Till Death Do Us Part

Chapter 1

His bride-to-be had stood him up.

He clenched his jaw, words echoing in his mind, foreign and infuriating, like a bitter pill he couldn't swallow.

The day had started perfectly. The sun finally broke through days of relentless rain, casting a glow on the church courtyard adorned with rows of white roses, leading up to those wide, wooden doors his mother had insisted on-the very same doors she and his father had walked through years ago.

The old cobblestone church had been polished to an unyielding shine, filled with a sweet haze of blooming flowers and candlelight that left even the bride's beauty pale by comparison. The scent, the laughter, the hushed murmur of guests-all crafted to perfection. For once, things were in his control, his reputation flawless, his name held high.

And then the waiting began.

Guests shifted uneasily, glancing between the altar and the towering doors. Seconds stretched into minutes, and as the laughter quieted, whispers slithered through the air, questioning her absence. His heart thundered, but he waited, gritting his teeth in forced patience. She'd promised him. Her words were now empty-hollow sounds in the face of a dawning nightmare.

Then her mother, had stormed into the church like a whirlwind, clutching a letter-a farewell wrapped in betrayal. She didn't love him, she said. She couldn't go through with it. And as her mother's words rang out, every lingering trace of hope slipped through his fingers, leaving a bitter chill in its place. The picture-perfect day shattered, leaving him with empty stares and mocking pity from those who'd come to witness his triumph.

For a man revered as ruthless-a powerhouse feared in the courtroom-he'd been reduced to little more than gossip fodder, his shattered pride dissected by strangers.

The humiliation seethed beneath his skin as he drove back to his office, dreading the pity in his assistant's eyes.

As he paced his office, lost in thought, his assistant's voice cut through his musings.

"Mr. Santos? You have a call," Lisa's voice came muffled through the glass.

He snapped back, irritated. "Who is it?"

"It's Officer Johnson, from the police department."

"Patch him through," he replied, curiosity laced with irritation.

A beat, then a firm voice came over the line. "Mr. Santos?"

"Speaking."

"This is Officer Johnson. We've received a report of a missing person. I'm assuming you're aware?"

A simmering anger stirred within him, his fingers tightening on the phone. "Yes. I was there when her mother found her letter."

"We'd like you to come in tomorrow morning for a statement."

"Fine. I'll be there by nine."

He hung up without another word, grinding his teeth as he tossed the phone on the desk.

He barked a command for her to leave early, barely able to tolerate the sight of anyone who might remind him of his loss. How quickly fear had shifted to sympathy, and from that to contempt. The town's most feared lawyer-left humiliated by the woman he was supposed to own, to bind to his life with vows and laws and endless promises.

He still felt the dull ache of her betrayal as he navigated his way through winding roads, the dark clouds gathering once again as though nature mocked him, amplifying the desolation seeping into his bones. A silent, screaming reminder that he'd lost control.

His thoughts drifted back to a memory of her-when he was eight, she no more than four. A petite figure with raven hair, draped in white, clutching flowers meant for his mother. She'd been so small, her innocent steps echoing off the high ceilings, her eyes glittering with a light that seemed to penetrate through time. Her purity then-untainted, untouched. And as she looked at him that day, he remembered a feeling he couldn't name, a heat he didn't understand.