PART 1: THE VOW
CHAPTER 1
_Time Is Everything To A Wife_
The church smelled like lilies and old wood, and Eleanor Rose walked down the aisle with a breath caught somewhere between heaven and her throat. Ah— that sigh, soft, trembling. Her veil floated. Every pew turned.
Julian Hawthorne stood waiting. Tall. Unshakable. His eyes found hers and for a second, the world went quiet. No organ. No whispers. Just the hush of two people who believed they had conquered loneliness.
"I take you," he said, voice low, steady, a little hoarse, "to be my wife, to have and to hold—" He paused. His phone buzzed in his pocket. Bzz. Bzz. He ignored it. Pressed his thumb over the ring. "Forever."
Eleanor cried. Not loud. A delicate, broken sob that made her shoulders shake. "I take you," she whispered back, "to be my husband." Her voice cracked. The words felt holy.
Outside, confetti. Laughter. Camera clicks like summer rain. Click. Click. Click. Julian lifted her, spun her, and she laughed—real laughter, bright and unguarded. They believed. Oh, how they believed this was love, pure and ordained.
That night, their house—so big, so empty, so full of promise—glowed. Eleanor changed into silk, her hands nervous against the fabric. Julian came in, loosened his tie, smiled that tired, charming smile. He kissed her forehead, then her lips, then reached for her like a man reaching for sleep after a long war.
On the nightstand, his phone lit up again. Blue light on his cheek. He glanced. Just a glance. Half a second. But Eleanor saw it. That flicker. That elsewhere.
"Julian?" she whispered.
"I'm here," he said, pulling her close. His hands were warm, but his mind was already halfway out the door, already counting hours, deals, futures.
She told herself it was nothing. Just a night. Just work. Love would have time tomorrow. Love would always have time.
She did not know that tomorrow would never come.
