I Asked For Divorce in My Wedding

Crimson ribbons coiled about the Church's pillars, the fragrance of lilies blending with the guests' perfumes, stifling me until my throat tightened. My fingertips absentmindedly brushed the pearls edging the wedding gown's train, each as cold as the stones before my parents' graves. Raymond Luke's hand pressed against my waist; its warmth, paradoxically, conjured the chill of an ice cellar. Just last night, he vowed 'forever and always' in my ear, his tone tender enough to drown a soul, yet the sweat on his palm now betrayed a heart heavy with uncertainty. The host stepped onto the stage clutching the microphone, his smile as contrived as a mannequin in a department store window. His deliberate adjustment of his tie conveyed a forced composure, clearly a performance to endure this wedding long since commandeered by capital. "Miss Wendy Scott, may I ask what your greatest wish after marriage is?" A spotlight suddenly struck my face, so blinding I could hardly open my eyes—yet it revealed with cruel clarity the varied expressions of the guests below: curiosity, greed, schadenfreude. Before hundreds of eyes, I pronounced one word with absolute clarity: "Divorce." Her voice was not loud, yet it pierced the false warmth of the Church like an ice pick. The clamor of the entire hall froze in an instant, even the sound of breathing seemed to vanish. The light from the crystal chandeliers reflected on the guests' stunned faces, like a surreal pantomime. I saw the host nearly drop the microphone; he opened his mouth, but after a long moment, no complete sentence followed. The elders of the Luke family in the front row grew ashen, and Mr. Clark, an old acquaintance of the Lukes, instinctively touched his briefcase, likely containing the contract with the Luke Group. The guests in the front row widened their eyes, faces etched with disbelief. Someone quietly took out their phone to capture the moment, the screen lights flickering intermittently in the dim corners.