I was in the bridal suite, so luxurious it seemed more like a gilded cage. My white silk dress fit me beautifully, and through the tall windows, I could hear the sweet music of the guitar quartet. Today I was going to marry Tom. Everything was expensive, meticulously planned, the fulfillment of my childhood dream. I was Emily, heiress to an immense fortune, a title that was both a burden and a privilege. But today, at last, I was going to become a wife.

My mother, Linda, came in. Normally elegant and serene, she now had unparalleled fear in her eyes. Without saying a word, she handed me a crumpled piece of paper. In shaky handwriting, it read:

“Pretend to faint. Now.”

My heart sank. The doors opened, the wedding march played. And yet, I trusted her more than my own instincts.

I walked down the aisle. Tom was smiling at the altar. Halfway down, I remembered that brides sometimes faint from the stress. So I took a small step to the side and collapsed. The whole room froze.

“He’s twisted his ankle!” my mother shouted. Tom and his mother, Victoria, ran towards me, not worried, but visibly panicked as they watched their plan fall apart.

The ambulance arrived immediately. Victoria whispered to my mother that I needed to be taken to her family clinic. That single word—clinic—changed everything. My mother fought like a lioness. She knew something.

In the ambulance, when we were finally alone, I asked her the question that had been burning on my lips:

“Why did you do that?”

Her answer pierced my soul.

“I saved you from the psychiatric hospital.”

I’d heard how Tom and Victoria had planned to transfer my assets to their names after the wedding and then have me declared legally incompetent at their private clinic. They wanted to lock me up. Forever.

My world collapsed. Everything Tom had said, every smile, every promise… were nothing but lies.

“And now?” I asked.

My mother immediately called attorney Arthur Vance. “Red alert. Block all of Emily’s accounts. Void all of today’s documents.”

The wedding was not only interrupted, it was legally annulled.

At the hospital, when they discovered I only had a minor sprain, I looked at my mother. Tired, but unwavering.

“I thought I was going to get married today,” I said, crying. “But you saved me.”

She gently squeezed my hand.

“I’d let the whole world burn before I’d let anyone lock you up.”

Then I understood:

I was never a prize. I was a target.

And my mother… my shield.