Save Me - Chapter 7: Chapter 8

Dahlia
When Robert called me on my mother's old phone—the one we'd only ever used for emergencies—and told me the wedding was now just days away instead of three weeks as originally planned, my heart sank.
I wanted to scream, to cry at the unfairness of it all. But I didn't. After Robert hung up, I turned to look at my mother lying in the hospital bed beside me, connected to a network of beeping machines. She looked so pale, so fragile, a heartbreaking contrast to the vibrant woman she used to be. Mom needed life support to survive, and she needed me.
I would marry the devil himself if it meant I could save her.
The dreaded wedding day arrived. Robert had ordered me to show up at city hall by two o'clock sharp and "wear a white dress." I didn't own a plain white dress, so that morning, I rummaged through my mother's old suitcase, the one I kept under my bed, hoping she had something I could wear.
Everything about the wedding confused me. I had expected the Hathaways to insist on a grand affair where I would be put into a large, uncomfortable dress and hustled down an endless aisle, under the gaze of a thousand wealthy strangers. But instead, it would be a small, fuss-free ceremony at a courthouse. While I still wasn't exactly thrilled, a quiet wedding came as a relief. At least I could choose my own dress, as long as it was white.
Finally, I found something buried at the bottom of the suitcase. Praying it was a dress, I carefully unfolded the fabric, revealing a beautiful garment. Mesmerized, I ran my fingers along the delicate material. It was a dress with a silk underlayer and a single lace overlay, adorned with intricate beading. The bodice had a V-neckline, small butterfly sleeves, and a lace-up back.
On closer inspection, I realized it wasn't truly white. It was an extremely pale pink.
As I stood to examine it fully, a small piece of paper fell from the folds of the dress. Curious, I picked it up and unfolded it, revealing a note:
I can't wait to marry you, Julie. M.
My breath caught in my throat. Julie? M? Julie must have been short for Juliette—my mother's real name. But who was M? Had my mother been married before? Why hadn't she told me any of this?
I shook my head, pushing the spiraling thoughts aside. Not now, Dahlia, there will be time to figure this out later.
Tucking the note back into the suitcase, I tried on the dress. The hem fell to my feet and the lace-up back allowed me to adjust the bodice to fit my frame. The dress was elegant, light, and airy—perfect. More than that, wearing it made me feel as though my mother were with me, her spirit wrapping me in warmth.
Before heading to the train station, I wandered into the abandoned community garden near my apartment and picked a handful of wild flowers. I braided them into a crown, stalling for time, but also because I knew it was something my mother would have done for me on my actual wedding day. It felt right.
I arrived at city hall a few minutes before 2 p.m., meeting my uncle outside as instructed. He only grunted in acknowledgment before we walked inside, my heart racing with every step. I kept my eyes glued to the floor, trying to steady my breathing.
If it weren't for my mother, I would have turned around and bolted.
Lost in my thoughts, I didn't notice Robert had stopped walking until I bumped into him. He turned, his cold eyes sending a chill down my spine.
"He's already inside," he said, nodding toward the oak double doors. "This will go perfectly. No stunts, Dahlia. If you mess this up, your mother dies."
With that, he pushed open the doors.
I took a deep breath, forcing the tears back, and followed him inside.
The room resembled a small chapel, with two columns, three rows of pews, and brown carpeting. Beige walls reflected the light streaming through a row of rectangular windows, bathing the room in an almost warm glow.
I rarely dreamed about my wedding day, but when I had, I always pictured being surrounded by nature, a reflection of the life my mother had instilled in me. This room was nothing like that— there wasn't even a single plant in sight.
I kept my gaze low, staring at the floor as I followed Robert down the aisle. When I arrived at the altar, my eyes caught a glimpse of polished shoes, but something felt different. There was an energy in the air, a powerful charge I hadn't felt before when I first met Vincent.
And the scent... it wasn't the overpowering cologne from the night we first met. This was subtler yet still dominant—dark, rich, and intoxicating. I resisted the urge to step closer to take a better whiff of it.
What is wrong with me?
I could feel him staring at me, his burning gaze making my skin prickle with heat. My breathing quickened.
The officiant began the ceremony, her words muffled in my ears as though I were underwater. My hands twisted nervously in my lap, my heart hammering harder with every second. Panic gnawed at me.
What was I thinking, I couldn't do this.
Suddenly, I felt warm hands gripping my upper arms. Startled, I looked up and locked eyes with the most vivid green I had ever seen.
The man standing before me was not Vincent Hathaway.
Shock rendered me speechless, my mind blank as I tried to make sense of the situation. He held my gaze, and when he breathed in deeply, I mirrored him, slowly calming as the tightness in my chest began to ease.
"Mr. Black, please repeat after me," the officiant said.
Mr. Black. The name rang in my ears, but I still couldn't fully comprehend what was happening.
He lifted my hand gently, slipping a ring onto my finger, and I felt the cool metal press against my skin. His voice was deep and smooth as he spoke, "I take you, Dahlia Saunders, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until parted by death."
The way he said the words, with such conviction, took me aback. I didn't know this man, had never met him before. Yet, the intensity in his green eyes felt as if he knew me—truly knew me.
Dazed, I took the ring that was handed to me and, with trembling fingers, slipped it onto his hand, stumbling through the vows not quite hearing what I was reciting.
"By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride," the officiant declared with a bright smile, oblivious to the look of terror on my face.
Demien Black—his name now clear in my mind—stepped toward me. My heart pounded as I shut my eyes, bracing for the kiss. I felt his warm hands graze my arms, sending an involuntary shiver down my spine. Then his lips brushed my forehead, tender and unexpected. I waited, expecting him to kiss my lips next, but it never came. Confused, I opened my eyes, but he was gone.
There was no trace of him in the small room—it was as though he had vanished into thin air.