Becoming Lailah: Married to my Twin Sister's Billionaire Husband-Chapter 172: The Venue

LIORA LED MAILAH through a side entrance that opened into what must have once been the a private chapel—now transformed into a bride’s sanctuary. Stone walls softened with flowing white fabric, tall windows filtering golden Tuscan light into something ethereal, almost holy.

"Wait here," Liora commanded. "I need to check final positions. Don’t peek. Don’t wander. Don’t even breathe too heavily—that dress is a masterpiece and I won’t have it wrinkled before photos."

"I’ll try to minimize my oxygen intake," Mailah said.

Liora gave her a look that suggested she wasn’t entirely joking, then disappeared through an archway draped with more white fabric.

Mailah stood alone in the golden light, bouquet trembling slightly in her hands. Through the walls, she could hear muffled sounds—footsteps, low conversation, the rustle of movement as guests settled into their seats.

Supernatural beings. Dozens of them. Maybe hundreds.

All here to watch her marry a demon.

Her stomach performed an Olympic-level gymnastics routine.

"Deep breaths," she told herself. "You’ve survived worse than a wedding. You’ve survived the actual groom trying to accidentally drain your life force. This is the easy part."

Somehow, that logic didn’t help.

Elin slipped through the archway, camera around her neck but lowered for once. "You okay?"

"Define okay."

"Vertical. Conscious. Not actively fleeing."

"Then yes. Barely."

Elin smiled. "Good enough." She glanced toward the archway. "You want to see?"

Mailah’s heart leaped. "See what?"

"The venue. What Liora created." Elin’s expression softened. "It’s... Mailah, it’s breathtaking."

"I’m not supposed to peek."

"Liora’s checking seating arrangements. She won’t notice if you look for thirty seconds." Elin gestured toward the archway. "Come on. You deserve to see what you’re walking into."

Mailah hesitated, then let curiosity win. She moved to the archway, careful not to let her dress catch on anything, and peered through the gap in the fabric.

Her breath stopped.

The venue was an open courtyard framed by ancient stone walls covered in climbing roses—white and cream and the palest blush pink. The walls themselves seemed to glow in the late morning light, golden and warm and impossibly romantic.

But it was what Liora had done with the space that stole Mailah’s words entirely.

The aisle ran down the center, lined with tall arrangements of white flowers she couldn’t name—something between lilies and orchids, with petals that seemed to capture light and hold it.

Between the arrangements, smaller clusters of candles floated at varying heights, suspended by invisible threads or magic or both, creating layers of soft illumination even in daylight.

The chairs—elegant, simple, draped in white fabric—were arranged in a gentle curve rather than strict rows, creating an intimate amphitheater effect. Every seat was filled with guests who looked... normal.

Mailah blinked, adjusting her expectations.

She’d imagined supernatural beings in their true forms—vampires with obvious predatory grace, creatures that defied human categorization. Instead, she saw what appeared to be a gathering of exceptionally beautiful humans in formal attire.

Men in tailored suits, women in elegant dresses, everyone looking like they belonged at a high-society wedding rather than a supernatural ceremony.

But there were tells, if you knew where to look. The way some guests held themselves too still, as if movement itself required conscious effort.

The slight shimmer around others, like heat waves on summer pavement. The way certain individuals watched the proceedings with eyes that held too many centuries, too much knowledge.

They were hiding their true nature. Wearing human faces like formal wear. Making themselves less threatening.

At the front, beneath an archway absolutely drowning in white roses and that strange light-catching foliage, stood an empty space. The altar. Where Grayson would wait.

Where he was probably waiting right now, just out of sight.

Mailah strained to see past the seated guests, past the floating candles and flower arrangements, trying to catch even a glimpse of him. But the distance was too great, the angle wrong, and her human eyes couldn’t penetrate the artful arrangement of decorations that blocked her view.

"He’s there," Elin said quietly, watching Mailah’s face. "I saw him when I came through. He’s..." She paused, searching for words. "He looks...good."

Mailah’s eyes burned. "Don’t make me cry. Celeste will kill me if I ruin the makeup."

"Then stop being so in love. It’s contagious."

A sound behind them made them both turn. Sabine emerged from another doorway, camera in hand, looking slightly harried.

"The guests are all seated," she reported. "The officiant is in position. Everything’s ready." She checked her watch. "We’re starting in five minutes."

Five minutes.

Five minutes until she walked down that aisle toward Grayson.

Five minutes until they bound themselves to each other permanently, with the Council watching, with Grayson’s brothers probably plotting something, with the entire supernatural world holding its breath.

"I need air," Mailah said.

"You’re outside," Elin pointed out.

"I need more air. Different air. Air that isn’t saturated with wedding stress."

"Breathe through your nose," Sabine suggested. "It helps with the panic."

"Does it though?"

"Not really, but it gives you something to focus on besides the panic."

Mailah tried it anyway. Breathing through her nose. Counting to four. Holding. Releasing.

It helped. Minimally. But it helped.

Liora swept back through the archway, moving with the focused intensity of a general deploying troops. "Positions. Everyone in position. Mailah, you’ll wait behind the entrance veil until I give the signal. Elin, Sabine, you know your spots. Lucien will walk you down the aisle—he’s waiting outside."

"Lucien?" Mailah hadn’t expected that.

"He volunteered. Said someone should walk beside you who understands what you’re stepping into." Liora’s expression softened infinitesimally.

Mailah’s throat tightened again. "Okay. Yes. That’s perfect."

"Good. Now come." Liora gestured toward another archway—this one leading to the actual entrance to the courtyard. "Let me show you where you’ll stand."

They moved through the archway into a narrow passage between the stone walls. At the end, maybe twenty feet away, hung an enormous veil—white silk so fine it seemed to be woven from captured clouds. It stretched from the ground to well above Mailah’s head, creating a barrier between her and the ceremony space beyond.

Through the veil, she could see the courtyard—but hazily, like viewing the world through morning fog. The guests were indistinct shapes. The flowers became suggestions of white and green. And Grayson, standing at the altar...

She leaned closer, squinting, trying to see him clearly through the silk barrier.

Nothing. Just a tall shadow that might be him, might be someone else, might be a particularly well-dressed pillar for all her human eyes could determine at this distance.

"The veil is intentional," Liora said. "Traditional, actually. The bride remains hidden until the moment she steps into full view. Builds anticipation. Creates drama."

"Also ensures I can’t see anything until it’s too late to run," Mailah muttered.

"That too." Liora adjusted Mailah’s veil—the one attached to her head—ensuring it cascaded properly. "But you’re not running."

"How do I look?"

"Like you’d walk through fire to get to him."

Before Mailah could respond, Lucien appeared at the passage entrance. He’d cleaned up remarkably well—formal suit that fit perfectly, hair styled, the usual flour-dusted chaos replaced with elegant composure.

"Ready?" he asked gently.

"Not even remotely."

"Perfect. That means you understand the gravity of what you’re doing." He offered his arm. "Shall we?"

Mailah glanced back at the veil separating her from the ceremony. From Grayson. From everything that came next.

Her phone buzzed in the hidden pocket Celeste had somehow engineered into the dress. She pulled it out quickly.

Two minutes. Then you’re mine forever. - G

She laughed despite her nerves, typed back: Big words from someone who spent three centuries alone because he was too noble to feed.

That was before you. Everything’s different now.

Everything’s terrifying now.

Terrifying and worth it. I’ll see you at the altar.

Mailah clutched the phone, smiling like an idiot, feeling her anxiety ease slightly under the weight of his words.

"He’s texting you again, isn’t he?" Liora said.

"Maybe."

"I’m not even going to confiscate it this time. You both need the reassurance." She checked her watch. "One minute. Everyone in position."

Elin and Sabine moved to their designated spots—Elin near the entrance to capture the first moment Mailah appeared, Sabine somewhere beyond the veil to film the ceremony itself.

Music started—something classical and elegant that Mailah vaguely recognized but couldn’t name through her panic. The kind of music that announced something significant was about to happen.

"That’s the prelude," Liora explained. "In thirty seconds, it transitions to the processional. That’s your cue to walk."

"Thirty seconds," Mailah repeated.

"Breathe."

"Right. Breathing. I remember how to do that."

Lucien squeezed her arm gently. "You’re going to be fine. You’re going to be spectacular. And Grayson is going to take one look at you and forget how to speak."

"That would be inconvenient during the vows."

"I’m sure he’ll recover. Eventually."

Twenty seconds.

Mailah adjusted her grip on the bouquet, felt the weight of the dress around her, the veil flowing behind her like captured moonlight.

Ten seconds.

Through the entrance veil, she could see movement—guests turning, anticipating, waiting.

Five seconds.

The music shifted, swelling into something grander, more purposeful. The processional.

Her cue.

Liora stepped forward, preparing to draw back the entrance veil with perfect dramatic timing.

"Showtime," she whispered.

Then someone materialized beside her—one of Liora’s assistants, the one who’d helped with the dress. The young woman moved with urgent speed, leaning close to Liora, whispering something too low for Mailah to hear.

But she saw Liora’s reaction.

The wedding coordinator’s face went white. Not pale—white. The color draining so completely it looked like someone had erased her pigmentation entirely.

Liora’s hand, reaching for the veil, froze mid-motion.

"What?" Liora’s voice came out strangled. "What do you mean?"

The assistant whispered again, more urgently.

Liora winced—actually winced, like she’d been physically struck.

Mailah’s stomach dropped into her shoes.

"Liora?" Her voice sounded distant, like someone else was speaking. "What’s wrong?"

Liora turned slowly. Her expression carried something Mailah had never seen on the unflappable coordinator’s face before.

Fear.

"Mailah," Liora said carefully. "There’s a... situation."

"What kind of situation?"

"The kind that—" Liora stopped, visibly struggling with how to phrase it. "Grayson isn’t at the altar."

The world tilted sideways.

"What?"

"He’s not there. He was there ten minutes ago. Oliver confirmed his position. But now..." Liora’s hands clenched into fists. "He’s gone."

"Gone," Mailah repeated blankly. "What do you mean gone?"

"I mean he’s not at the altar. He’s not in the venue. No one saw him leave, but he’s not here."

The bouquet slipped from Mailah’s nerveless fingers, hitting the ground with a soft thud that seemed impossibly loud.

"He wouldn’t leave," she said. "He wouldn’t just—"

"I know." Liora’s voice carried absolute certainty. "Which means someone took him."

The words hung in the air like a death sentence.

"The Council—" Mailah started.

"Already checked. They’re still in their seats. This wasn’t them."

"Then who?"

Liora met her eyes, and Mailah saw the answer there before she spoke it.