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By the Power Vested in Me: I Pronounce You All One and United

Alone in the restroom, the silence between Cynthia and Carlos was suffocating, thick with unresolved tension.

Carlos then shook his head slowly, his lips twisting into a sneer as he took a calculated step further towards her. Cynthia, frozen in place, felt her breath hitch. His presence was overwhelming, oppressive even, as he closed the distance between them.

Carlos let out a deep sigh, his dark eyes narrowing as he leaned in close. His face brushed against hers, the heat of his breath grazing her skin as he whispered coldly in her ear, “You need to stop pulling dumb shit like this, Cynthia. It’s embarrassing.”

Her heart pounded, each word from him cutting deeper, but she remained silent, unable to speak as he continued. His hand trailed lazily to the strap of her wedding gown, his voice dripping with condescension. “And this dress... it looks fucking terrible on you.”

Once again tears welled up in Cynthia’s eyes, but she blinked them back, determined not to give him the satisfaction of wining. Carlos, sensing her tension, smirked, his lips brushing against her cheek. “But,” he whispered, “I’ll let it slide... because I love you.”

The words felt like knives, cruel and mocking in the moment, as if love could justify the betrayal she had just witnessed. He stepped back, adjusting his jacket as though the conversation had been nothing more than a minor inconvenience. “I’ll be waiting for you at the altar,” he said smoothly, his tone a chilling mix of command and expectation. “You better not be late.”

With that, Carlos turned and walked out, leaving her standing there, trembling and utterly broken.

As the door closed behind him, Cynthia collapsed against the sink, her legs barely able to hold her weight. Her mind raced, the reality of what she had just experienced hitting her all at once. Every atom in her body screamed at her to leave, to run as fast and as far as she could from this nightmare.

But then came the icy fear that gripped her heart, the terrifying knowledge of who Carlos really was. Mafia boss. Billionaire. A man who got what he wanted, no matter the cost. If she bailed on the wedding, she knew what he was capable of. There would be no escaping him.

Her mind spun as she weighed her options, desperation clawing at her throat. Freedom seemed like an impossible dream, just out of reach, but staying... staying meant being trapped in a marriage with a man who had just shown her exactly how cruel and dangerous he could be.

She stood there, alone, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Her wedding gown, which was supposed to be a symbol of hope and love, now felt like a prison.

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NEARLY AN HOUR LATER...

The expansive front yard of the penthouse, quiet and serene under the orange glow of the evening sun, framed the intimate gathering. Beautiful tall trees stood like silent witnesses to the day's events, their leaves rustling softly in the breeze. Only a handful of people were present— family and close-knit friends, seated on either side of the makeshift aisle, their heads turned to watch as Cynthia walked hand-in-hand with one of Carlos's men.

Her gown, flowing with an effortless elegance, trailed behind her as she moved, a stark contrast to the chaos churning inside her mind. Every step felt heavier than the last, each one dragging her closer to the man she now feared more than loved. Whispers and murmurs of admiration drifted from the guests, their cheerful voices unaware of the emotional storm she fought to contain.

Up ahead, standing tall and sharp in a sleek grey suit, was Carlos. His smile was wide, charming, as if nothing had ever gone wrong between them. As if he wasn’t the man who had shattered her heart with her own sister. Cynthia's eyes flickered toward him for just a second, and her stomach twisted with nausea. The betrayal was so fresh, so raw, it was a wonder she could even keep walking.

By the time she reached the altar, her knees were trembling, but she forced herself to stand tall. The man escorting her stepped aside, leaving her alone to face Carlos. The minister, an elderly man with a soft voice, stood between them, his calm presence a mockery of the turmoil swirling within Cynthia.

Carlos turned toward her, his smile bright, fake. Cynthia managed a faint one in return, though the pain behind her eyes was undeniable.

The pastor began his sermon, offering gentle words of encouragement about marriage, trust, and perseverance. "Marriage," he said, "is like an examination, and for man, it is the toughest of challenges. Only with trust, partnership, and endurance can one succeed." His words echoed around them, but they felt hollow to Cynthia. How could any of this be about trust, when the man standing across from her had just violated the most sacred bond they shared?

"As you embark on this journey as one," the pastor continued, "you must learn to move as one body, one soul. There will be sacrifices and trials. The road ahead is turbulent, but with patience and forgiveness, you will find strength."

Cynthia’s eyes glazed over, her mind wandering back to that horrible moment in the restroom— Megan, her sister, her own flesh and blood, having sex with her soon to be husband. How was she supposed to endure? How was she supposed to forgive?

The pastor’s voice pulled her back, his tone shifting as he addressed her directly, stepping forward with a look of genuine concern. “Cynthia, I’ve spoken about forgiveness today because I believe in its power. And now... now I must ask something of you.”

Cynthia blinked, confused. His words felt ominous, like a warning. She glanced at Carlos, who stood there, calm as ever. The guests shifted in their seats, sensing something unusual, as if they too could feel the tension thickening in the air.

“I must ask for your forgiveness,” the pastor said, his voice oddly hesitant. “Because there is... a new development.”

A murmur rippled through the small crowd, but before Cynthia could even process what he meant, there was movement at the back. All heads turned as a figure stepped forward— another bride.

Cynthia’s breath caught in her throat. The woman approaching was dressed in a gown far more elaborate than hers, a gown fit for royalty. The white fabric shimmered in the fading sunlight, gliding behind her as if carried by an invisible breeze. It was Megan.

Cynthia’s heart stopped. Her sister, the very one who had betrayed her, was now walking down the aisle, toward the altar, toward her. Toward Carlos.

The whispers grew louder, confusion spreading like wildfire through the guests. They glanced at one another, eyes wide with disbelief. What was going on? What was Megan doing here, dressed like a bride?

Cynthia's hands trembled at her sides, her mind spinning, trying to make sense of the surreal scene playing out before her. Megan’s smile was radiant, confident, as she took her place beside Cynthia at the altar. The two sisters now stood side by side, facing Carlos, who— unbelievably— grinned back at Megan as though this were the most natural thing in the world.

“What... what is this? Please what's going on?” Cynthia stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Before she could say anything more, the pastor, now standing awkwardly between the two sisters, cleared his throat. “The ceremony today,” he announced, “is to unite not just two, but three. Carlos, Megan, and Cynthia, you are to become one family, united in bond and matrimony.”

The words struck Cynthia like a physical blow. She gasped, her hand flying to her chest, her heart hammering in disbelief. “What?” she breathed, her voice weak.

Carlos stepped forward, his face hardening. “What’s your problem now?” he snapped, his voice laced with irritation. “Didn’t you hear what the pastor said? When did you become so dense?”

Cynthia opened her mouth, but no words came. Her eyes darted from Carlos to Megan and back again, her mind reeling, trying to comprehend the insanity of the situation.

Carlos shook his head in disgust. “I told you to stop asking stupid questions. This isn’t complicated, Cynthia. We’re all getting married today. You, me, and Megan.”

Her stomach twisted violently as she fought the urge to scream. How could this be happening? How could they expect her to just stand there and accept this madness?

But Carlos’s glare silenced her. “You’ve always been difficult, Cynthia,” he said, his voice dripping with disdain. “It’s time you learned how to share. We’re building something here. You’re either with us, or you’re not. And trust me, you don’t want to be on the outside.”

Megan, still smiling, leaned in close to Cynthia, her voice low and venomous. “This is what you get for trying to take what doesn’t only belong to you.”

Cynthia’s knees wobbled, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. She was trapped, utterly trapped, in a nightmare she couldn’t escape. The guests sat frozen, their faces pale, but no one dared to speak up. They all knew what Carlos was capable of, the power he wielded. And so, they remained silent.

The pastor, with a strained smile, asked if anyone had any objections. The crowd remained quiet, the tension so thick it was suffocating.

Without missing a beat, the pastor moved to complete the ceremony. “By the power vested in me,” he said, his voice trembling slightly, “I now pronounce you all one and united.”

Carlos turned immediately to Megan, pulling her into a deep, possessive kiss right there at the altar. The guests watched, stunned into silence.

And there stood Cynthia, humiliated, broken, her world shattered in front of family and friends, as her husband kissed her sister in what was supposed to be her wedding.

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