Chapter Four: Vows and Shadows
The office buzzed with its usual clatter—fingers tapping keyboards, printers humming, phones ringing—and yet, to Nuria, it all felt like a quiet murmur, an echo from another life. She stood by the breakroom kettle, pouring hot water into her ceramic mug, the scent of hibiscus tea drifting upward. Her reflection in the microwave's stainless steel surface revealed more than just soft chestnut waves pinned loosely behind her ears or the subtle shimmer of her green eyes—it showed a woman holding a secret.
Her heart fluttered in her chest. In less than seventy-two hours, she would marry Asa. Her Asa. The man whose eyes made her feel like she mattered, like she was real, like someone finally saw her beyond the shadows she was born into. And yet here she stood, invisible again.
"You think she got that ring by filing invoices?" someone whispered from the corridor. Nuria didn't have to turn to know it was Marsha—the office's self-appointed queen bee, whose designer heels clicked like accusations wherever she went.
"She's definitely under the boss's desk," another added, laughing.
Nuria lifted her mug slowly, willing her hands to stay steady.
Only Mira, her closest friend in the building, dared walk past and give her a subtle wink. Mira, who'd taken Nuria under her wing during the early days, when all she did was shrink into corners and double-check every spreadsheet like her life depended on it. Which, back then, it sort of did.
The memory of her first day at the company rose vividly in her mind—the whispers, the sidelong glances, the receptionist who rolled her eyes when Nuria asked for directions. Only Mira had taken her to lunch, cracking jokes about the state of the salad bar while Nuria clutched her tray like it was a lifeline. That day, Nuria had promised herself two things: to never let pride rob her of kindness, and to never prove anyone right by quitting.
They had no idea. No one knew what she'd survived. Or that the quiet girl in the corner was about to become the wife of the man whose name was printed on every company contract.
She sipped her tea, smiled at her reflection.
Let them talk.
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The chapel stood bathed in warm golden light as sunlight filtered through stained-glass windows. The scent of jasmine and roses filled the air. Cream and gold streamers trailed from the pews, and candlelight flickered in tall glass columns lining the aisle. The air buzzed with excitement. Nuria stood at the entrance, a vision of understated beauty in an ivory dress of flowing silk, the bodice delicately embroidered with tiny pearls, her hair woven with subtle glints of silver thread.
Her mother, Mirelle, stood at her side, fingers tightly intertwined with Nuria's. Her eyes shimmered with pride—and pain.
"You look like heaven," Mirelle whispered, her voice shaky.
"Don't cry, Mama," Nuria whispered back, blinking back her own tears.
From the side, Mira—dressed in a deep plum bridesmaid gown—watched the two, a soft smile gracing her lips. She had just mentioned, in her usual chatty way, how it was too bad Nuria's father couldn't be here. "Would've made it more traditional," she'd said.
But the moment her gaze flicked from Nuria's trembling hands to the tightness in Mirelle's jaw, she stopped herself. She sensed it—the crack in the silence, the old, unspoken wound between mother and daughter. She gave Nuria a quick hug instead and whispered, "You've got this."
The organ began to play. Soft murmurs fell into hush.
Mirelle lifted Nuria's veil, brushed a kiss onto her forehead, and then gently pulled her arm through hers. Together, they walked down the aisle.
Asa stood waiting at the altar, dressed in a tailored black suit, no tie, just a soft ivory shirt beneath the open collar—clean, simple, breathtaking. His eyes were locked on her.
His parents sat in the front pew, beaming. His mother,Vivienne Leclair, sat there elegantly with a clutched lace handkerchief. His father's smile was calm and steady. Behind them, Asa's other relatives who she had never met sat there in their beautiful attires, and other close friends and family members of hers—whispered excitedly.
Every eye turned to Nuria, and yet she only saw him.
When she reached the altar, Mirelle handed her over and gave Asa a look that said, "She's my whole world." He nodded solemnly.
The pastor stepped forward, his voice kind and rich. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in the sight of God, and in the presence of these witnesses, to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony..."
Nuria barely heard him. Her heart pounded. Asa's hand was warm around hers.
Then it was time for the vows.
Asa looked into her eyes, his voice steady. "Nuria—when I first saw you, I saw a girl who didn't belong to anyone's expectations. And then I realized—you were exactly what I didn't know I needed. You challenge me. You ground me. You give me peace. I vow to never take your light for granted. And I vow to love you, fiercely, always, even on the days when it's hard."
Her breath caught.
"Nuria?" the pastor said gently.
She blinked, then smiled.
"I never thought I would find someone like you. Someone who saw me, not just the version of me that I show the world. I don't know if love can heal everything, but I believe it can make the darkness bearable. I vow to never stop choosing you. And I vow that, even in silence, my heart will always speak your name."
The pastor closed the book and smiled. "By the power vested in me by God and this chapel, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Asa, you may kiss the bride."
Asa leaned forward, lifted her veil slowly, and kissed her softly.
The guests erupted in applause, confetti rained down, and Mira was already crying into her tissue.
Nuria felt like she was floating.
They walked down the aisle hand-in-hand, as husband and wife. And though a small part of her still heard the whispers of the past echoing in her ears, another part of her—brighter, louder—said she'd stepped into something new.
She just didn't know that something dark had followed them in.