There, beneath the layers of delicate lace and satin, were not feet—but wheels. Two perfectly polished, mechanical wheels, carefully concealed by fabric and illusion. The bride was rolling, not walking.
Gasps erupted across the church.
The bride froze—her eyes wide, lips trembling. The groom’s smile faded into stunned disbelief.
A man from the second row stood abruptly, knocking over his chair. “She’s not who she says she is!” he shouted. “That’s not Lily!”
Confusion turned into chaos. Whispers spread like wildfire. I looked at the groom, who was pale now, his hands clenched at his sides. “What’s going on?” he asked in a broken voice.
Before anyone could answer, the bride—whoever she truly was—turned and ran. Or rather, rolled swiftly down the aisle. Her dress fluttered behind her like a ghost escaping judgment.
The organist stopped playing. The officiant dropped his Bible. The groom looked at me, demanding an explanation I didn’t have—yet.
I sprinted after her.
Out the church doors, down the steps, and into the courtyard, she bolted toward a black van parked near the edge of the lawn. As I closed in, the van’s back doors flung open—and a tall, suited man stepped out, motioning for her to hurry.
“Lily!” I shouted. “Who are you?! What is this?!”
She turned once before entering the van, her veil lifting in the breeze. Her face—familiar, yet slightly off—showed a glimmer of something that made my blood run cold: regret.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “He wasn’t supposed to find out.”
Then the van roared to life and peeled away.
The real Lily had vanished weeks ago, we later discovered—kidnapped and replaced by a lookalike, a decoy with uncanny technology and a secret mission. But why? What did they want with her? And who were they?
All I knew was, this wedding had just turned into a mystery far deeper than anyone could have imagined.
And I had every intention of uncovering the truth.