The Wedding
Aaliyah
The bridal suite was everything she had imagined it would be—and yet, nothing at all like she had imagined. The opulence of the room, the high ceilings, the glittering chandeliers overhead, all seemed to blur into an ethereal fog, distant and disconnected from the reality of what was about to unfold. The walls, draped in cream-colored silk and adorned with pale lavender floral motifs, made the room feel like a dream—except it was a dream she had no desire to be a part of.
Aaliyah stood before the large, gold-plated mirror, staring at the woman reflected in it as if she were a stranger. The woman was beautiful, poised, the epitome of grace. Her ivory satin wedding gown clung to her slender frame, the intricate lace overlay catching the soft light from the chandelier, shimmering with every subtle shift. It was a masterpiece of design, but to her, it felt more like a straightjacket. The corset tightened at her ribs, pushing her chest upward, reminding her of the breath she could hardly take in.
Aaliyah smoothed the delicate fabric, fingers trembling as she touched the embroidered flowers that ran down the front of her gown. The jewels—diamonds, sapphires, pearls—glinted on her neck and wrists, but each stone felt heavier than the last. This was the life she had been groomed for—wealth, power, prestige—but it came at a price. She felt trapped in a gilded cage of her own making. The promises of security and influence, the expectations of her family, seemed more suffocating with every passing second.
Her breath caught in her throat. Is this really the rest of my life? She had spent so many years imagining what it would be like—what it was supposed to be like—and now that the moment had arrived, all she could feel was dread. The thought of walking down that aisle to marry a man she had never chosen, to become part of her father’s intricate political machinations, made her sick to her stomach.
Aaliyah's dark brown eyes drifted toward the open window, where the late afternoon sun streamed in, casting a warm glow across the room. Outside, the vast grounds of the estate stretched out, manicured lawns and distant hedgerows, a picture of perfection. But to Aaliyah, it looked like a prison. Beyond those perfectly trimmed borders lay the life she could never have, a life she’d never been allowed to choose.
Her fingers brushed against her throat, feeling the weight of the necklace her father had gifted her—another symbol of ownership, of control. She could already hear his voice in her head, echoing in her ears. This is what’s best for you, Aaliyah.You’ll make us proud.This will secure our future.
But as she gazed into the mirror, something inside her twisted. Is this really what’s best for me? The woman in the mirror barely looked like the person she felt inside—lost, desperate, trapped. It was as if the reflection was a mask, the life she had been forced into now permanently affixed to her skin.
Her hands trembled as she fidgeted with the hem of her dress. I can’t do this. I can’t marry him. I can’t do what my father wants me to do anymore.
The quiet sounds of the party outside—the soft murmur of voices, the clinking of glasses, the faint notes of a string quartet—drifted into the room. Her heart pounded harder with each passing second. They’re all waiting for me. They’ll be looking for me soon.
Aaliyah took a deep breath, steadying herself. The plan was already in motion. She had everything she needed—her passport, money, a few changes of clothes—packed in a small bag hidden beneath the bed. She had arranged for a car to take her to the airport. She would be gone before anyone even noticed she was missing.
But doubt tugged at her again. Her mind flashed to the man she was supposed to marry—Ehsan—standing at the altar, waiting for her. What would he do when he realized she had left? What would her father do? Aaliyah had no illusions. Her father’s men would be sent after her, and they would do whatever it took to bring her back.
Her stomach twisted with fear, but a spark of defiance flared within her. It doesn’t matter. She had no choice. This was the only way she could ever escape—this was the only way she could take control of her own life.
She heard footsteps behind her, and she stiffened, turning her head just slightly. Through the mirror, she saw a figure in the doorway. The slight shift in the air was enough to make Aaliyah’s heart race, and her eyes locked on the silhouette. Cruz.
Cruz stood in the doorway, her posture relaxed but alert, her dark eyes scanning the room with the precision of a trained soldier. There was no judgment in Cruz’s gaze, just a quiet, professional attentiveness that made Aaliyah’s heart beat a little faster, though she could never quite understand why. The two women had exchanged only a few words since the beginning of the day, and yet, Aaliyah couldn’t shake the feeling that Cruz was somehow different from the other security staff. There was something... calm about her. A deep, silent strength that Aaliyah found both comforting and unnerving.
Cruz stepped into the room, her presence solid and unyielding, like an anchor in a storm. Aaliyah’s gaze flicked briefly to Cruz’s face—her dark, sharp features, the slight curve of her full lips that never quite smiled. Cruz’s skin was a rich, deep shade of brown, glowing under the soft light. Her hair, tied back in a sleek ponytail, highlighted the sharp angles of her face, giving her an almost otherworldly beauty. It wasn’t a beauty that begged for attention—it was a quiet, compelling beauty, the kind that only grew stronger the longer you looked at her.
Aaliyah swallowed hard, forcing her thoughts away from Cruz. She didn’t have time for that now. She was on the verge of doing something monumental, and the last thing she needed was a distraction.
But Cruz’s voice, low and calm, broke through the fog of her thoughts. “Are you ready?”
Aaliyah’s throat tightened. There was something in the way Cruz said it, something in her tone that hinted at understanding, though they had hardly spoken. Aaliyah’s gaze shifted back to her reflection, but she didn’t speak. There was no need to.
Cruz didn’t wait for a response. She moved toward Aaliyah, her steps purposeful but silent, like a shadow in the night. She paused just behind her, a step closer than Aaliyah would have preferred, and reached for the veil that rested on the edge of the vanity. Gently, Cruz lifted it, her fingers brushing the delicate lace before draping it over Aaliyah’s hair.
For a moment, there was a strange sense of intimacy between them. Cruz’s hands, though gloved, were warm, steady as they arranged the veil. Aaliyah could feel the heat of her body just inches from hers, the soft scent of Cruz’s cologne—woodsy and clean, almost like the air after a rainstorm. It was an unexpected comfort, a reassurance she didn’t ask for but found herself needing.
But then, with a sudden clarity, Aaliyah realized something that made her heart leap in her chest. Cruz wasn’t just here to escort her down the aisle. She was here to keep her safe. And Aaliyah had every intention of breaking the rules.
Her breath caught in her throat again, but this time, the feeling was different. It wasn’t dread. It wasn’t fear. It was a quiet resolve.
She was going to do this. She was going to escape.
But first, she needed to get out of this room. She needed to move before it was too late.
With one last glance at her reflection, Aaliyah turned toward the door, slipping away from Cruz’s watchful gaze, the cool air of the hallway hitting her like a rush of freedom.
Cruz
Cruz stood just outside the bridal suite, her posture straight, her mind sharp. The ballroom beyond the hallway was alive with chatter, the faint hum of music playing as guests sipped champagne and took their seats. The orchestra’s strings were soft and lilting, providing an almost surreal soundtrack to the tension of the moment. Cruz had always found these kinds of events... disorienting. The grandiosity, the decorum, the wealth—it all felt foreign to her. It didn’t matter, though. She wasn’t here for any of it. She was here for one person: Aaliyah.
Cruz’s black suit—tailored to her frame, sharp and efficient—clung to her muscles as she shifted her weight, adjusting her stance. Her gun holster was snug under her jacket, the weight familiar against her side. Her sharp eyes flicked over the room, scanning every face, every movement in the hallway. Her job was simple. Maintain vigilance. Make sure nothing went wrong. Her mind was clear, focused on the task at hand.
Everything was about to unfold. The wedding. The union between Aaliyah and Ehsan.
The soft swish of fabric reached Cruz’s ears, and she turned to find Aaliyah emerging from the suite. The bride’s silhouette appeared in the doorway, tall and graceful. She had been in the suite preparing for the ceremony, but Cruz hadn’t seen her since the morning.
Aaliyah’s presence in that moment was striking. Her gown, ivory with intricate lace detailing, shimmered under the soft lighting. It was the kind of dress that belonged to someone of status, someone poised and prepared for the occasion. But Cruz didn’t let herself dwell on the beauty of the bride. She was here to do her job. This wasn’t about aesthetics. It was about security.
“Are you ready?” Cruz asked, her voice low, efficient. She didn’t need anything else—no pleasantries, no small talk. This was business.
Aaliyah looked at her, her expression unreadable, her eyes briefly meeting Cruz’s. There was something there—something that Cruz couldn’t quite place—but she didn’t dwell on it. She was good at reading people, but this wasn’t the time to let those instincts guide her.
“Yes,” Aaliyah answered softly, the word almost lost in the soft hum of the background music.
Cruz nodded. She’s calm. Too calm, maybe. There was no hint of the nervous energy that often accompanied brides just before they walked down the aisle. Aaliyah had been trained for moments like these, this much was clear. Her posture was perfect, her movements precise. But Cruz couldn’t help noticing the stiffness in her shoulders, the tension in her face that seemed just beneath the surface.
Her eyes tracked Aaliyah as she moved past, her gaze steady and unflinching. She’s putting on a show, Cruz thought. It’s not my place to question it.
As Aaliyah stepped toward the door, her veil trailing slightly behind her, Cruz took a moment to scan the room again. She knew the layout of the estate—every exit, every possible entrance. Her job was to stay ahead of any potential threat, to anticipate trouble before it arrived. And as always, Cruz’s mind raced through possible scenarios. There were so many moving parts, so many things that could go wrong. Her eyes flitted between the guests, the staff members, and the family members gathered in the corridor, always searching, always vigilant.
The guests were in their own world, too preoccupied with their conversations, the champagne in their hands, and the anticipation of the ceremony. They didn’t notice the tension in Cruz’s posture, or the way her eyes never stopped scanning. Her attention was focused solely on Aaliyah, who had now crossed the threshold of the suite and made her way toward the grand staircase that would lead to the ballroom. Cruz followed, walking a few steps behind her, maintaining a safe distance, her eyes darting around the hall to keep track of everyone.
The subtle creak of the wooden floorboards underfoot was the only sound that accompanied them as they made their way down the hallway. The closer they got to the ballroom, the more intense the energy became. The doors to the main room were wide open, and Cruz could hear the chatter of guests, the clinking of glasses, the soft laughter that filled the air.
Aaliyah seemed distant, her face an impassive mask as they neared the entryway. Her eyes were fixed ahead, but Cruz noticed the slight tilt of her head, as if she was listening for something. The sound of the music faded into the background as Cruz’s mind remained sharp, tracking the bride’s every move. She could feel the shift in the air, the underlying tension in Aaliyah’s movements, though it was hidden well.
Cruz didn’t acknowledge the unease in her gut. She couldn’t. This was her job.
They reached the top of the staircase. Cruz took a moment to look down, scanning the ballroom, checking the position of security personnel and the guests. Everything seemed in place. No immediate threats. Just a high-profile event with high-profile people. Everything was normal.
Aaliyah was about to descend the staircase to meet her fiancé, Ehsan, at the altar. Cruz would stay at the top, watching from a distance, always ready, always prepared. As the bride’s hand touched the banister, Cruz stepped back just a little, giving her some space. She had trained for moments like this, staying just close enough to intervene if needed, but far enough to allow Aaliyah to maintain her composure.
Aaliyah paused for just a moment before taking her first step down, her veil flowing gently behind her. Cruz’s gaze shifted slightly, her trained eyes moving to the gathering below. The guests, already seated, watched with bated breath as Aaliyah began her descent.
Aaliyah’s face remained unreadable as she moved down the stairs, the bright lights of the ballroom casting a soft glow on her gown. Cruz’s hand hovered near her side, ready to spring into action if anything went awry. But everything appeared to be going smoothly.
At the bottom of the staircase, Aaliyah was met by applause from the guests, and the music swelled, but Cruz’s focus never wavered. She watched as Aaliyah gave a polite smile to those watching the ceremony in return, her face still calm, still distant. She couldn’t read the young woman’s thoughts. She didn’t need to. Aaliyah’s safety was Cruz’s responsibility, and that was all that mattered.
Cruz followed Aaliyah into the ballroom, her eyes flicking to every corner of the room, keeping track of every guest, every movement. But it wasn’t the guests she was worried about.
It was Aaliyah.
And then, just as the bride-to-be reached the aisle, something felt… off. Cruz wasn’t sure what it was. A momentary hesitation? A flicker of doubt in Aaliyah’s eyes? The tension that had been building inside of Cruz—the knot in her stomach—grew tighter, but she couldn’t place it. Not yet.
Just stay focused, Cruz told herself. This is her moment. Everything is fine.
But even as Cruz reassured herself, a creeping sense of unease lingered, one she couldn’t shake.