The Missing Piece

chapter 1 - ​Behind the Veil

It was finally here—the day I had dreamed about since I was a little girl.
For years, I had imagined this moment: the dress, the flowers, the music swelling as the doors opened. I had pictured the way I would feel, but nothing prepared me for how it actually did. I stood in front of the full-length mirror in my childhood bedroom, barely breathing.
The gown flowed around me in soft, shimmering layers—a classic ball gown without the stiff netting I had always hated. Instead, the fabric moved like water when I shifted, delicate crystals stitched across the bodice catching the light like scattered stars. It didn’t just look beautiful. It felt like destiny.
My long brown hair fell in loose curls over my shoulders, framing my face. My blue eyes—bright, wide, almost glassy with emotion—searched my reflection as if I needed proof that this was real. On the bed behind me rested my heels. Five inches. Diamond-studded. Impossible. I slipped into them carefully, steadying myself against the dresser.
The bracelet James had given me on my birthday circled my wrist, a quiet promise long before today. At my throat, a fine silver chain held a single diamond pendant that rested just above my heartbeat. I pressed my palm lightly against it.
Steady.
Lifting my veil, I whispered to the mirror, “I do.”
The words felt powerful, fragile, final.
My stomach fluttered violently—the same nerves I had felt three years ago when James first asked me out. I had laughed then, pretending I wasn’t terrified of how much I already cared. The room around me was chaos—makeup scattered across the dressing table, discarded clothes across the bed—but I welcomed the imperfection. It reminded me this wasn’t a photoshoot. Not one of James’s premieres.
This was real.
James.
Even thinking his name felt like warmth.
We met in college, studying the same course. He was loud, charming, magnetic. I was quieter—watching, writing, always observing the world before stepping into it. We became best friends first. Late-night study sessions, coffee that turned into midnight walks, shared dreams whispered like secrets. Falling in love with him had felt inevitable.
His proposal was at my favourite restaurant. He knelt between the tables, ignoring the stares. Strangers clapped when I said yes, tears spilling down my face as if the universe itself had approved. James was impossible not to notice—thick brown hair, striking blue eyes, a smile that made rooms turn toward him. Nearly six feet tall, broad-shouldered, carrying himself with the confidence of someone who had survived more than most.
The faint scar at the corner of his eye was the only visible reminder of the night that changed him forever—the car accident that took both his parents when he was twelve. He rarely spoke about it, but I had seen the quiet grief in him. The loneliness. He had grown up determined to build the family he had lost. And today, that family began with me.
After drama school, his career exploded. Small roles in The Bill, Holby City, Hollyoaks, EastEnders—stepping stones that quickly turned into major film leads. By twenty-three, he had won seven awards. Red carpets. Interviews. Headlines. Our wedding had become a media spectacle overnight.
Outside, photographers crowded the street. Celebrities filled the guest list. Reporters waited for a glimpse of Britain’s golden couple. But none of it mattered. All I cared about was him.
My own life had been quieter, shaped by absence rather than applause. I lost my mother the day I was born. My father raised me alone, working himself to exhaustion to make sure I never felt the gap she left behind. When he died during my teenage years, the silence in our house felt unbearable.
Until James.
James filled spaces I didn’t know could be filled.
The bedroom door burst open. “Alyssa,” June breathed, her eyes already shining. “It’s time.”
June—my best friend since school. My constant. The sister life forgot to give me. She had known struggle too. Loss had carved its mark into her world, but she had never let it harden her. She wrapped her arms around me tightly. “You look unreal,” she whispered.
I took one final look in the mirror. For a split second, just a flicker, something about my reflection felt distant—like I was watching someone else’s life unfold. I blinked, and it was gone.
I lowered my veil and took June’s hand.
Outside, the cameras erupted in flashes the second I stepped into the car. Voices called my name. Questions flew through the air. The glass shut them out, turning chaos into muted noise.
As we pulled up to the church, my heartbeat thundered. The doors opened, music swelling, and there he was.
James stood at the altar, impossibly handsome in black and white, his eyes locked on me as if nothing else in the world existed. Everything slowed. Each step down the aisle felt suspended in time. The smiles blurred. The music faded into a distant echo. All I could see was him. Waiting.
When I reached him, he took my hands. They trembled. So did mine.
“Alyssa,” he whispered.
“James,” I said softly, my voice steadier than I felt, “from the moment we met, I knew you were the one. You became my best friend, my home, my future. Today, I promise you forever.”
His eyes glistened as he slid the ring onto my finger. “You gave me a reason to believe in love again,” he said. “You are my world. I will stand beside you. Always.”
“I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
He lifted my veil gently, the same tenderness he had shown me from the beginning. When he kissed me, it wasn’t dramatic. It was certain.
The church erupted into applause. We walked back down the aisle together, hand in hand, into a roar of cheers. Outside, laughter exploded as I threw my bouquet. June caught it, her face stunned and glowing.
The car door closed behind us, sealing the noise outside. For the first time that day, it was quiet. Just us.
James squeezed my hand. “We did it,” he murmured against my temple.
I leaned into him, resting my head on his shoulder. Through the tinted window, I watched the cameras flash, capturing the perfect image. The perfect beginning.
I smiled, because I didn’t know then that perfection is often just a moment. And moments can be taken.
Across the road, beyond the blur of umbrellas and flashing lights, a figure stood half-hidden behind the trunk of an old oak tree, still and watching. The rain had begun again, light and delicate, clinging to dark hair and soaking into a black coat that blended too easily with shadow. From where he stood, he could see everything—the kiss, the laughter, the way she looked at him.
His jaw tightened.
A photographer’s flash briefly illuminated his face, and for the smallest fraction of a second, the resemblance was unmistakable. The same bone structure. The same eyes. But colder.
The car pulled away in a shower of applause. He stepped forward slowly, emerging just enough to watch the tail lights disappear down the road. His reflection caught faintly in a shop window beside him. He tilted his head, almost as if studying the man he was meant to be.
“They should have chosen me,” he murmured.
The rain swallowed his words, and the church bells kept ringing.