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  Philip’s hands grasp mine, as if sensing my desire and holding me here. His deep blue eyes don’t shift from mine.

  “Marry me, Charlotte.”

  Desperate, confused, and heartbroken, I look around and see all the guests staring at me. Some of them are looking sympathetic, some are hiding their smirks, some are just enjoying the drama. Nobody from Erik’s side left except for Madison.

  I feel my head grow light. Philip tightens his grip on my hands, and he leans forward and whispers close to my ear, “This is the best revenge you can get on that bastard, Charlotte. Do not break!”

  His words are a command, no doubt or hesitation in his voice, and I see Agatha nod in my peripheral vision. Trapped between the siblings who are offering me their strength, I look over to the priest, who looks troubled, but nods, his voice low when he speaks.

  “It can be done. I can have the marriage licenses prepared immediately after the wedding if you can spare someone—”

  Agatha steps up.

  “I’ll go. I have all their information.”

  The priest murmurs something to her that I can’t make out. My mind stopped working. Agatha disappears and the priest makes a brief fuss, asking everyone to hush down and let the ceremony continue.

  It is a short and curt ceremony. I’m in a daze, only Philip’s hands holding me still.

  Throughout the ceremony, Philip holds eye contact with me. When he senses me trembling, he tightens his grip so hard that I know, in the back of my mind, his fingers will leave their mark on me for days.

  I don’t notice when the ceremony ends. Philip’s mouth barely grazes mine.

  There is an awkward silence from the guests until one of them, a familiar face, stands up and starts clapping and hooting, screaming, “Way to go, Charlotte!”

  The rest of the people sitting on the left side, take their cue from her. My body is limp against Philip’s as the priest announces, “I now present to you, Mr. and Mrs. McCoy.”

  The guests from the groom’s side stand awkwardly. My gaze catches those of Erik’s parents, the embarrassment in their eyes, but I don’t have it in me to feel bad for them.

  I have nothing in me at this moment. I feel numb. It is as if somebody sucked my soul out and I am just an empty shell. My chest hurts, and I just want to collapse on the altar.

  Nobody comes forward to congratulate me. I watch the guests file out quietly.

  “Charlotte.” It is Mrs. Mason, Erik’s mother, and I find myself cringing away from her. She looks horrified. “Charlotte, I had no idea! Please, my dear, you have to believe me.”

  I shake my head, my body shaking now, my eyes burning. Philip pulls me into his hard body, not caring how it looks, his words curt.

  “Please leave. Your son has done enough damage today.”

  Mr. Mason looks from Philip to me, regret and anger in his eyes, and then he lowers his head, his voice rough.

  “We are both sorry, Charlotte.”

  As they move away, I stare at the empty room.

  Feeling Philip’s arm around my waist, his chest to my back, I can’t bear it. And I pull away, stumbling out through the side door. He doesn’t try to stop me, and I am glad for that.

  I don’t want to think of Erik right now.

  I didn’t want to think at all, right now.

  I stand at the entrance of the bride’s dressing room, and I recall walking out of here not long ago, so thrilled. Now, it just seems like a distant memory.

  Tearing the small crown of flowers from my head, I toss them to the ground.

  My dress is next, and I struggle to undo the zip when I hear the click of the lock, before a pair of hands takes the zipper and moves it down.

  I don’t have to turn around to know who it is. I don’t care that he is in the room. I feel safe with him.

  I let the dress pool around my feet and, clad only in my underwear and bra, I frantically start looking around the room for the clothes I was wearing when I arrived.

  Philip is as quiet as a ghost.

  “What do you need?”

  “M-my dress. Blue. It’s blue.” My voice is shaking so badly that I don’t know what to do.

  He hands me the dress and I slide into it. Then I stand there blindly, not knowing what to do next.

  “Here,” Philip grasps my hand and takes me to the seat in front of the vanity and forces me into it, “Sit.” A small flask appears in his hands and he thrusts it into mine. “This will help. Drink.”

  I obey immediately.

  The burning liquid rushes down my throat, making me gasp.

  He takes the flask back from me, and on hearing the knock on the door, he opens it to let a pale-faced Agatha and the priest in. The priest looks worried as he hands me some documents.

  “Are you sure about this, child?” I swallow and nod. He sighs. “Sign here, then. And on the next page.”

  I don’t know what I am signing, but my hand moves on its own accord. I might be signing my death certificate at this moment – not that I care.

  Philip also signs the papers and then tells Agatha, “Have the marriage announced in the papers immediately. Handle this.”

  Maybe that is the point I start coming out of my shock.

  “W-what?” I ask, my voice hoarse. “What are you doing?” Philip gives me a calm look.

  “Teaching Erik Mason a lesson he won’t forget anytime soon.”

  I want to say something, but I am still coming to terms with what happened, and am not thinking straight. My eyes are on Philip as he murmurs something to Agatha.

  He grew more mature. It is in the way he carries himself.

  His dirty blond hair is slicked back and his blue eyes, which used to be so wild and carefree, are now serious and angry. Agatha never told me he was coming to my wedding. I hadn’t even invited him.

  And yet, here he was. Swooping in, in the same manner he used to do when we were kids, taking charge of a situation, shielding me no matter the cost to himself.

  “No.”

  Everybody freezes and turn to look at me.

  Good God, I went and married the man! What had I done?!

  I stand up, my fists clenched at Philip’s raised brow.

  “No. You can’t do this. Whatever you’re doing, just stop it.”

  Philip smiles at me, a smile that I recognize, and I know in that very moment that I just lost this argument.

  “It’s already done.”

  The priest walks out, and Agatha follows him, leaving the two of us alone in the room.

  Philip takes off his coat and slings it over the coat rack, then tucks his hands in his pockets, studying me.

  “What did you do?” I ask, more quietly now. He doesn’t so much as blink.

  “He fucked with a McCoy. That’s never a wise move.” I take a startled step back.

  “I’m not part of your family, Philip. You didn’t have to—” He crosses the distance between us in two strides, until he is towering over me and I have to tilt my head back to look at him.

  “You have always been part of our family, Charlotte.” His smirk is my undoing. “And now, it’s official.” I push against his chest in a spurt of anger.

  “You can’t just marry me!” The words tear out of my throat, accusatory, as if I had not been part of this.

  I hate how he stands there so cool and composed. Like my life hasn’t just shattered before his eyes. As if my fiancé hadn’t just humiliated me in front of hundreds of people today, and him.

  At first I don’t feel the hot tears dripping down my cheeks, as I keep hitting his chest with my fists, my sobs broken.

  “You can’t just—you can’t—”

  My arms fall limp and I am surrounded by his warmth as he holds me to his chest, saying nothing, his chin resting on top of my head.

  I just cry, my tears not stopping. My abused heart tearing itself into even more pieces as the events of today start solidifying in my mind

  “I’m sorry,” I sob into his chest, “I’m so sorry.
” I don’t even know what I am apologizing for.

  He draws me closer to himself, and I feel the press of his lips on top of my head, as he murmurs, “I’ve got you, now. You’re okay.”

  I hate that his voice and those words give me comfort, but my body automatically relaxes in his embrace.

  The tears dry out at some point, my heart raw and my body feeling heavy. I close my eyes and use one of the techniques from my childhood to compose myself. Clearing my head, I start breathing in and out slowly, bringing my heartbeat back to normal. It takes me a few minutes, but when I open my eyes, I feel more like myself and I nudge Philip to release me.

  His eyes narrow at my calm expression, but he lets me take a few steps back.

  I walk over to the small washroom and close the door behind me. Staring at myself in the small mirror above the basin, I murmur, “You’ve been through much worse than this, Charlotte. If you got through all that, you can get through this.”

  It is easier said than done, but I haven’t spent the last decade building my life piece by piece, only to be broken down at being abandoned at the altar.

  My blood is boiling.

  No.

  I am not going to throw away everything I’ve worked so hard for.

  But as my eyes burn with tears and my heart aches, I know that it is going to take some more time to bounce back from this. Words aren’t going to be enough.

  I wash my face with cold water from the tap, feeling the layers of makeup come off. Wiping my face dry, I step out and see Philip standing there, worried.

  I am not ready to face him yet. I am not ready to acknowledge what he just did for me. I need time to process, and time to get my affairs in order. I need to figure out how to handle this whole mess.

  When he takes a step forward, I raise a hand.

  “Don’t.”

  Philip presses his lips in a thin line.

  “Charlotte…”

  I shake my head, wrapping my arms around myself to ward off the pain, forcing my voice to remain steady.

  “I don’t know why you did this. But my whole life has just been turned upside down.” He takes a step forward and a crack appears in my armor. I take one step back. “Please, go away. I have to figure this whole mess out and fix it.”

  “There’s nothing to be—” I glare at him through the tears that are in my eyes again, my voice thick when I interrupt him.

  “I don’t want—you can’t use me to get what you think is some sort of payback on Erik. This marriage is – I don’t even know what this is, I—” I take a deep breath to calm myself down, and say evenly, “You need to leave. Give me a few days, Philip. I need to sort through this whole mess and figure things out. You’ve just made things worse.”

  Philip just stares at me, his jaw muscles tight, and then he turns around and marches through the door.

  I walk over and lock the door behind him.

  My knees give way, and with my back against the door, I slide down to the ground. Wrapping my arms around my knees, I just weep.

  3

  Philip

  I stare at the numbers on the laptop screen, my eyes not focusing. All I am able to see is the way Charlotte looked as she wept in my arms, her delicate frame trembling against my body.

  Anger flows through me, and my eyes fly to the newspaper that lays on my desk, the headlines screaming at me.

  My younger sister is a whizz at PR. She is right now running her own company, her services in high demand.

  Agatha quickly took over and manipulated the news to suit my needs. Instead of claiming Charlotte to be a jilted bride, the news described their secret romance as being off the paper, and how Philip McCoy, the CEO of McCoy Security Enterprises, a billionaire and a bachelor, crashed his beloved’s wedding and tied the knot with her instead.

  And Philip McCoy already has a reputation for taking what he wanted.

  There is a slight mention of Erik Mason, the successful businessman, who was jilted by his fiancée upon seeing the man she was truly in love with. Despite the fact that Charlotte haven’t contacted me in two days, I smirk at how this must eat at Erik.

  There is no doubt in my mind that the man did this solely to humiliate Charlotte. Although I haven’t pieced all the pieces together, I did research on the man, and the woman he left with.

  Madison Williams was Erik’s girlfriend. And according to the investigation I conducted, in the two years that Charlotte and Erik had been together, Erik had still been seeing this Madison.

  The media had tried to reach out to Erik, but he flew off to Venice for the honeymoon he was supposed to have with Charlotte, with Madison at his side.

  He is going to have to come back at some point. And when he does, I will make sure to teach him a lesson he will never forget.

  “Well, look here. Our boy, all married and shit. Are we late for the wedding?”

  The thick Irish accent cut into my brooding, I wince and glance over to see a tall man with shaggy dark brown hair, and an amused look in his light blue eyes. His smile widens, revealing the dimple on his cheek, and he saunters in, casually throwing himself down on the couch.

  My office is situated on the top floor, and I wonder how Fergus found his way in, dressed as he is. His black shirt and black pants give him a lean, dangerous look, as do the tattoos on his arms which he has exposed, having rolled his sleeves to his elbows.

  In contrast to him, I rarely let my tattoos be exposed while I am at work, unless I am working privately in my office, like right now.

  “You heard, huh?” I study him.

  “We all did,” comes another voice, and two more men walk in, one of them frowning, and the other in the process of rolling up his sleeves.

  “So, ran away with the bride, did you?” Zayn leans against my desk, pointing to the article on the front page, his icy blue eyes gleaming.

  “What of it?” I challenge, my arms crossed against my chest. Zayn raises his dark brows, and rakes a hand through his dark black hair.

  “I’m not complaining, man. If that’s your new hobby, I support you.”

  “Fuck you.” I grin at him. Ian walks over, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans, his green eyes portraying his amusement.

  “You should have told us you were getting married. I would have taken the afternoon off.” His red hair is tied in a tiny ponytail at his nape, and his eyes laugh at me. I raise my hands in defeat.

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Yeah, we figured,” Zayn informs me. “It’s always a shock to find out one of my closest friends just got married in the news. You guys need to stop doing that.” However, even Zayn’s sarcasm isn’t enough to lighten my mood, and I find myself telling them what happened.

  After a long silence, Ian speaks up.

  “You haven’t thought this through, have you?”

  “You all remember Charlotte.” I sigh, twirling a pen between my fingers. “She used to follow us around when we were young, along with Agatha.” Fergus’s eyes darken.

  “I remember the bruises her old man used to put on her.”

  Zayn is quiet, but then says, “I remember her. She used to worship the ground you walked on.”

  I don’t say anything for a moment.

  “I hadn’t seen her in ten years. Yesterday was the first time I saw her, and it was like the abuse had just changed form. I couldn’t take it.”

  “How is marrying her a solution, Philip?” Zayn asks. “You pitied her, so you decided to marry her?”

  A wave of anger sweeps through me, but I bury it with the force I learnt from years of practice. I snap out, “I don’t pity her.”

  My childhood friend isn’t done.

  “Then explain to me what you plan on doing? Do you love this woman? Does she love you? Or are you just going to tie her to you in an attempt to protect her from the world?”

  This time I can’t hide the fury that contorts my face.

  “What if I do want to protect her?”

  It is the lev
el-headed Ian who says, “That doesn’t seem fair to her. You just forced her into a marriage she wasn’t prepared for, after she just got jilted by the man she wanted to marry. You ended up complicating her life even more, Philip.”

  I know what Ian is saying is not wrong, but a part of me doesn’t want to let go of Charlotte. I don’t understand why. I struggle to form a reason.

  “Charlotte is special.”

  “Special, as in, you-love-her special or special as in, she’s-an-angel-descended-from-heaven special?” Fergus stares at me. I stare out the glass window at the city of Chicago.

  “She has always been special. I can’t explain it.”

  “So, you have feelings for her?”

  I don’t know how to answer them.

  Getting a call from Charlotte, five days after the whole incident, gives me a lot to think about.

  As I sit in the café, eyeing the untouched cup of coffee in front of me, I wonder why I am playing along with whatever this is. I know what the right thing to do here is, but a part of me wonders, just wonders, what would happen if Charlotte refuses to do what I am going to ask of her.

  She has always been a quiet one.

  Growing up, it felt like Charlotte was always around. Her mother used to work in our house, and Charlotte, a toddler then, would follow her around. Since my parents were never home, there was nobody to mind a small child’s presence. Plus, she was the same age as Agatha, and the two became friends.

  Even after her mother’s death, Charlotte still came around.

  I had always been protective of both my sister and Charlotte, more so of the latter because every time I saw her, her arms and legs would be sporting purplish bruises. But even as I had grown more and more protective towards the girl, I had not once looked at her as a sister.

  The sound of a pair of heels on the polished floor makes me look up, and once again the cool, composed beauty of Charlotte takes my breath away.

  She is wearing a top that is so soft that it looks like it will rip at the gentlest touch. Her skirt is long and modest, flirting around her toned legs.

  As I stand up and pull out her chair, as manners dictate, she looks surprised at my gesture, and then hesitatingly takes the seat I offer her. She looks better. Her skin has always been fair, but that deathly pallor is gone, replaced by a faint rosiness.