IZO’S BRIDE

Chapter 1: His bride

The grand cathedral bells tolled in the distance, a deep, resonant sound that seemed to ripple across the city. Golden sunlight spilled through the stained glass windows, painting the polished marble floor in hues of ruby, emerald, and sapphire.

The scent of lilies and roses arranged in towering bouquets that lined the aisle, mixed with the faint sweetness of burning incense. Every seat was filled.

Audrey Hepburn's name was on everyone's lips.

She was the bride, the girl of twenty four who had captivated the heart of a man twice her age, and today she was about to walk down the aisle toward him.

Her hands trembled slightly, but they were steadied by the firm, warm grip of her elder sister, Yvonne. At thirty, Yvonne had always been her anchor. The one who stood taller when Audrey felt small, the one who spoke when Audrey's voice faltered. Today, as the murmurs quieted and the organ swelled, Yvonne held her little sister's hand tighter, guiding her step by step toward a future that seemed almost unreal.

"Breathe," Yvonne whispered, her lips curving in a reassuring smile. "You're glowing. He won't take his eyes off you."

Audrey managed a small, breathless laugh. Her veil framed her face like a soft halo, her dark hair pinned elegantly beneath a crown of pearls. The gown, ivory satin embroidered with crystals, flowed like liquid light, trailing behind her in a cascade of fabric that shimmered under the chandeliers. Every movement was poetry, and every guest turned in awe.

At the end of the aisle, Izo Whitmore waited.

Fifty years old billionaire, broad shouldered, and dignified, Izo was not a man who blended into a crowd. He stood like a statue carved from confidence, silver streaking his temples, a trim beard outlining his jaw. His black tuxedo was perfectly tailored, his bowtie crisp. But it wasn't his wealth or stature that made Audrey's heart race.

It was the way he looked at her, as though the cathedral had emptied and she was the only soul alive.

Beside him, the priest lifted his Bible. Behind him, two young faces gleamed with joy: a boy and a girl, barely older than Audrey herself. His children.

The boy, Alexander, clapped first, breaking protocol, his laughter echoing in the cathedral. His sister, Isabella, followed, her golden curls bouncing as she joined in, her eyes shining with delight. Their excitement was so genuine that even the stiffest guests chuckled and applauded softly. Audrey's eyes met theirs, and they smiled as though welcoming her with open arms. For a moment, her nerves melted into warmth.

She could see it so clearly: a family reborn, a second chance at happiness.

As she reached the altar, Yvonne released her hand, pressing a kiss to her cheek before stepping aside. Audrey's fingers slipped into Izo's, warm and steady. His touch grounded her.

"You're beautiful," he murmured, low enough that only she could hear.

"And you," she whispered back, unable to stop the tears brimming in her eyes.

The priest raised his voice, and the cathedral fell silent.

"We gather here today in the sight of God and these witnesses to unite Izo Whitmore and Audrey Hepburn in holy matrimony..."

The words washed over her like a hymn, sacred and weighty. Audrey's heart thumped against her ribs, each vow pulling her deeper into a promise she wanted to last forever.

The priest turned to Izo first. "Do you, Izo Whitmore, take Audrey Hepburn to be your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer, for poorer, for better or worse, till death do you part?"

Izo's deep voice carried across the cathedral, firm and unwavering. "I do."

The priest then looked to Audrey. "And do you, Audrey Hepburn, take Izo Whitmore to be your lawfully wedded husband? To have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer, for poorer, for better or worse, till death do you part?"

Audrey's breath trembled. Her hands were damp, her chest tight, but her voice came clear. "I do."

The priest blessed their rings, and Izo slipped the band of white gold onto her finger with steady hands, his eyes never leaving hers. Audrey, her fingers trembling, slid his ring into place, feeling the enormity of the vow bind them like a seal.

When the priest finally declared, "By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife," the cathedral erupted into applause. The organ swelled, the children clapped wildly, and Alexander even let out a joyous cheer. Isabella squealed, clasping her hands together. Cameras flashed like stars, capturing the moment as Izo cupped Audrey's face, kissing her beneath the vaulted ceiling.

It was perfect.

Almost.

Outside the cathedral, beyond the heavy oak doors and the velvet ropes, a lady lingered at the gates.

Her auburn hair whipped in the breeze, her crimson lips drawn into a bitter line. She wore a designer coat, but it hung loosely on her, as though her body had forgotten the luxury it once commanded. Claudia Whitmore-once Mrs. Whitmore-was no longer welcome inside.

She pressed forward anyway, ignoring the guards who stiffened at her approach. Her eyes sharp, green, and unyielding were locked on the scene inside, glimpsed through the high windows and the wide open doors that carried music and laughter out into the streets.

Her children were in there. Her ex husband was in there. And the girl replacing her... was in there too.

The guards stepped in her path. "Ma'am, you're not allowed..."

"I'm their mother," she hissed, her voice laced with venom. "Do you hear me? Their mother."

"Orders are orders," one guard said firmly.

"You can't keep me from seeing my own children." Claudia's voice rose, raw, desperate. But the sound of cheers from within drowned her out. The moment of vows, of kisses and applause, stole away what little dignity she clung to.

The guards pushed her back, firm but not rough. Yet every step away from the cathedral felt like a blade twisting in her chest. Claudia's fists clenched, her nails digging into her palms. She wanted to scream. She wanted to claw her way inside, to shatter the glassy perfection of the scene unfolding without her.

But instead, she stayed.

She paced.

Back and forth along the gates, her heels clicking on the stone pavement, her breath coming sharp and uneven. The crowd of onlookers glanced her way, whispering, but she barely noticed. She was too busy watching, too busy seething.

Her eyes darted to the sky, to the rooftops, to the corners where no one looked. Her fingers curled against her lips, biting at her nails until they stung. There was a tremor in her jaw, a silent rage that simmered beneath her skin.

She stopped.

Lifted her gaze to the towering cathedral.

And she began to count under her breath.

"Three..." Her voice was a whisper, dark and steady.

"Two..." Her fingers drummed against her arm, her eyes sharp and calculating.

"One..."