My feet were already moving—not toward the main door where the assistant was waiting, but toward the service entrance at the side of the suite. The door that staff used to come and go without disturbing guests. The door that led to corridors where no one would expect to find a groom.
I stopped and looked down at myself.
The jacket. The boutonnière. The perfect Langford uniform.
I shrugged it off and let it fall onto the bed. The tie followed, yanked loose and discarded. I rolled up my sleeves and untucked my shirt.
Not a groom anymore. Just a man.
What are you doing?
My hand closed around the doorknob.
Stop. Think. You have a responsibility. A duty. You can't just—
But I could. That was the thing. I could turn this handle and walk through this door, keeping on until everything I was supposed to be faded behind me.
I turned the doorknob.
The corridor beyond was empty—white walls, industrial carpet, the distant clatter of kitchen activity. No wedding guests. No family. No one to witness the exact moment Tobias Langford stopped being what everyone expected.
I stepped through.
The door clicked shut behind me, and the tightness in my chest loosened for the first time in months. I wasn't running. Wasn't panicking. Just walking, one foot in front of the other, my polished shoes silent on the carpet.
I didn't know where I was going. Didn't have a plan. Didn't know how to be myself or how to live as the person I'd spent twenty-six years hiding.
But I knew I couldn't keep pretending. Couldn't keep lying. Couldn't drag an innocent woman into a marriage built on denial.
Behind me, someone was probably knocking on an empty suite, wondering why the groom wasn't answering.
Ahead of me, there was nothing but corridors, uncertainty, and the terrifying freedom of finally refusing to be someone I wasn't.
I kept walking.
Chapter 2
Vance
The radio crackled at 2:51 PM, and my afternoon went sideways.
"Security Lead, this is Front. We have a situation."
I was already moving before the coordinator finished speaking, cutting through the lobby toward the service entrance. "Go ahead."
"The groom's suite is empty. The wedding party is asking questions."
"Define empty."
"Gone, sir. Full sweep. No sign of Mr. Langford."
I hit the stairwell at a controlled jog. "Lock down exits. Discreetly—I don't want guests noticing. Pull camera feeds for the groom's corridor from the last thirty minutes."
"Copy that."
I took the stairs two at a time, my mind already running scenarios. Missing groom at a three-hundred-person wedding. Family worth more than the GDP of some small countries. Media vultures probably already circling.
This was going to be a disaster.
