Once The Rejected Bride, Now His Eternal Nightmare

Ashley point of view

My world is crumbling. The white roses, the music, the sea of smiling faces-it all turns to ash in my mouth. This is my wedding day, and the man standing at the altar, the love of my life, has just destroyed me.

The priest's voice is calm and steady. "Mr. Cole Evans, do you take Miss Ashley Marsh to be your lawfully wedded wife? Will you love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health, for richer, for poorer, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?"

I look at Cole. My hands are trembling, so I clutch my bouquet of gardenias tighter, their sweet scent now making me feel sick. He is looking at me, and he gives me that smile. That same soft, shy smile he gave me the very first day we met. My heart, which was pounding like a trapped bird, suddenly stills. That smile is my anchor. Everything is going to be okay.

I let out a small breath I didn't know I was holding. This is it.

And then he speaks.

"No."

The word is quiet, but it echoes like a thunderclap in the perfect silence of the cathedral. For a second, there is nothing. No sound, no breath, no heartbeat.

Then, a collective, horrified gasp ripples through the room. My own breath stops. It feels like a fist has reached into my chest and seized my lungs.

I stare at him. "Cole...?" My voice is a tiny, broken thing.

He doesn't look at me anymore. He looks past me, his jaw tight. "I said no. I will not marry her."

The priest stutters. "M-Mr. Evans, I..."

"I can never marry the likes of you, Ashley," Cole continues, his voice cold and clear, amplified by the microphone. It's a voice I don't recognize. "You are naive. You are weak. You cannot be my bride. You would be an embarrassment."

Each word is a physical blow. Naive. Weak. Embarrassment. They spin in my head. This isn't happening. This is a nightmare.

My mind fractures. I'm not here in this stifling dress. I'm suddenly back there, three years ago, on a stormy New York evening. The rain is coming down in sheets, and I'm soaked, hopelessly trying to hail a cab. A sleek black car pulls up, and the window rolls down.

"You look like you're fighting a losing battle," a warm voice says. It's him. Cole Evans. He's smiling, not with pity, but with kind amusement. "Please, let me give you a ride. It's no trouble."

In the warm, dry car, he offers me his handkerchief. "I'm Cole," he says.

"Ashley,"I whisper, shivering.

"Ashley,"he repeats, and my name sounds like a safe place. He looks at me, really looks at me, and says, "You have the most honest eyes I've ever seen."

The memory is so vivid I can smell the wet wool of my coat. That was the beginning. His promises play in