July 18th, 2026
At the St. Mary's Cathedral - 3:06 PM
He was standing in the middle of St. Mary's Cathedral, surrounded by opulence, elegance, and hundreds of watchful eyes — but all he could feel was a growing, uncontrollable panic.
His heart slammed against his ribs like it was trying to escape his chest.
His lungs burned with each shallow breath.
Sweat poured down his temple, soaking into the collar of the expensive suit.
And worst of all—
Ruth.
Her eyes were locked on his.
That veil, that smile from moments ago — it was gone now. Her expression had shifted to something unreadable. It wasn't warmth. It wasn't joy.
It was possession.
Like he was a trophy that had finally been recovered.
"I need...I need to get out. I can't take this."
Ian's vision blurred slightly. His fingers trembled uncontrollably at his sides. His legs felt like stone and jelly at the same time. Each breath felt like he was inhaling through a straw.
He hadn't had a panic attack like this since—
High school.
Since she left him.
Since his world fell apart.
The church was spinning.
Then, without warning, he bolted.
His leather shoes clacked against the polished cathedral floor as he turned and rushed toward the exit. His jacket flapped behind him. Gasps echoed through the chamber like a chorus of whispers.
"Hey, what's wrong with that guy?"
"Is he okay?"
"Is he crying?"
"Is he drunk?"
Dozens of faces turned, some with confusion, some with concern, others with judgment.
Ian didn't look back.
He couldn't.
His chest heaved as he pushed through the tall cathedral doors, bursting into the daylight like a man escaping a prison. The sun hit his face, too bright, too warm. The air outside was fresh, but it didn't help. He stumbled down the stone steps, grabbing at the handrail like a drowning man reaching for a lifeline.
His lungs cried for air. His knees wobbled. He nearly collapsed but forced himself forward.
"Move… just move," he whispered through gritted teeth.
Inside the cathedral, Ruth stood frozen at the altar.
The organist had stopped playing.
All eyes were no longer on the bride. They were staring toward the exit. Whispering. Turning.
But Ruth? She never looked away.
She stared at the doors, her gaze sharp and narrow — like a hawk locked on prey flying too far from the nest.
Her hand trembled slightly, clutching her bouquet.
The guests had begun to murmur again, but the man standing beside her—tall, confident, broad-shouldered in a custom white tuxedo—finally spoke.
Leo Kawasaki, CEO of Kawasaki Holdings, one of the most powerful conglomerates in Tokyo, turned his head toward Ruth with a furrowed brow.
"What was that?" he asked, his deep voice echoing in the silence.
"Do you know that man?" He asked Ruth.
Ruth didn't answer.
Her lips remained closed.
Her eyes never blinked.
Leo leaned slightly closer.
"Ruth, did you invite him?" Leo asked her again.
The silence between them thickened.
Finally, Ruth turned her head slowly toward her fiancé.
And her smile — the warm, graceful one she wore moments earlier — was gone.
Now, her face was cold. Pale. As lifeless as a porcelain doll's.
"It doesn't matter," she said softly, almost emotionlessly.
But Leo felt it. The shift.
"Ruth, what the hell's going on?" Leo was puzzled and flummoxed.
Her gaze drifted past him again toward the entrance. Her lips curled into something unnatural. Not a smile. Not a frown.
Something in-between.
Outside, Ian sat hunched over on a bench at the edge of the church courtyard.
His chest still rose and fell rapidly, but the worst of the panic had passed. A cool breeze swept over him, helping dry the sweat on his face.
"What the hell just happened…?"
He buried his face into his hands.
That look in her eyes.
She knew he was coming. The gifts. The invitation. The perfume. The suit.
She wanted him there. Maybe even needed him there.
But why?
"She's getting married. She moved on. This… this is a power play. This is revenge. Or something worse…"
Ian's mind spiraled again. He shook his head and tried to calm himself. Logic. Focus. Anything to ground him.
But then the image of Ruth's stare returned.
That look of ownership.
That subtle curl of her lips when she saw him walk in.
That soulless gaze when Leo spoke to her.
"She hasn't changed," Ian whispered.
And yet — part of him knew.
This wasn't about love.
It was about control.
She had found him. After all these years. She planned every step. From the letter. The perfume. The outfit. The location.
This wasn't a wedding.
It was a trap.
Back inside the cathedral, Leo was no longer smiling.
He excused himself from the altar and walked with calm authority down the aisle toward the entrance. Guests turned, confused. Ruth watched him, her bouquet still tight in her hands.
As Leo disappeared behind the cathedral doors, she whispered to herself:
Why did you run, Ian? We were so close."
She blinked slowly.
Then, for the first time all day, she smiled.
But it wasn't the sweet smile from before.
It was the smile of someone with unfinished business.