“Here you are, ma’am,” the usher whispered, his hands shaking slightly as he gestured to the empty pew.
“Thank you,” I replied sweetly.
I sat the children down, placing Ella in the middle and the boys on either side. They sat beautifully, their little legs dangling off the edge of the polished wood, looking around the massive church with innocent curiosity.
Ten minutes later, the heavy oak doors at the back of the church slammed shut. The organ music swelled, shifting into a dramatic, sweeping triumphal march.
From the side door near the altar, the groom and his best man stepped out.
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Ryan looked exactly as he always did—impeccable, handsome, and radiating a suffocating aura of superiority. He adjusted the cuffs of his Tom Ford tuxedo, a confident, borderline arrogant smile plastered across his face. He looked out at the crowd, basking in the admiration of his peers.
When his eyes locked onto my emerald dress, his smile widened, dripping with satisfaction. I knew you’d come, his eyes seemed to say.
But I didn’t flinch. I simply tilted my head and shifted my posture slightly, uncovering the three children sitting right beside me.
Ryan’s gaze followed mine.
I watched the exact millisecond his brain stopped functioning. The smug smile on his face didn’t just fade; it froze, turning into a horrific, distorted mask. His chest stopped moving as he forgot to breathe.
Liam chose that exact moment to lean forward, looking at the altar. “Mommy,” he piped up, his voice carrying clearly through the acoustics of the quiet church. “That man looks just like the mirror.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
Ryan took a half-step forward, completely breaking protocol. His eyes were wide, bloodshot, locked onto the three identical faces that were staring back at him with his own slate-blue eyes. His hands began to visibly tremble at his sides. He looked at me, his lips moving, forming the word, No.
I met his gaze, allowed a cold, vicious smile to spread across my face, and slowly raised my eyebrows. Yes, Ryan. Yes.
The best man, Ryan’s cousin Julian, noticed Ryan’s sudden paralysis and looked over at our pew. Julian let out an audible, sharp intake of air, his eyes darting between Ryan and the triplets.
Just then, the heavy doors at the back of the cathedral swung open.
The wedding march reached its crescendo. Madison Pierce stood at the entrance, a vision in layers of tulle, French lace, and a veil that trailed ten feet behind her. She looked stunning, a perfect trophy bride for a man who demanded perfection.
