former maid, who had once scrubbed the Snows' floors, had returned from abroad with a calculated elegance that fooled everyone, including Clyde’s aging father. Through a web of lies and inherited charm, she had convinced the elder King that she was his son’s mysterious savior from years ago. Today was her ultimate triumph. She had intentionally scheduled her wedding to Clyde King on the same day as Clara’s humble ceremony, ensuring the press would be there to document Clara’s humiliation. Mary wanted the world to see the "fallen princess" marrying a nobody while she ascended the throne of the King empire. Her heart was a cold stone, fueled by a decade of resentment and the intoxicating scent of stolen power.
The Portis Grand Cathedral was a maze of white lilies and velvet ribbons, split into two distinct wings for the simultaneous ceremonies. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume and the hushed whispers of the city’s elite. Due to a sudden power outage caused by a freak coastal storm, the corridors were cast into a dim, flickering twilight. Clara, disoriented and blinded by her heavy veil, was ushered through a side door by an anxious coordinator who mistook her for the primary bride. She felt a firm, warm hand grip hers in the darkness, a touch that sent an electric shock through her veins. It was a familiar heat, one she hadn't felt since the night of the accident. She tried to speak, but the solemn music began to swell, drowning out her protests as she was led toward the altar.
Clyde King stood at the altar, his face a mask of stoic indifference. He didn't care for the woman his father had chosen, but duty to the King name was a heavy crown. However, as the veiled figure approached, the air around him seemed to shift. The scent of vanilla and rain—the same scent from seven years ago—hit him like a physical blow. When he took her hand to exchange the rings, he felt a frantic pulse that didn't match the cold, calculating woman he had met during the engagement. He leaned in, his voice a low growl that only she could hear, asking if she was ready to bind her life to his. Clara, thinking she was speaking to the elderly businessman her family had arranged, whispered a soft "Yes," her voice cracking with a sorrow that pierced Clyde’s hardened heart instantly.
The moment the priest pronounced them husband and wife, the backup generators kicked in, flooding the cathedral with a blinding, triumphant light. Clyde lifted the veil, expecting to see the smug face of Mary Cox, but instead, he looked into the tear-filled, emerald eyes of Clara Snow. The silence that followed was deafening. In the opposite wing, Mary Cox stood at the altar with a confused, middle-aged stranger, realizing with a scream of rage that her plan to outshine Clara had backfired spectacularly. She had been so focused on the spectacle that she had walked into the wrong chapel, leaving the "maid" to marry the commoner while the "princess" reclaimed her rightful place. The guests gasped as the truth began to unravel in real-time, the scandal of the century unfolding.
Clyde didn't let go of Clara’s hand. He looked down at the gold band on her finger and then at the child standing in the front pew—a boy with his own stormy gray eyes and defiant chin. The pieces of the puzzle he had been trying to solve for seven years finally fell into place. He realized then that Mary had been a fraud and that the woman who had actually saved his life was the one now trembling in his arms. The bankruptcy, the struggle, and the pain she had endured while he lived in luxury fueled a protective fire within him. He turned to the stunned crowd, his voice booming with the authority of a King, declaring that this was no mistake, but a long-overdue correction of fate.
Clara felt the world spinning, the weight of her son’s medical bills vanishing as Clyde pulled her closer. The "mistake" was the only thing that had ever felt right in her life. Mary was escorted out by security, her cries of protest ignored by the very elite she had tried so hard to impress. The Snow family’s debts were settled with a single phone call, but more importantly, the wall of secrets between Clara and Clyde had finally crumbled. As they walked out of the cathedral as husband and wife, the rain stopped, and the sun broke through the clouds over Portis. Clara realized she wasn't trapped in a wedding not her own; she had finally been freed from a life that was never meant for her, stepping into a future she had earned.
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