Chapter 4 - The Vows of Ruin
The archbishop’s voice echoed through the cathedral, speaking of love, loyalty, and the sacred bonds of eternal partnership. I stood perfectly still, my hands resting lightly in Julian’s, feeling the weight of the moment pressing down on the room.
"Julian," the archbishop began, turning to my fiancé. "Do you take Vivienne to be your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?"
Julian stared deeply into my eyes, projecting the image of a profoundly devoted man for the hundreds of cameras flashing in the pews. "I do," he said, his voice ringing with absolute, practiced sincerity.
The archbishop turned to me. "And do you, Vivienne, take Julian to be your lawfully wedded husband?"
The silence in the cathedral was absolute, heavy, and suffocating. I did not speak. Five seconds passed. Then ten. A nervous murmur began to ripple through the wealthy, elite crowd. Julian’s smile faltered slightly, his thumbs rubbing the back of my hands in a silent, frantic urging.
"Vivienne?" he whispered, his brow furrowing in genuine confusion. "Sweetheart, are you okay?"
I slowly pulled my hands out of his grasp. I reached up and lifted the heavy lace veil from my face, tossing it back over my shoulders. I did not look at him with love. I looked at him with the cold, detached curiosity of a scientist examining a parasite under a microscope.
"I am perfectly fine, Julian," I said, my voice carrying clearly without the aid of a microphone. "But I cannot take you as my husband. Because I refuse to vow my life, my fortune, and my empire to a man who promised his devotion to our styling assistant in the back of his Maybach thirty days ago."
A collective, horrified gasp violently shattered the silence of the cathedral. Eight hundred guests recoiled in absolute shock. The flashbulbs of the paparazzi erupted into a blinding, frenzied strobe light.
Julian’s face drained of all color, turning a sickly, ashen gray. He staggered backward, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly like a fish pulled from the water. "Vivienne... what? What are you saying? You’re having a panic attack, this is crazy—"
"It is not a panic attack, Julian," I interrupted, my tone slicing through the air like a silver blade. "It is an eviction."
From the front row, Gabriel Thorne stood up. He didn't look like a wedding guest; he looked like a corporate grim reaper. He calmly walked up the altar steps, holding a thick, leather-bound portfolio.
"Julian Vance," Gabriel announced, his deep voice commanding the entire room. "As of 9:00 AM this morning, the board of House of Laurent has been legally restructured. As the sole owner of the brand's trademarks and the holder of seventy percent of the voting shares, Ms. Laurent has officially terminated your employment as Creative Director, effective immediately. Furthermore, the corporate expense accounts you have been using to fund your illicit affair and purchase luxury real estate have been frozen pending a full federal audit for embezzlement."
Chloe let out a high-pitched, terrified shriek from the pews, attempting to hide her face from the aggressive barrage of camera lenses suddenly turning in her direction.
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"You can't do this!" Julian roared, the polished facade completely breaking, revealing the feral, desperate coward hiding beneath. He lunged toward me, but Gabriel smoothly stepped between us, acting as an impenetrable human shield. "Half of that company is mine! I built your image! You are nothing without me!"
"I am the entire company, Julian," I replied, looking at him with nothing but pure, unadulterated pity. "You were just a mannequin wearing my designs. And as for your image? My new virtual avatar on TikTok generated more revenue in fourteen days than you did in an entire fiscal quarter. You are entirely, completely obsolete."
