Chapter 3: Blame Games and Broken Vows

When I heard the white-bearded elder’s question, I tried to sound calm: "Can you get him off me first?"

My voice was steady, but inside, my heart was pounding like a drumline at halftime.

The sobbing got even louder. If that was even possible.

Megan’s wails echoed off the stained glass, ratcheting up the tension another notch. I almost felt bad—almost.

When the white-bearded elder helped Ethan up, he came to, looking dazed, like he’d just been hit by a truck.

Ethan blinked, rubbing his eyes as if he’d just woken from a bad dream. His confusion was so genuine, I almost wanted to apologize for dragging him into this mess.

I slowly sat up, fixed my hair, and went full drama mode. One hand covered my face, the other clutched my chest. I struck an exaggerated, tearful pose.

I channeled every melodramatic scene I’d ever seen—think Scarlett O’Hara meets daytime soap.

"I don’t know what happened. Ethan suddenly hugged me and pinned me down for no reason. I’m just a girl—I couldn’t fight him off at all… I might as well just die!"

I let my voice crack at the end, hoping the elders would buy my innocent act. If I could just outpace the blame, maybe I’d live to see another day.

If I get ahead of the story, maybe the blame won’t catch me.

It was a gamble, but sometimes you have to play the hand you’re dealt.

Ethan flinched at my accusation, the realization dawning slow. When it hit, panic flashed in his eyes.

His cheeks flushed, and his mouth opened and closed like he was trying to find the right words. For a moment, I almost felt sorry for him—almost.

The sobbing girl shrieked, "You’re the one who drugged Ethan and tried to seduce him!"

Her voice was shrill, bouncing off the rafters. I shot her a glare, channeling every ounce of righteous indignation I could muster.

My face flushed, eyes wide: "You! How can you accuse me without proof? Fine, you all outnumber me—I can’t win. My reputation’s already trashed anyway. Let me say goodbye to my dad, and I’ll end it all!"

I clutched my chest dramatically, letting my voice rise just enough to sound desperate but not unhinged. If I played the victim well enough, maybe they’d back off.

The white-bearded elder was shocked and quickly scolded the sobbing girl: "Megan, don’t talk nonsense!"

His voice was stern, the kind of tone that brooked no argument. Megan shrank back, her tears drying up in an instant.

Megan? I quickly searched my memory for the original plot. Just a minor side character—no threat.

I mentally checked her off the list of people to worry about. She was just background noise, not a real obstacle.

The white-bearded elder seemed to be the head pastor. He put on a kindly smile and said to me, "Sweetheart, don’t be upset, and don’t talk about dying over this. There’s got to be some misunderstanding…"

He reached out, patting my hand like a grandfather would. His eyes were soft, but I could see the worry lurking beneath the surface.

I pretended to wipe away tears, looking pitiful. "Everyone saw what just happened. If word gets out…"

I let my voice trail off, hoping the implication would do the heavy lifting. Scandal was the last thing any of them wanted.

"No, no, no! I swear, no one will breathe a word of this!" the pastor blurted out.

The pastor’s voice was urgent, almost pleading. He looked around at the others, daring anyone to contradict him.

…Wait, if this doesn’t get out, how am I supposed to get what I want?

I frowned, realizing my plan might have a fatal flaw. If no one knew, how could I leverage the situation?

I racked my brain for another excuse, wondering if I should mention my demon-possessed dad to scare them. Suddenly, someone dropped to their knees with a thud.

The sound echoed through the room, drawing everyone’s attention in an instant. I turned, startled, as the drama took another sharp left turn.

It was Ethan. His face turned red, then white, as if he was fighting something inside.

He looked like he was on the verge of passing out, fists clenched at his sides.

The room held its breath, waiting for his next move.

"Pastor, don’t worry. I’ll take responsibility for this!" he blurted out.

His voice rang out, clear and determined. For a second, I saw a flash of something fierce in his eyes—like he was daring anyone to argue.

The pastor was stunned. "How will you take responsibility?" he asked, voice shaky.

He blinked, clearly caught off guard. The elders murmured among themselves. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife.

Ethan looked at me with a resentful gaze, closed his eyes, steeled himself, and said loudly, "Please, Pastor, pick a date for me and Aubrey to get married!"

The words hung in the air, heavy and final. My heart skipped a beat. I barely managed to hide my shock.

I was a little shocked, and a little thrilled. Isn’t this a little too easy? Where’s the challenge?

I tried to keep my poker face, but inside, I was practically doing cartwheels. Was it really going to be this simple?

Looking at him, I had to admit he didn’t seem dumb. Could it be that my friend’s soul is sharper?

I studied his face, searching for any sign of recognition. Was it really Ethan, or was my friend pulling the strings?

Ethan’s face was red, his eyes rimmed and watery, as if he’d suffered a huge humiliation.

He wouldn’t meet my gaze, jaw clenched tight. The room was so quiet, I could hear the tick of the old clock on the wall.

The pastor and the group of white-bearded elders were all stunned. The room went awkwardly silent.

No one seemed to know what to say. Even Megan had gone silent, her mouth hanging open in disbelief.

Finally, the sobbing girl Megan’s shrill wail broke the silence: "No—I won’t allow it—"

She stamped her foot, voice trembling with outrage. The elders shot her warning looks, but she refused to back down.

Side character, stay in your lane.

I almost wanted to say it out loud, but settled for a withering glare. Some people just don’t know when to quit.

So in the end, that’s how it was settled. Huh.

Just like that, the decision was made. The elders nodded, some looking relieved, others resigned.

After thinking it over, I realized: they’re afraid my dad will find out I was bullied, lose his mind, and let the demon loose. Then it wouldn’t just be St. Gabriel’s problem anymore.

If word got out, the whole town would be at risk. Better to tie things up neatly than risk another disaster.

For some reason, St. Gabriel’s was even more anxious than I was. In less than two weeks, they had everything ready for the wedding.

I barely had time to catch my breath before the invitations were sent out and the church ladies started gossiping. It was a whirlwind of white lace, borrowed jewelry, and hurried whispers.

During that time, I ate, drank, and napped, completely undisturbed—living the good life.

I lounged in my attic room, snacking on homemade cookies and sipping sweet tea. For once, nobody bothered me—not even Megan.