It was supposed to be the perfect wedding.
The chandeliers of Saint Auden's Cathedral burned gold. Violins wept sweetly through the air. Roses bled red along the aisle, matching the lipstick of the high society guests packed into the pews.
Everyone who was anyone in Manhattan was there—watching, whispering, waiting for the "I do" of the century.
And then the doors burst open.
BOOM.
A gust of wind swept in. And with it… her.
A woman in a blood-red dress, slit high enough to tease sin and stitched tight enough to stir scandal, walked in like she owned the world—or planned to burn it down.
The music stopped.
Mouths dropped.
Phones rose.
She didn't flinch.
Didn't pause.
Didn't blink.
She walked like a storm—slow, cruel, and deliberate—down the center of a wedding she wasn't invited to, toward the man who used to love her… and the sister who had replaced her.
The bride gasped.
The groom—Nathaniel Valez—froze.
His black eyes locked on the woman in red.
Something flickered in them.
Confusion.
Then rage.
Then something else… something darker.
She reached the altar.
Stopped inches away from the white veil and vows.
Pulled off her sunglasses.
And whispered—
"You owe me a life, Nathaniel."
"I came to collect."
The cathedral choked on silence.
Gasps hissed.
One woman fainted.
A child cried.
And Nathaniel…
He stared at her like he was staring at a ghost. And in a way, he was.
Because the woman standing in front of him wasn't just a guest crashing his wedding.
She was Alfreda Moretti.
The girl he left behind in flames six years ago.
The one they all buried.
The one they swore was dead.
But she wasn't.
She was very much alive—and here to ruin him.
Nathaniel's fiancée—Celeste Voss—his bride-to-be and Alfreda's own flesh and blood, staggered backward.
Her voice cracked like thin glass.
"Alfie…?"
But the woman in red didn't even look at her.
Her eyes were on him.
Just him.
"Security!" someone barked.
Two men moved in.
But Nathaniel raised his hand. "No."
He stepped forward, slow as ice melting, stopping just a breath away from her.
His voice was low. Controlled.
"You've made a mistake," he said. "Whoever you are, this stunt is over."
Alfreda smiled.
A cruel, familiar smile.
She reached into her clutch, pulled out a tiny velvet box, and opened it.
Inside: a charred engagement ring.
The same one he gave her.
The same one found in the ashes of the Voss estate six years ago.
"You left this behind," she said softly. "Right after locking the doors."
Flashback (brief glimpse):
Screams.
Smoke.
Alfreda pounding on the door.
The handle scorching her palms.
A shadow outside, walking away.
Nathaniel.
Back to Present.
He stared at the ring.
The crowd whispered louder.
His voice was barely a growl.
"You're not her."
She took off her glove.
Showed him the scar—the one on her wrist. The one only he knew about. The one he bandaged with his own hand… and then burned with his betrayal.
"I'm her."
She leaned in.
Breath on his neck.
"I'm the ghost you thought you buried. The fire you thought you escaped."
He stared at her like he was seeing the devil herself.
And she smiled.
"Happy wedding day, Nathaniel."
Celeste collapsed.
Right there, in her thousand-dollar heels and designer gown, the bride crumbled like porcelain onto the marble floor.
Gasps turned into screams.
Cameras flashed like lightning.
Chaos ignited.
Alfreda didn't flinch.
She kept her eyes locked on Nathaniel—her voice slicing through the frenzy.
"I didn't come alone," she whispered.
Nathaniel's jaw clenched. "What?"
A man in a black coat stepped into the church. He wasn't on the guest list either. But he moved like he had nothing to fear.
The gun holstered under his jacket glinted briefly in the light.
Security moved—but froze when Alfreda raised her hand.
"One step closer and he fires," she said, eyes still locked on Nathaniel.
More screams. A woman sobbed into her clutch.
"Now," she continued, "either you cancel this wedding… or I show them what you really did six years ago."
Nathaniel's nostrils flared.
"You're bluffing."
"Try me."
She opened her clutch again—and pulled out an old, blackened photo. The kind that should've turned to ash in a fire.
It showed two people.
A younger Nathaniel, shirtless, scarred.
And beside him…
A girl with a burn on her arm. A terrified look in her eyes.
And handcuffs.
Real ones.
Alfreda tossed the photo onto the altar like it was nothing more than confetti.
The crowd went silent.
Even the priest took a step back.
"I kept your secrets once, Nathaniel," she said. "And I paid for them in blood. This time, I'll let the world bleed with me."
FLASHBACK — The Fire (Longer Scene)
Alfreda had screamed his name as the flames swallowed the ballroom. Her father's voice echoed behind her—coughing, choking.
But the doors were locked.
The windows barred.
She had crawled through smoke, dragging her cousin's lifeless body, only to reach the exit and see him.
Nathaniel.
Watching.
Unmoving.
No mercy.
No rescue.
Just a cold nod—and the click of a lighter before he turned and walked away.
BACK TO PRESENT
"I should kill you right now," Nathaniel growled.
Alfreda tilted her head. "You already tried."
Suddenly, Celeste stirred—still on the floor, her eyes fluttering open.
But the moment her gaze landed on her sister, her lips twisted.
"You're lying," she croaked. "He loved you… He cried for you…"
Alfreda finally looked at her.
"You're just his next mistake. You still believe his tears?" She looked back to Nathaniel. "Tell her what you told me the night before the fire. Tell her how many graves you've filled for your empire. Or should I?"
Nathaniel's jaw ticked, but he said nothing.
So Alfreda did it for him.
"One hundred seventeen."
The crowd gasped.
She leaned in again, whispering loud enough for all to hear—
"That's the number of bodies buried under this church. Your father built it as a crypt. You used it as a tomb."
Someone screamed in the pews.
A reporter fainted.
A priest dropped his Bible.
And still—Alfreda didn't blink.
She took off her heels, tossed them aside, and stepped closer to the man who betrayed her.
Her voice dropped into a chilling whisper.
"This isn't revenge, Nathaniel. This is resurrection. You buried the wrong girl."
And then—
BOOM.
The stained glass window shattered.
Smoke bombs rolled in.
Screams echoed.
Chaos reigned.
And Alfreda was gone.
Vanished into the smoke like a ghost.
But not without leaving a note pinned to Nathaniel's chest.
In red ink:
"This was just the rehearsal. Wait for the real show."