Page 191 of Broken Destiny

Then I turned toward the guest.

“Excuse us,” I announced, “We’ll be back. Until then, please sit down and enjoy the music.”

I guided Tatiana down the aisle while whispers followed us through the church like shadows.

Every pair of eyes remained fixed on us.

And with every step I took, the crushing weight of the weddingeased slightly from my shoulders, making me realize that somewhere in the middle of all this chaos, God had finally answered my prayers.

I openedthe door to a private room and led Tatiana inside, closing it quietly behind us. The noise from the church faded into a distant murmur, but the tension followed us in like an unwelcome guest.

She stood frozen near the centre of the room, her chin trembling as tears streamed down her face.

The sight of her—usually so poised and confident—sent a strange ache through my chest. I gently guided her toward the chair and made her sit down.

My mind felt completely overloaded.

Shock, disappointment, relief, and confusion tangled together inside me so tightly that I could barely separate one emotion from another.

But beneath all of it, one truth stood firm and undeniable.

I did not want to get married.

And judging by what had just happened in the church, odds were she did not want to get married either.

The situation was humiliating for both of us and for our families—something we would have to explain, defend, and endure in the days to come.

Yet embarrassment was not the real problem.

Questions needed answers.

And the only way to get them was to ask.

Tatiana sat hunched forward in the chair, her shoulders shaking with quiet sobs.

“I’m sorry,” she cried, covering her face with her hands. “I’m really sorry. I made a mistake.”

Shocking revelations seemed to be unfolding one after another on what was supposed to be the happiest day of my life.

First, the truth about my mother. Then this—my fiancée standing in front of me, confessing a betrayal she could not take back.

I did not know what else to expect anymore, but I knew I had to handle this carefully—for her sake and for mine.

Taking a steady breath, I knelt in front of her so we were at eye level.

“Do you love him?” I asked calmly.

She lowered her hands slowly and looked at me, her mascara smeared beneath tear-filled eyes. The vulnerability in her expression made my chest tighten, but I forced myself to hold her gaze.

“I don’t know,” she whispered.

A knot formed in my stomach.

This is not good.

I swallowed hard, steadying myself before asking the next question.

“Okay,” I said gently. “Do you love me?”