At the Altar, Something Stirred in the Bride’s Veil! Groom Blanched – Guests Stared in Horror…

Ellie sat by the bay window of their cosy Bristol flat, her gaze lost in the gentle sway of autumn leaves outside. The vibrant reds and golds of Clifton’s tree-lined streets danced in the breeze, the distant outline of the Clifton Suspension Bridge just visible through the mist. Her mind swirled with thoughts of her upcoming wedding to James, excitement bubbling within, yet a quiet shadow lingered—a remnant of old wounds she couldn’t shake. James, sensing her mood, wrapped an arm around her, his voice soft but earnest.

At the Altar, Something Stirred in the Bride’s Veil! Groom Blanched – Guests Stared in Horror…
— Ellie, alright, my love, have you thought about inviting your mum to the wedding? It’s a big day, isn’t it? One of those once-in-a-lifetime moments.

Ellie’s fingers tightened around her mug of Yorkshire Tea, the warmth grounding her as she leaned into James’s shoulder. The question stirred a familiar ache, one she’d buried deep. After a pause, she replied, her tone firm but tinged with sadness.

— No, James. I don’t want her there. I’m not forcing myself to do that.

James shifted, his brow furrowing. He wasn’t one to push, but family meant the world to him, and he couldn’t fathom Ellie cutting hers out.

— But she’s your mum, El. You’re her only daughter. Don’t you think it’s time to let go of whatever happened? Pride’s the only thing keeping you apart, isn’t it?

Ellie sighed, her eyes tracing the steam rising from her tea. The weight of her past pressed against her chest, and her voice carried a quiet bitterness.

— James, I love you, but please—stay out of this part of my life. None of my family will be there. They don’t deserve to be.

Her words hung heavy, and James fell silent, a knot of worry forming in his stomach. There was something in Ellie’s past, something raw and unresolved, but he didn’t dare pry further—not now, not when their wedding was so close.

James’s mind drifted back to that lively friend’s birthday party in Stokes Croft, where he’d first met Ellie. The café’s mismatched furniture and indie music had set the scene for their instant connection. Ellie, with her quick wit and warm smile, had stood out among the crowd. She was studying English Literature at the University of Bristol, juggling her degree with a part-time job translating articles for a local magazine. Her ambition shone through, and unlike others, she never seemed fazed by James’s background.

James came from a well-off family—his dad owned a property development firm in Bristol. Growing up in a posh Clifton townhouse, he’d had it all: private school, holidays in Cornwall, and a shiny new Mini Cooper for his 18th birthday. But wealth came with a catch. Every girl he’d dated at university seemed to change once they learned about his family’s money. Suddenly, it was all about expensive dinners at Harbourside restaurants or hints for designer handbags from Cabot Circus. It wore him down, making him wary of relationships. By his final year, he’d sworn off anything serious, tired of being seen as a human cashpoint.

— Ta for the chips, but you’re more than your dad’s money, you know, Ellie had said one evening, as they shared fish and chips on Brandon Hill, the city lights twinkling below. — I like you for you, not your wallet.

Her words had hit him hard, breaking through his cynicism. Ellie was different. She didn’t care about flashy nights out or luxury gifts. She’d turn up in charity-shop finds, styled with such flair they rivalled high-end fashion, and she’d rather stroll through Ashton Court than hit a swanky bar. That night, as they laughed over soggy chips, James knew she was special.

But now, her refusal to invite her mum to the wedding gnawed at him. He’d never met her family—she kept them at arm’s length, even from him. All he knew was that Ellie had grown up in the small Somerset village of Cheddar, raised by a single mum who worked as a librarian. She’d earned a scholarship to the University of Bristol, relying on grit and late-night revision to get there. Her independence was fierce, but so was her secrecy.

— Maybe it’s time to let her in, just a bit, James ventured, squeezing her hand. — Your mum must miss you, yeah?

Ellie’s jaw tightened, her eyes flickering with something dark—hurt, maybe, or anger.

— James, drop it. Please. My family’s my business, not yours.

Her tone was final, and James backed off, though unease settled in his chest. As they sat in silence, the Bristol sunset painting the sky in hues of pink and gold, he couldn’t shake the feeling that Ellie’s past held secrets that might change everything.

26 мая, 2025
As the Bristol sunset faded, James sat quietly beside Ellie, the weight of her words settling like a stone in his chest. Her fierce independence was one of the things he loved most, but her refusal to even mention her mum left him uneasy. He wanted to understand, to bridge the gap, but Ellie’s walls were high, built from years of pain she wouldn’t share. Still, he couldn’t help but think of his own family—his mum, Patricia, who was planning the wedding’s roses from a Devon nursery with military precision.

— Ellie, I get that it’s your call, James said gently, trying one last time. — But weddings bring people together, don’t they? Maybe it’s a chance to mend things.

Ellie’s eyes flashed, and she pulled away, setting her mug of Yorkshire Tea on the windowsill overlooking the Cut with a clink.

— James, enough. I said no. My mum’s not part of my life, and that’s how it’s staying.

Her voice was sharp, cutting through the quiet of their flat. James nodded, swallowing his questions. He’d grown up surrounded by family—Sunday roasts at his parents’ Clifton townhouse, noisy Christmases in the Cotswolds. Ellie’s isolation was foreign to him, and it hurt to see her so guarded. He’d learned bits about her past over time: she’d grown up in Cheddar, a sleepy Somerset village known for its gorge and cheese. Her mum, a librarian, had raised her alone after her dad left before she was born. Ellie had clawed her way to the University of Bristol with sheer determination, earning top marks and a scholarship. She worked freelance, translating articles, and always looked polished, even in second-hand clothes from St Nicholas Market.

That strength drew James to her, but so did her mystery. Unlike his mates, who wore their lives on their sleeves, Ellie was a puzzle. She had no close friends, no one she’d call in a crisis. At university, she was friendly but distant, always keeping people at arm’s length. James had once asked about her childhood, hoping to know more.

— Not much to tell, she’d said, shrugging. — Mum worked hard, but we never had much. I studied, got out, and that’s that.

Her tone had shut the conversation down, and he hadn’t pushed since. Now, with their wedding looming, Patricia was asking questions too. Over a cup of tea at her pristine kitchen island, she’d probed with a warm smile.

— Ellie’s lovely, love, but what about her family? Who are they? Surely her mum should be at the wedding?

— She doesn’t talk about them, Mum, James had replied, stirring his tea. — Her dad’s gone, and her mum… they’re not close.

Patricia’s eyes narrowed, her mind already turning. — Well, that’s not right, is it? Family’s family. We’ll need to sort this out before the big day.

James sighed, knowing his mum’s “sorting” meant meddling. But as he looked at Ellie now, staring out at the Bristol night, he wondered if Patricia was right. What had happened to make Ellie so cold about her own mum?

Ellie’s silence filled the Bristol flat, the distant hum of traffic along the Cut and the faint glow of streetlights barely piercing the window. James wanted to reach out, to pull her close and unravel the pain she kept hidden, but her guarded expression stopped him. He’d always admired her strength—how she’d built a life from nothing, turning heads with her sharp mind and effortless style. But now, her refusal to let anyone from her past near their wedding felt like a wall he couldn’t climb. As the night deepened, Patricia’s words echoed in his mind: *Family’s family.* His mum wasn’t one to let things lie, and James knew she’d already set her sights on Ellie’s mum.

The next morning, over breakfast at their favourite café in Clifton Village, Patricia brought it up again. The smell of fresh croissants and coffee filled the air, but her tone was all business.

— James, love, I’ve been thinking, she said, stirring her latte with a flourish. — Ellie’s mum needs to be at the wedding. It’s not right, her being left out. What’s the story there, anyway?

James sighed, buttering his sourdough toast. — I don’t know, Mum. Ellie won’t talk about it. She grew up in Cheddar with her mum, no dad. They don’t speak anymore, and she’s dead set against inviting her.

Patricia’s eyes gleamed with determination. — Well, that’s no good, is it? Weddings are for mending fences. I reckon we should pay her mum a visit, find out what’s what. Maybe we can bring them back together.

— Mum, you can’t just show up in Cheddar, James said, half-laughing. — It’s a long drive to Cheddar, and Ellie’d be livid if she found out.

— Nonsense, Patricia waved him off. — I’ll handle it. You just get me her mum’s address. We’ll pop down, have a chat, and maybe even hand her an invitation. Family’s worth it, James.

He shook his head, knowing there was no stopping her. Patricia was a force—organising charity galas and garden parties with the same zeal she now aimed at Ellie’s past. Back at the flat, Ellie was her usual whirlwind, juggling a translation deadline and wedding plans. She’d found a vintage dress from a shop in Park Street for £200 and was thrilled, her eyes sparkling as she showed James a photo.

— Look at this, James! It’s perfect, isn’t it? she said, her smile bright. — I can’t wait to wear it.

— Stunning, love, he replied, forcing a smile. But his mind was elsewhere, picturing Patricia’s plan unfolding. He’d peeked at Ellie’s old letters once, tucked away in a drawer—unopened envelopes from her mum, postmarked Cheddar. The address was burned into his memory, and he knew Patricia would pounce on it.

As Ellie hummed, planning their honeymoon in Devon, James felt a pang of guilt. Should he warn her about Patricia’s scheme? Or let his mum dig into the past, hoping it might heal Ellie’s wounds? Either way, he sensed trouble brewing, like clouds gathering over the Somerset hills.

The Bristol morning was crisp, sunlight filtering through the flat’s curtains as Ellie sipped her coffee, oblivious to the storm James felt brewing. He watched her scroll through honeymoon options for Devon, her enthusiasm a stark contrast to the knot in his chest. Patricia’s plan to visit Ellie’s mum in Cheddar weighed heavily on him. He knew his mum meant well, but meddling in Ellie’s past could unravel everything. Still, the idea of Ellie facing her mum—and maybe finding peace—tugged at him. He decided to go along with it, hoping it wouldn’t backfire.

By noon, James and Patricia were in his Mini Cooper, winding through Somerset’s rolling hills toward Cheddar. The radio played softly, but Patricia’s voice cut through.

— You did the right thing, love, she said, adjusting her scarf. — We’ll have a proper chat with Ellie’s mum—Susan, isn’t it? Find out why they’re estranged. Weddings fix families, you’ll see.

James gripped the wheel, unease creeping in. — I hope so, Mum. But Ellie’s private about this. If she finds out, she’ll be gutted.

— Pfft, Patricia scoffed. — She’ll thank us later. Now, keep your eyes on the road.

The drive took just over an hour, and soon they pulled up outside a modest cottage on Cheddar’s outskirts, near the gorge. The garden was a riot of colour—roses and lavender blooming vibrantly, worth a £10 bouquet—though the cottage’s paint was peeling, and the windows looked tired. James double-checked the address from Ellie’s unopened letters, his heart racing.

— This is it, he muttered. — Susan Harper’s place.

They stepped out, the scent of flowers heavy in the air. Before they could knock, a woman in her late fifties appeared at the gate, her apron dusted with flour. Her face, lined but kind, paled as she saw them.

— Hello? Can I help you? she asked, her Somerset accent soft.

— Hi, I’m James, Ellie’s fiancé, James said, forcing a smile. — This is my mum, Patricia. We’ve come to talk… about Ellie.

Susan’s eyes widened, a flicker of hope mixed with fear. — Is she alright? Has something happened?

— No, no, she’s fine, Patricia said quickly. — We just want to understand things. About you and her. Can we come in?

Susan hesitated, then nodded. — Right, come through. I’ll put the kettle on.

Inside, the cottage was spotless but dated—faded wallpaper, a worn sofa, and a small table set with a teapot, digestives, and homemade jam. Susan moved with quiet grace, pouring tea as she spoke.

— I haven’t seen Ellie in three years, she said, her voice trembling. — She’s my only girl, but she doesn’t want me in her life. I write, I call, but… nothing.

Patricia leaned forward, her eyes sharp but kind. — Why, Susan? What happened between you two?

Susan’s hands shook as she set down her cup. — It’s a long story. Where do I even start?

James braced himself, sensing the truth was about to change everything.

Susan’s cottage near Cheddar’s market square felt like a time capsule, its faded charm heavy with unspoken stories. The scent of lavender from the garden mingled with the warmth of brewing tea, but the air was thick with tension. James sat on the worn sofa, his eyes darting between Susan’s trembling hands and Patricia’s keen gaze. Susan, who spent mornings tending her garden before work, began to unravel the past, her voice soft and cracked with emotion.

— I raised Ellie alone, Susan said, staring at her teacup. — Her dad left when I told him I was pregnant. I was nearly forty, working at the village library. My mum was ill, needed constant care, but I wanted a child so badly. Ellie was my world.

Patricia nodded, her face softening. — That can’t have been easy, love. Go on.

Susan sighed, her eyes distant. — We never had much. My wages barely covered the bills, and after Mum passed, it was just me and Ellie in this cottage. I tried to give her everything—clothes, books, extra English lessons for her exams. She was bright, always top of her class. But as she got older, she… changed.

James leaned forward, his chest tight. — Changed how?

— She wanted more, Susan said, her voice breaking. — Better clothes, a fancy phone, things I couldn’t afford. She’d see her mates with Nike trainers or iPads and come home angry. Said I should’ve earned more before having her. Called me old, said I embarrassed her. I sold my mum’s old necklace to buy her a laptop for uni, but it was never enough.

Patricia’s brow furrowed. — Kids can be cruel, but that’s harsh. Did she say why she felt so ashamed?

Susan’s eyes welled up. — She hated our life here. Hated the cottage, the village, me. Said her mates thought I was her gran, not her mum. I was too old, too poor. She worked hard, got into Bristol Uni on a scholarship, but she cut me off. I send letters, £100 a month sometimes. She never replies.

James’s mouth fell open. — You still send her money? But Ellie’s got a job, a good one. She doesn’t need it.

Susan shrugged, a sad smile flickering. — She’s my daughter. I can’t stop hoping she’ll come back. I sell veg and eggs at the market, keep the garden going. It’s enough for me, but I want her to have more.

Patricia reached for Susan’s hand. — You’ve done more than enough, Susan. She’s lucky to have you, even if she doesn’t see it.

— Have you tried visiting her? James asked, his voice gentle.

— Once, Susan whispered. — Three years ago, I went to Bristol. She said she was too busy. I waited outside her flat, but she never came out. I just… left.

The room fell silent, the weight of Susan’s words sinking in. James felt a chill, picturing Ellie’s cold dismissal of this woman who’d given everything. Patricia’s eyes narrowed, her mind already plotting.

— We’ll fix this, Susan, she said firmly. — Ellie needs to face you, and we’ll make sure she does.

26 мая, 2025
The weight of Susan’s story hung heavy in her Cheddar cottage, the ticking of an old clock the only sound breaking the silence. James’s heart ached for her, a woman who’d poured everything into her daughter only to be shut out. He glanced at Patricia, whose usual confidence seemed tempered by Susan’s quiet pain. The tea had gone cold, but Susan’s words still burned, painting a picture of Ellie that James struggled to reconcile with the woman he loved.

— Susan, that’s… a lot, James said softly. — I had no idea Ellie felt that way. She never talks about you or Cheddar.

Susan’s lips trembled, but she managed a nod. — She’s always been driven, my Ellie. Wanted a bigger life than this village could give. I don’t blame her for that. I just wish she’d let me in, even a little.

Patricia’s eyes gleamed with resolve, her voice firm but kind. — She will, Susan. We’ll make sure of it. Your daughter needs to see what she’s left behind. Would you come to the wedding if we invited you?

Susan’s gaze dropped to her hands, twisted in her apron. — I’d love to see her happy, but… I don’t know if she’d want me there. I’d only upset her.

— Nonsense, Patricia said, leaning forward. — You’re her mum. She needs you, whether she admits it or not. We’ll sort this out, won’t we, James?

James hesitated, picturing Ellie’s fierce reaction if she learned they’d gone behind her back. — Mum, we need to tread carefully. Ellie’s dead set on keeping her family out. We can’t just spring this on her.

— We won’t, love, Patricia said, her tone sharp with purpose. — We’ll invite Susan quietly, give Ellie a chance to come round. She’s not heartless, James. She’s just… lost, maybe.

Susan stood, fetching a tin of homemade scones from the kitchen. — Here, have these. I bake when I’m anxious. Keeps my hands busy.

James took a scone, its warmth comforting. — Thanks, Susan. Look, we’ll talk to Ellie, okay? No promises, but we’ll try to make this right.

As they spoke, James’s mind raced. Ellie’s ambition, her polished exterior, her distance from everyone—Susan’s story explained so much. But it also raised questions. Why was Ellie still taking money from her mum, a woman she claimed to want nothing from? He thought of their Bristol flat, Ellie’s Kurt Geiger shoes tucked neatly by the door, her carefree laughter over a Bristol Balti takeaway. Was there a side to her he’d missed?

The drive back to Bristol was quiet, the Somerset hills fading into dusk. Patricia broke the silence, her voice low but commanding.

— James, love, I’m not sure about this wedding anymore. Ellie’s got a hardness to her I didn’t see before.

James gripped the wheel, his chest tightening. — I know, Mum. But I love her. Maybe we can help her heal.

Patricia sighed, staring out at the darkening sky. — Maybe. But we need to know who she really is, James. For your sake.

Back in Bristol, Ellie was planning their wedding in their flat overlooking the Cut, unaware that her past was catching up.

In their Bristol flat overlooking the Cut, Ellie hummed softly, arranging wedding invites from Paperchase on the kitchen table. The glow of fairy lights strung across the window, reflecting off the Cut, cast a warm sheen on her vintage dress sketches, her excitement palpable. But beneath her cheerful facade, a calculated edge simmered. James was her ticket to a life she’d always craved—far from the cramped Cheddar cottage and her mum’s endless sacrifices. She’d played her part perfectly: the charming, independent uni student who didn’t care about his wealth. But in truth, every step was planned, every smile rehearsed.

As she sipped a glass of Tesco Finest prosecco at £8 a bottle, Ellie let herself relax. James was out, likely with his nosy mum, Patricia, who never stopped prying. *Let them have their little chats,* she thought, smirking. She’d worked too hard to let Patricia’s suspicions derail her. The wedding was weeks away, and with it, a job at James’s dad’s firm—a stepping stone to the top. She’d charm her way up, maybe even nudge James aside one day. Failure wasn’t an option.

Her phone buzzed, a bank notification: £100 from Susan Harper. Ellie’s jaw tightened, her heart racing as she deleted the notification. Her mum’s money was pocket change compared to James’s world, but she hadn’t told Susan to stop sending it. Why should she? It was the least Susan owed her for a childhood of hand-me-downs and pitying looks from village kids. Ellie’s mind drifted to her carefully curated life—Kurt Geiger shoes, freelance gigs, a flat that screamed success. She’d earned it all, hadn’t she?

Meanwhile, James and Patricia pulled into Bristol, the weight of Susan’s story clinging to them. James’s hands shook as he parked the Mini Cooper, Susan’s tearful voice echoing in his head. Ellie, his Ellie, had turned her back on a mum who’d given everything. Worse, she was still taking her money, living a lie. He thought of their evenings sharing Bristol Balti takeaways, her laughter so warm, so real. Was it all an act?

— Mum, what do we do? James asked, his voice low. — I love her, but… this changes things.

Patricia’s face was stern, her eyes sharp. — We confront her, love. Gently, mind. She needs to know we’ve met Susan. If she’s got a heart, she’ll come clean.

— And if she doesn’t? James whispered, dread settling in his chest.

— Then you rethink this wedding, Patricia said firmly. — You deserve someone who’s honest, James. Not someone playing a game.

Back at the flat, Ellie greeted James with a radiant smile, offering a glass of prosecco. — Missed you, love! How’s your day been?

James hesitated, Susan’s words burning in his mind. He took the glass, his throat tight. — Ellie, we need to talk. About your mum.

Her smile faltered, eyes narrowing. — What about her? I told you, she’s not part of my life.

— We went to Cheddar today, James said, voice steady. — We met Susan.

Ellie’s glass slipped, shattering on the floor. The truth was out, and nothing would be the same.

The shattered prosecco glass lay in glinting shards across the Bristol flat’s floor, mirroring the fracture in Ellie’s composure. Her eyes blazed, darting between James and the fairy lights flickering over the Cut, catching the glow of a passing barge. The air was thick with tension, the hum of distant traffic barely audible. James stood frozen, his heart racing, as Ellie’s voice cut through the silence, her hands trembling as she snapped.

— You had no right, James! she said, stepping back. — My mum’s none of your business. Why would you go snooping behind my back?

— Ellie, we weren’t snooping, James said, his voice steady but strained. — I love you. I just wanted to understand why you’ve cut her out. Susan’s heartbroken. She told us everything—how she raised you alone, how she still sends you money.

Ellie’s face twisted, a mix of fury and shame. — Money? You think this is about money? You don’t get it, do you? Growing up in that crumbling Cheddar cottage, wearing charity-shop rags, watching my mates flaunt their new iPhones and holidays to Spain. I was a joke, James. My mum couldn’t give me anything but excuses.

James’s chest tightened. — She gave you everything she had, Ellie. Sold her mum’s £50 necklace for your laptop, worked herself to the bone. She loves you, even now.

— Love? Ellie scoffed, her voice bitter. — Love doesn’t pay the bills. She chose to have me when she was too old, too poor. I had to claw my way out, make something of myself. I don’t owe her anything.

Patricia, who’d lingered by the door, stepped forward, her voice calm but firm. — Ellie, love, that’s not fair. Susan’s done nothing but try to reach you. You’re taking her money while shutting her out. That’s not right.

Ellie’s eyes flashed. — Stay out of this, Patricia. You’ve got no idea what it’s like to scrape by, to be laughed at for your mum’s age, for living in a dump. I built this life—my degree, my job, this flat. I earned it.

James shook his head, Susan’s tearful face vivid in his mind. — You built it on lies, Ellie. You told me you didn’t need your mum’s money, but you’re still taking it. And what about us? Have you been honest with me, or am I just a step to your big plans?

Ellie froze, her breath catching. For a moment, vulnerability flickered in her eyes, but it vanished, replaced by a cold glare. — You’ve got it all, James—fancy house, dad’s firm, Mini Cooper. You’ll never understand what it’s like to fight for every scrap. Yeah, I wanted more. Is that a crime?

The room fell silent, the weight of her words sinking in. James felt a chill, seeing a side of Ellie he’d never known—ruthless, calculating. He thought of their nights on Brandon Hill, her laughter over soggy chips. Was it all a performance?

— I need time, James said, his voice hollow. — I don’t know who you are anymore.

Ellie’s jaw clenched, but she said nothing as he walked out, the door clicking shut behind him. Alone, she sank onto the sofa, staring at the shattered glass, her carefully built world cracking at the seams.

Ellie sat alone in the Bristol flat, the shattered prosecco glass a stark reminder of the confrontation. The fairy lights over the Cut flickered, casting shadows across the wedding invites from Paperchase costing £2 each, scattered on the table. Her chest heaved with a mix of anger and fear—she’d been exposed, her carefully crafted facade crumbling. James’s words echoed in her mind: *I don’t know who you are anymore.* She’d played her role too well, but Patricia’s meddling had undone it all. Her fingers gripping the prosecco bottle as she sipped the last of her Tesco Finest prosecco, Ellie’s mind raced. She wasn’t done yet.

Outside, Bristol’s autumn breeze rustled through Park Street, carrying the scent of coffee from Harbourside, where Ellie wandered the next day, her thoughts as tangled as the leaves underfoot. She’d always been a fighter, clawing her way from Cheddar’s poverty to this life of Kurt Geiger shoes and Bristol Balti takeaways. James was her path to more—his dad’s firm, a corner office, a life where she’d never count pennies again. But now, with the wedding in jeopardy, she needed a new plan. Patricia had seen through her, and James was slipping away.

— I underestimated that woman, Ellie muttered, pausing by Boston Tea Party in Clifton Village. — Thought she was just a posh mum with her scones and roses.

She replayed her childhood: the damp Cheddar cottage, her mum’s tired eyes, the whispers of village kids calling her mum “gran.” Susan’s sacrifices—selling that £50 necklace, sending £100 monthly—felt like chains, not love. Ellie had vowed never to be that poor, that pitied. She’d cut ties, built a new self at Bristol Uni, and snagged James with charm and ambition. But had she miscalculated?

Back at the flat, James was at his parents’ Clifton townhouse, nursing a cup of Yorkshire Tea. Patricia’s words from the drive home haunted him.

— She’s not who you thought, love, Patricia had said, her voice gentle but firm. — You need to decide if you can trust her.

James stared at the family photos lining the mantelpiece—Christmases in the Cotswolds, his dad’s proud grin at his graduation. He’d believed Ellie was different, her laughter on Brandon Hill so genuine. But Susan’s story, the money, the lies—it all painted a colder picture. Was Ellie with him for love or for his dad’s firm?

— I need to know the truth, he told Patricia, his voice raw. — I’ll talk to her again. One last time.

Patricia nodded, her eyes soft. — Be careful, James. Guard your heart.

That evening, James returned to the flat, finding Ellie tidying the wedding invites, her smile forced.

— We need to finish this, Ellie, he said, his tone steady. — Are you with me because you love me, or because of what I can give you?

Ellie’s eyes met his, a flicker of defiance. — I love you, James. But I won’t apologise for wanting a better life. Can you handle that?

James’s heart dropped. Her words held truth, but also a chilling ambition. As he left, the wedding’s future hung in the balance, and Ellie’s next move would decide everything.