From Mob Princess to Mugshot Photographer novel Chapter 65

**Chapter 9**

Leah had finally achieved her dream.

With unwavering determination, she insisted on a wedding that was nothing short of extravagant.

She craved the world to recognize her as Stellan Vance’s legitimate wife, a title she felt was rightfully hers.

Stellan, caught in a whirlwind of her demands, offered no resistance. He went along with her plans, as if ticking off a list of tasks—each one a mere obligation to fulfill.

The wedding unfolded in a spectacle of grandeur. Leah’s gown, an exquisite custom creation, shimmered under the lights, its price tag reflecting the lavishness of the event. The venue was filled to the brim with guests, a sea of faces eager to witness the occasion. The media, with their cameras flashing, documented every moment, ensuring that no detail went unnoticed.

As the day of the ceremony dawned, the melodious peal of church bells resonated throughout the city, heralding the momentous occasion.

Leah glided down the aisle, her pristine white gown trailing behind her like a cloud of dreams. She radiated joy, her smile wide as she walked arm in arm with Stellan, the petals beneath their feet crunching softly.

In the audience, Oceane and their friends erupted into applause, their faces lit with genuine happiness.

“She’s waited so long for this day. I couldn’t be happier for her,” Oceane remarked, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

“Absolutely, and it’s high time Stellan moved forward. Ella’s been gone for ages now,” another friend chimed in, nodding in agreement.

“They’re really a perfect match. Leah’s so full of life—she’ll bring him back to happiness,” Oceane added, her voice brimming with optimism.

But as Stellan stood before the officiant, reciting vows he had heard countless times before, his mind was adrift in a distant past.

He recalled the dreams he once had of marrying Ella, each vision vivid and laced with hope.

He could see her in a wedding dress, graceful and ethereal, like moonlight dancing on a bed of lilies.

He remembered the way she would shyly place her hand in his, their fingers intertwining in a promise of forever.

He had envisioned them exchanging rings, sealing their love with vows that would echo through eternity…

Yet here he was, standing beside Leah, who now wore the dress he had once imagined for Ella.

The same friends who had once cheered for him and Ella were now celebrating this new union, and the weight of it all felt unbearably heavy.

Life, he thought bitterly, was a cruel trickster.

What a twisted joke this was.

“…Stellan Vance, do you take Leah Morningstar to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?”

The officiant’s voice jolted him back to the present.

Stellan stood frozen for a heartbeat, acutely aware of Leah’s anxious gaze fixed upon him, and the attention of the crowd bearing down like a spotlight.

He opened his mouth, but the words “I do” felt like an anchor, dragging him into an abyss.

At last, a flat, emotionless voice emerged from his lips.

“I do.”

Those two syllables echoed in his mind, a finality that sealed away all his dreams, hopes, and the love he once cherished.

The chaotic celebration eventually drew to a close, and Stellan trudged back to their new home, feeling utterly drained.

Oceane chimed in, “Oh, stop! Just don’t forget about me now that you’re Mrs. Vance. And congratulations, by the way!”

“Haha, thanks! I *am* Mrs. Vance now! And Ella? That bitch is probably rotting in some gutter. Or maybe she’s actually dead by now. Either way, she’ll never stand in my way again.”

Stellan couldn’t bear to hear any more.

He lingered in the shadows, feeling as if his chest had been ripped open, the world around him spinning into chaos.

Fake.

Every single bit of it was fake.

In the darkness, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white, nails digging into his palms until blood trickled down—but the pain was nothing compared to the fury surging within him.

Fake.

The depression was a lie.

The story of Ella driving her to it was a fabrication.

The letter that had haunted him, weighed on him like a heavy chain—*fake*.

He had been played for a fool, manipulated by Leah and Oceane. He had unwittingly driven away the woman he loved, and now… he feared he might have even contributed to her demise.

Leah’s cruel words echoed in his mind: *“Or maybe she’s actually dead by now.”*

Each syllable was a poisoned dagger, plunging deep into his heart.