The Suburban Café

Elizabeth Jones sat fidgeting in a dimly lit booth, her eyes locked on her boyfriend, Anthony Thomas.

"Anthony," she whispered, her voice trembling as she reached for his sleeve. "What are we going to do? The wedding is tomorrow."

Anthony sat across from her, his lips pressed into a thin, nervous line as he fiddled incessantly with his coffee cup. "Elizabeth, stay calm. Let me think," he muttered, avoiding her gaze.

"How can I be calm? I’m supposed to marry your uncle tomorrow, but you’re the one I love," Elizabeth said, her brow furrowing in distress. "Anthony, I’ve made up my mind. I won’t let my stepmother and her family push me into this. I’m not marrying Michael Thomas. Let’s just run away together!"

Anthony yanked his hand back as if burned, his voice stammering. "E-Elizabeth, we have to be smart about this. If the Thomas family finds out I took you, I’m finished in this city." Seeing her face drop, he quickly added, "Listen, go through with the ceremony for now. Act as if nothing is wrong. Michael is in a coma; the doctors say he won't last long. Once he’s gone, I’ll come for you. I promise, I won't abandon you."

Elizabeth’s expression softened. She chose to trust the man she thought was her protector.

The Next Day: The Thomas Family Wedding Venue

In front of the grand dressing mirror, Elizabeth was a vision of tragic beauty. The custom-made white gown fit her perfectly, its elegant lace brushing her ankles. Her skin was flawless, and her makeup made her glow like a blooming red rose, but her almond-shaped eyes were clouded with intense anxiety.

With only twenty minutes until the ceremony, she kept swiping her phone, waiting for a message from Anthony that never came. This wedding was a farce—the groom was missing, bedridden in a high-security medical wing after a car accident six months ago. Michael Thomas was a man on his deathbed, and Elizabeth was being sold into this marriage to save her father’s failing business.

Needing air and a quiet place to call Anthony, Elizabeth gathered her heavy train and slipped out of the crowded dressing room. She wandered down the quiet, carpeted hallway of the estate until she reached a semi-private lounge.

The door was left slightly ajar.

Elizabeth paused when she heard a familiar, shrill laugh. She peeked through the gap and felt her blood turn to ice.

"Anthony, my poor sister is probably still staring at her phone, waiting for you to 'save' her," Patricia Jones said, leaning close to Anthony, who was dressed in a sharp wedding suit.

Anthony had his arm around Patricia, his expression devoid of the guilt Elizabeth had expected. "Elizabeth is a fool," he said, his voice cold and devoid of the sweetness he usually reserved for her. "She’ll go through with the wedding because she thinks it’s her only choice. The Thomas family bodyguards will make sure of that. Once she's legally married to my uncle, our path to the inheritance is clear."

Patricia smirked. "How do you think she’d react if she knew where you’ve actually been spending your nights?"

Elizabeth leaned against the cold marble wall, her body swaying as the world seemed to tilt. The sweet nothings Anthony had whispered to her were nothing but a trap. In her moment of greatest vulnerability, the man she loved was conspiring with her own stepsister to ruin her.

Her fingers clenched the fabric of her wedding gown, her body trembling with suppressed rage. Her father, Robert Jones, was facing bankruptcy and a serious illness, and she had been willing to sacrifice her life for a family that was currently stabbing her in the back.

Elizabeth shut her eyes tight, fighting back tears. She wasn't just a bride today; she was a survivor realizing she was standing in a den of vipers.