The Supreme Heir

Chapter 6

Dante stood in the VIP ward and stared at the television screen mounted on the wall, where an anchor spoke with the kind of excitement reserved for events that mattered to people who believed money made meaning.

"Breaking news," the anchor said, her smile wide and practiced. "The biggest celebrity wedding in town is happening right now at Sky Garden. Jasmine Hartwell, the beauty of Southlake, is marrying Damien Blackwood, heir to the Blackwood empire, in what is being called the wedding of the year."

The camera cut to the venue, showing guests in expensive clothes walking through grand doors, champagne glasses already in their hands. Then it shifted to Jasmine, standing in a white wedding dress that caught the light like water, her face beautiful and empty in a way that made Dante's chest tighten.

The camera found Dorothy Hartwell next, seated in the front row, her smile so wide it looked like it might crack her face in half. She looked proud, victorious, like she had finally won a war she had been fighting for years.

Dante's hands curled into fists at his sides, but his face stayed calm.

Miss Hale, his cousin, stood beside him with her arms crossed, watching him the way people watched a locked door they were afraid might open.

"Dante," she said quietly, "what are you going to do?"

Dante did not answer. His eyes stayed on the screen.

Miss Hale's voice softened, but the firmness underneath it did not leave. "It's obvious you lost this one. She made her choice. You should focus on your family now. Focus on rebuilding what we have. Let her go."

Dante's head turned slowly toward her, and the look in his eyes made her straighten.

His voice was quiet, but it carried weight. "I don't recall a time when the Hale family could tell me what to do."

Miss Hale's mouth opened, then closed.

Dante's tone did not rise, but the air around him felt heavier. "The wedding isn't going to happen."

He turned and walked toward the door without waiting for her response. Miss Hale called after him, but he did not stop. The door closed behind him with a soft click that sounded louder than it should have.

Miss Hale stood alone in the room, staring at the closed door. She exhaled slowly, and a faint smile crossed her face.

"He's changed," she murmured to herself. "Just what this dying family needed."

Dante walked out of the hospital into the late afternoon light. A black car sat at the curb with its engine running, polished and sleek in a way that made people look twice. The driver stepped out immediately and opened the back door without needing to be told.

Dante slid into the seat without a word.

The driver closed the door, returned to his place behind the wheel, and glanced at Dante through the rearview mirror.

"Where to, Mr. Hale," he asked.

"Sky Garden," Dante said.

The driver nodded and pulled away from the curb smoothly. Dante sat in silence, his jaw tight, his face calm. His phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen and saw a message from Julian.

"Dante, think carefully. Don't let emotion drive you into a mistake."

Dante deleted it without replying. Another message appeared, this time from Miss Hale.

"If you're going, go smart. Not angry."

Dante locked his phone and slipped it into his pocket.

The driver spoke again, his voice respectful. "We'll be there in ten minutes, sir."

Dante did not respond.

The car pulled up to Sky Garden's grand entrance, where red carpet stretched from the curb to the tall glass doors. Valets in crisp uniforms rushed forward the moment the car stopped. The driver stepped out and opened Dante's door.

Dante stepped onto the red carpet and straightened his jacket. A few guests who were leaving early paused and stared. He walked toward the entrance with slow, measured steps, his expression calm and unreadable.

Two security guards stood at the doors, their arms crossed, their faces hard. As Dante approached, they both sized him up quickly. Their eyes moved from his face to his clothes, then back to his face. One of them smirked. The other straightened, already looking annoyed.

The first guard stepped forward as Dante reached the door, blocking his path completely.

"Stop right there," the guard said, his voice loud enough to carry. "Where do you think you're going?"

Dante stopped in front of them and met the guard's eyes without blinking.

The second guard stepped closer, crowding Dante from the side. "This is Sky Garden, not some cheap buffet. You look lost."

The first guard laughed, short and mean. "Look at him. He probably drove here in a taxi."

The second guard grinned. "Or walked. Those shoes look like they've seen better days."

Dante did not respond. He simply stood there, calm and still.

The first guard's smile widened. "Let me guess. You thought you could sneak in and grab some free champagne? Maybe take pictures to show your broke friends?"

The second guard added, his tone mocking, "This is a private event, buddy. Invitation only. And you definitely don't look like someone who belongs on that list."

Dante's voice was quiet and cold. "Move."

The first guard blinked, then laughed louder. "Move? Did you hear that? He's giving us orders."

The second guard shook his head, smirking. "You've got some nerve, I'll give you that. But nerve doesn't get you past this door."

The first guard stepped even closer, his face inches from Dante's. "Let me make this simple for you. Turn around. Walk back to whatever hole you crawled out of. And don't waste our time."

Dante's expression did not change. The coldness in his gaze deepened, and for a moment, the first guard hesitated. Something about the way Dante stood, the way he did not flinch or argue, made the guard pause. Maybe this man was someone. Maybe he had money hidden under the plain appearance.

But then the guard looked at Dante's shoes again, ordinary and worn, and his doubt vanished.

"I'm done being nice," the guard said, his voice harder now. "Get lost, or we'll throw you out ourselves."

The second guard cracked his knuckles. "And trust me, we don't throw gently."

Dante took one step forward.

The guards moved at the same time, reaching out to grab his arms, their hands closing around his sleeves. Dante did not stop. He shoved forward with a force that sent both men stumbling backward, their grips slipping, their balance lost.

The first guard hit the wall beside the door, his shoulder slamming into the stone. The second guard staggered to the side, barely catching himself before he fell. Both of them froze, eyes wide, breathing hard.

Dante walked past them without looking back. His steps did not quicken. His face did not change. He moved like a man who had never been stopped by anything, and the guards, still recovering, did not try to follow.

Inside, the sound of music and laughter drifted down the long corridor, and Dante followed it, his footsteps echoing softly on the marble floor.

The grand hall was packed with people dressed in their finest, champagne glasses catching the light from crystal chandeliers that hung overhead. Flowers lined every surface, white and gold, arranged with the kind of care that only money could buy.

At the front of the hall, beneath an arch of roses, Damien Blackwood stood in a tailored tuxedo, his posture confident, his smile easy. Jasmine stood beside him in her wedding dress, her beauty undeniable, her face still in a way that made her look like she was carved from stone.

Dorothy Hartwell sat in the front row, her smile so wide it looked like it hurt. Nadia sat beside her, whispering excitedly to a cousin, her face glowing with satisfaction.

The officiant stood between Damien and Jasmine, holding a leather bound book, his voice carrying through the room with practiced ease.

"We are gathered here today to witness the union of Jasmine Hartwell and Damien Blackwood," he said. "Marriage is a sacred bond, built on trust, love, and commitment."

The crowd was silent, respectful, waiting for the moment they could applaud and pretend they cared about something other than being seen.

The officiant continued. "If anyone here has any reason why these two should not be wed, speak now, or forever hold your peace."

Silence filled the hall, thick and expectant.

The officiant smiled and began again. "Then we shall proceed with the vows. Damien, please repeat after me."

The doors at the back of the hall opened.

Not loudly, not dramatically, just a quiet push that should not have been heard over the murmur of three hundred guests. But somehow, it was.

Heads turned. Whispers started. The officiant paused, frowning. Damien's smile faltered. Dorothy's head snapped toward the entrance.

Dante stepped into the hall.

The whispers grew louder. Someone gasped. A woman near the back said loud enough to carry, "Is that him?"

Another voice answered, shaking. "No way. He's supposed to be dead."

Dante walked forward, slow and steady, every step deliberate. The crowd parted without thinking, pulling back. The music stopped. The officiant looked confused and opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

Damien stepped forward, his face moving from confusion to recognition to fury in three heartbeats. "What are you doing here," he demanded, his voice tight.

Dante did not answer. He kept walking, closer, closer, until he stood ten feet from the altar. The officiant stepped back nervously. Damien's hands curled into fists at his sides.

Dorothy rose from her seat, her voice sharp and loud. "This is a disgrace. Security, remove him."

No one moved.

Dante's voice cut through the noise, calm and cold and controlled, echoing through the room.

"You're going to give my wife to a nobody without my knowledge?"

The hall froze. Every breath stopped. Every eye locked on him.

Dante's tongue clicked softly, the sound sharp in the silence.