Sunlight streamed through the massive stained-glass windows of the Holy Trinity Church, casting vibrant pools of red and blue light across the center aisle.
As Brooke stepped forward, the entire congregation rose to their feet. Hundreds of eyes locked onto her.
Brooke kept her chin perfectly level. The thick lace veil covered her face, hiding the absolute zero temperature of her eyes. She walked with a slow, measured pace, her arm linked with her father's.
To her right, standing near the altar, was the bridal party. Livia was wearing a blush-pink silk dress. She had a tissue pressed to the corner of her eye, playing the role of the emotional, supportive sister to perfection.
Brooke felt her stomach churn with disgust.
At the end of the aisle stood Gaven. He looked like a prince in his tailored black tuxedo. As Brooke approached, he offered her a smile so full of fake devotion it made Brooke's teeth ache.
Prescott stopped at the altar. He took Brooke's hand and placed it into Gaven's.
"Take care of her," Prescott murmured, playing his part for the cameras flashing in the back rows.
Gaven's fingers closed around Brooke's. His palm was slightly sweaty. The physical contact sent a violent shudder of revulsion up Brooke's arm. She had to use every ounce of her willpower not to rip her hand away.
They turned to face the priest.
The church fell into a hushed silence, broken only by the solemn, echoing voice of the priest reading the traditional vows.
Brooke stared straight ahead at the golden cross on the wall. She was counting the seconds in her head.
The priest turned to Gaven. "Do you, Gaven Cunningham, take Brooke Rivers to be your lawfully wedded wife, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health?"
Gaven didn't even blink. He projected his voice so the entire church could hear his devotion.
"I do."
A soft murmur of approval rippled through the pews.
The priest turned to Brooke.
"And do you, Brooke Rivers, take Gaven Cunningham to be your lawfully wedded husband?"
The silence stretched.
One second. Two seconds. Three seconds.
The air in the church grew thick and heavy. Guests began to shift uncomfortably in their seats. The silence became deafening.
Gaven squeezed her hand tightly. He leaned in slightly, his voice a harsh whisper meant only for her ears. "Brooke. Speak."
Brooke slowly turned her head. She looked at him through the white mesh of her veil.
The corner of her mouth curled upward into a sharp, mocking smirk.
She pulled her hand out of his grip with a violent jerk. She took a step back. Before anyone could react or reach out to stop her, she lunged sideways, snatching the microphone from the secondary stand that had been set up specifically for the couple's vows. She gripped the cold metal tightly and brought it to her lips.
She took a deep breath. Her voice rang out, crystal clear and hard as diamonds.
"I don't."
The two words echoed off the vaulted ceilings.
The church erupted. Gasps of shock tore through the crowd. Whispers exploded into loud murmurs.
Gaven's face drained of all color. His perfect mask shattered. He reached out to grab her arm. "Brooke, what the hell are you doing?"
Brooke slapped his hand away.
Livia gasped loudly from the sidelines, covering her mouth with both hands, though her eyes gleamed with a sick, triumphant thrill.
In the front row, Prescott Rivers shot up from his seat. His face was purple with rage. He stormed up the steps of the altar.
"Brooke!" Prescott roared, his voice booming over the crowd. "Stop this nonsense right now!"
Brooke didn't back down. She turned to face her father, her chest heaving.
"Is this a wedding, or a corporate merger?" Brooke shouted into the microphone. "You're selling me to a man who is actively trying to bankrupt my mother's company!"
The reporters in the back of the church went wild. The rapid-fire clicking of camera shutters sounded like a swarm of locusts. Flashbulbs strobed continuously, lighting up the altar.
Prescott's eyes narrowed into furious slits. The family reputation was being slaughtered on live television.
He lunged forward. He raised his right hand and swung it with brutal force.
The sharp crack of his palm connecting with Brooke's cheek echoed unnaturally in the sudden, horrified silence of the church. Through the microphone she still clutched, her sharp intake of breath was the only sound heard, a stark, painful hiss that magnified the brutality of the blow.
The force of the blow snapped Brooke's head to the side. Her veil was ripped from her hair, fluttering to the marble floor.
A sharp, stinging pain exploded across her left cheek. She tasted fresh blood pooling in her mouth from where her teeth had cut into her inner lip.
She didn't cry. She didn't fall.
Brooke slowly turned her face back to her father. She ran her tongue over her bleeding lip, her eyes burning with a terrifying, icy fire.
Gaven stepped forward, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. "Prescott, please, let's just calm down-"
Brooke shot Gaven a glare so lethal he actually took a step back.
"That slap," Brooke said, her voice dropping to a chillingly calm register, "just severed the last tie I had to the Rivers family."
She reached into the hidden slit in her heavy tulle skirt. Her fingers closed around the cold plastic of the USB drive.
She pulled it out and held it high in the air, the small device catching the light of the flashbulbs.
"You want to know why I won't marry him?" Brooke asked the silent, staring crowd. "The show is just getting started."
