Erwin, misinterpreting Bonnie's retreat as a sign of fear, puffed out his chest. He turned his attention to the man in the wheelchair, his expression a cocktail of arrogance and pity.
"You can't even stand up," he sneered, his voice loud enough for everyone in the front pews to hear. "How are you supposed to give her a life? You're nothing but a broken man in a chair."
The insult hung in the sacred air of the church. Bonnie's father started forward, his face red with rage, but Arlington's cold, quiet laugh stopped him.
It wasn't a laugh of amusement. It was a sound of pure, dismissive contempt.
Arlington leaned forward slightly, and the force of his personality seemed to suck the air out of the room. "A pathetic little man," he said, his voice calm and lethal. "The kind who can't accept rejection, so he tries to burn down everything he can't have."
Stung by the truth, Erwin's face contorted in a snarl. His pride shattered, he lunged, reaching for Bonnie again. "She's coming with me!"
His hand never made it.
In a movement so fast it was almost a blur, Arlington's upper body coiled and struck. His left hand shot out, a viper of flesh and bone, and clamped down on Erwin's outstretched wrist.
A sickening crack echoed in the sudden silence of the altar, sharp and brutal enough for the front pews to hear clearly.
Erwin screamed, a high-pitched shriek of agony, and his knees buckled. He crashed to the marble floor of the altar, forced into a kneeling position before Arlington's wheelchair.
A wave of shock silenced the entire church. No one had expected this. No one could have imagined the raw, brutal strength contained in the upper body of a man who couldn't use his legs.
Itzel's hand flew to her mouth, a strangled gasp escaping her lips. Her eyes were wide with a new kind of fear.
The camera flashes were relentless, a blinding strobe effect capturing Erwin's pathetic, crumpled form.
Arlington applied a fraction more pressure. Erwin sobbed, tears of pain and humiliation streaming down his face. "Please, stop, you're breaking it!"
"Touch my wife again," Arlington said, his voice a low, deadly whisper, "and I will tear this arm from your body."
Bonnie moved instinctively, stepping behind Arlington's wheelchair and placing her hands firmly on his shoulders. It was a gesture of solidarity, a public alignment.
In a voice only he could hear, she breathed, "Thank you."
Arlington released his grip. Erwin collapsed onto the floor like a puppet with its strings cut, cradling his now-swollen and purpling wrist.
Security guards swarmed the altar, hauling Erwin to his feet and dragging him, kicking and screaming, out of the church. His father, his face a mask of shame, hurried after them.
Arlington calmly adjusted the cuff of his sleeve, as if he had just swatted a fly. He turned his head slightly to look up at Bonnie, and for the first time, she saw a glimmer of something like approval in his stormy eyes.
The priest, pale and stammering, asked, "Shall... shall we continue?"
"Finish it," Arlington commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument.
During the ring exchange, Bonnie's hand was perfectly steady as she slid the heavy platinum band onto Arlington's finger. This was it. Her shield. Her weapon.
When the priest finally said, "You may now kiss the bride," Arlington didn't try to stand. He simply took her hand, turned it over, and pressed his lips to the back of it. It wasn't a kiss of passion, but of possession. A seal on their contract.
