"Move the floral arch two feet to the left." I pointed toward the center of the ballroom stage.

"Like this?" the florist asked, dragging the heavy iron frame across the polished wood.

"A little more. The photographer wants it perfectly centered under the chandelier."

"Got it."

I wiped a bead of sweat from my temple. My wedding dress hung safely upstairs in the bridal suite. Right now, I wore faded jeans and a white tank top. Dust coated my sneakers. I had been up since four in the morning dealing with caterers, missing chairs, and a drunken groomsman.

Miles stood a few yards away, staring at his phone screen. He wore his tuxedo trousers and a crisp white shirt, the bowtie hanging loose around his collar. He hadn't helped with a single decision all morning.

"Do we really need this many white roses?" he asked, finally looking up.

"It's a wedding, Miles," I answered. "Our wedding. You agreed to the floral budget three months ago."

"It feels excessive."

"Your mother requested the extra flowers."

He frowned, tapping his screen again. "Right. Well, hurry up. The photographer wants pre-ceremony shots in an hour. You aren't even dressed."

"I will be ready," I assured him. "Put your phone away. We need to go over the seating chart one last time."

"Just put my cousins at table four."

Before I could argue, his phone rang.

The sharp, upbeat tone shattered the quiet hum of the ballroom. Miles didn't hesitate. He answered it before the second ring.

"Hello?"

The volume on his device was high enough for the sound to carry. A sharp, ragged sob echoed from the speaker.

"Miles." The voice was fragile. Trembling.

Emma.

My stomach tightened into a knot.

"Emma, what's wrong?" Miles shifted his weight. He turned his body slightly away from me.

"I fell," she cried. "I was trying to get a box down from the attic. I slipped. My ankle... I think it's snapped. It hurts so much."

"Did you call for an ambulance?" I stepped closer, projecting my voice so she would hear me.

Silence stretched over the line for a fraction of a second. Then, a louder, more desperate wail erupted.

"Miles, please," Emma wept. "I'm all alone. Since Mom and Dad died, I just... I don't know who else to call. I'm so scared. The pain is unbearable. I think I'm going to pass out."

"Stay awake, Em. I'm on my way."

"Will Diana be mad?" Emma's voice grew smaller, pitiful. "I don't want to ruin your special day. You should just leave me here. I'll drag myself to the street eventually."

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm coming," Miles said.

He ended the call.

The screen went black. He shoved the device into his pocket and turned to face me.

"Diana, I have to go."

"Our ceremony starts in exactly two hours," I reminded him. My tone stayed perfectly level.

"She's badly hurt."

"An ambulance has paramedics. You are a financial analyst."

"Don't do this right now," he snapped. He marched over to the nearest table and snatched his car keys. "Her parents passed away last year. Our families have been close for decades. She needs someone she trusts."

"I need the man I'm about to marry," I countered. I moved quickly, stepping directly into his path. "If you walk out those doors, you are choosing her. Again."

"I am helping a friend in a crisis!"

"A crisis?" I challenged. "Like last month when she saw a spider in her bathroom? Or two weeks ago when her car wouldn't start because she forgot to get gas? Are those the crises you're talking about?"

"She has severe anxiety, Diana. You know she's been struggling since the funeral."

"And you are her therapist?"

"I am her family!" he shouted.

"You are my fiance!" I shouted back.

He scowled, his jaw tightening. "Call her a hospital transport then."

"You're being incredibly selfish," Miles muttered. He tried to side-step me.

I grabbed his wrist. "Miles. Look around. This is our wedding day."

He yanked his arm free. The sudden force made me stumble back a step.

"I will be back before you even put your dress on," he insisted. "Just finish setting up the venue."

"This is the hundredth time," I said.

He paused, his hand resting on the brass handle of the ballroom door. He glanced over his shoulder. "What?"

"Since she moved back from overseas six months ago," I clarified. "I kept track. Dinner dates, movie nights, my birthday, our anniversary dinner, and now our wedding day. You have dropped everything and run to her exactly ninety-nine times. This makes one hundred."

"You're tracking my movements? That's insane." He shook his head. Disgust flashed across his features, twisting his mouth into an ugly line. "I'll see you at the altar."

He pushed the heavy door open and sprinted across the manicured front lawn. He didn't look back once.

The heavy oak doors slammed shut behind him.

The loud thud echoed through the massive room. Several staff members stopped what they were doing. They stared at me.

The wedding planner, Sarah, approached me slowly. She held a silver clipboard tight against her chest.

"Diana?" she asked softly. "Do we... do we pause the setup?"

I stared at the closed doors.

A laugh bubbled up from my throat. It sounded completely foreign. Dry and hollow.

"No," I told her. "Keep going. The wedding is happening today."

Sarah blinked, visibly confused, but she nodded and walked away to direct the catering staff.

I pulled my phone from my back pocket. I scrolled past the florist's number, past my mother's contact, past Miles.

I stopped at a name I hadn't called in a year.

Miller Cross.

My former boss, and the man who had proposed to me right before I accepted Miles's ring.

My thumb hovered over the screen. A wave of clarity washed over me. I wasn't going to be the pathetic bride left waiting at the altar. I wasn't going to spend the rest of my life competing with the ghost of a tragic orphan.

I tapped the green button.

It rang once. Twice.

"Well," a deep voice answered. "This is unexpected."

"Miller," I said.

"The bride-to-be," he replied. The amusement in his tone was unmistakable. "Shouldn't you be walking down an aisle right now?"

"There's a slight delay." I leaned against the edge of a catering table. I traced the rim of an empty crystal champagne flute with my index finger. "I have a question for you."

"Ask."

"You said you wanted to marry me," I stated. "Does that still count?"

Silence hung on the line. The faint background noise on his end completely vanished.

"Are you drunk, Diana?"

"I am perfectly sober."

"You're marrying Miles in less than two hours."

"Miles just left the venue to rescue Emma from a sprained ankle."

A low, dark chuckle vibrated through the speaker. "The tragic orphan strikes again."

"Are you going to answer the question, Miller?"

"Marriage is a permanent contract," he warned. "You don't get to use me to make your little accountant jealous and then run back to him tomorrow."

"I don't want him back. I want a husband who actually shows up."

"Where are you?" Miller asked. His voice dropped, shedding all traces of humor. It became sharp, focused.

"The Grand Plaza."

"Give me twenty minutes."

He hung up.

I lowered the phone and looked up at the massive floral arch. The white roses looked beautiful. Expensive.

Miles thought he was going to come back to a desperate, weeping fiancee. He thought I would swallow my pride, put on the white dress, and smile for the cameras while he texted Emma under the table.

I smiled.

"Sarah!" I called out across the room.

The planner hurried back over. "Yes, Miss Diana?"

"Change the name cards on the head table," I instructed. "Take Miles's name down."

Her eyes widened. "Take it down? But... whose name should I put up?"

"Miller Cross."

Sarah opened her mouth, closed it, and quickly scribbled the name onto her clipboard.

I turned toward the staircase leading to the bridal suite. It was time to put on my dress. I needed to be ready when the real groom walked through those doors.

The bridal suite was entirely silent.

I sat at the mahogany vanity, staring at my own reflection in the brightly lit mirror. My hair was perfectly pinned. My makeup was flawless.

"Miss Diana?"

I shifted my gaze to the doorway. Sarah, the wedding planner, stood there with her silver clipboard pressed against her chest.

"What is it, Sarah?" I asked.

"The caterers need to know if we are delaying the appetizers," she said. "The guests are starting to get hungry."

"Serve them on schedule," I instructed.

"But Mr. Milestone isn't here yet."

"Mr. Milestone's presence is not required to eat crab cakes," I answered.

Sarah nodded slowly. "Are you okay? You seem... very calm."

"I spent three years building a life with a man who just left our wedding venue to tend to another woman's sprained ankle," I said, my voice completely flat. "I did all my crying last year when he missed my birthday dinner to help her buy a living room couch."

"I understand," Sarah murmured, quickly backing out of the room. "I will tell the caterers to serve the food."

The heavy door clicked shut.

I picked up my makeup brush and traced the bristles against my thumb. Three years of his empty promises. *I'll always put you first, Diana.* What an absolute joke.

My phone buzzed against the wooden table.

The caller ID flashed brightly: *Miles*.

I swiped the green icon and put the device on speaker. "Did you drop her at the emergency room?"

"Diana, listen to me," Miles said immediately. The background noise echoed behind him��a rhythmic beep of a monitor and the squeak of rubber soles on linoleum. "I am so sorry."

"Are you coming back?" I asked.

"We need to push the ceremony back," he rushed out.

"Push it back?" I challenged. "The guests are already taking their seats downstairs."

"Just by a few hours. Tell the string quartet to play longer."

"This isn't a dentist appointment, Miles. You can't just reschedule it for three in the afternoon."

"Emma is in severe pain, Diana!" he argued. "The doctor is ordering X-rays right now. I can't just abandon her in the waiting room."

"So you are abandoning your bride instead."

"Don't be dramatic," he scolded. "The wedding will definitely happen. It just has to be delayed. Tell your family I'm managing a medical emergency."

"A medical emergency," I repeated.

"Once Emma is stable, I'll come back," Miles insisted. "I promise, I will give you the grandest wedding. We'll pay the venue for the extra hours. We'll upgrade the champagne. It will be perfect."

Before I could form a reply, a soft, trembling voice bled through the speaker.

"Miles? Who are you talking to? Is that Diana?"

Emma.

"Yeah, Em, it's her," Miles answered. His voice dropped an octave. The sharp impatience vanished entirely, replaced by a thick, velvety warmth.

"I'm so sorry," Emma whimpered. "It's all my fault. I ruined your special day."

"Stop apologizing," Miles coaxed her gently. "You didn't ask to fall. Don't cry, sweetheart."

*Sweetheart.*

My fingers gripped the edge of the vanity top. He never called me that. When I caught the flu last winter and ran a fever of 103, he told me to take an aspirin and went to play golf with his coworkers.

"But she's going to hate me," Emma cried.

"She won't," Miles assured her. "Diana knows you're alone in the world right now."

I leaned closer to the phone. "Did she get the pain medication yet?"

"The nurse is bringing it," Miles answered, his tone hardening the second he addressed me.

"Then she can wait for it alone. Get in your car."

"Diana, show some compassion!" he barked.

Emma sniffled loudly, the sound piercing the phone speaker. "There's something else. Something worse. I feel so guilty."

"Nothing is worse than you hurting yourself," Miles said.

"Yesterday... I went to the venue," Emma confessed. Her voice wavered, fragile as spun glass.

"Why?" I asked.

"To help set up!" she cried. "I wanted to be useful."

"You weren't assigned to the setup crew."

"Diana, let her speak," Miles snapped.

"I went into the bridal suite," Emma continued, her voice catching with fake sobs. "I just wanted to see the custom dress. It looked so beautiful hanging there."

My posture straightened. "You brought a drink near my silk gown?"

"I tripped!" Emma wailed. "I spilled my iced coffee everywhere. And when I tried to scrub the stain out... the fabric tore."

"You scrubbed silk?" I asked.

"I panicked! Miles, she's yelling at me!"

"I am not yelling," I stated.

"Calm down, Diana," Miles ordered. "She made a mistake."

"She ruined my wedding dress."

"It's just a dress!" he argued. "You can wear something else. Buy a white dress off the rack from the boutique down the street."

"You want me to buy a dress off the rack two hours before the ceremony."

"Or wear your rehearsal dress! It's white enough."

"It is a cocktail dress, Miles."

"Diana, you are generous," he insisted, his tone firm. "You aren't petty. You don't care about material things when a friend is sitting here in agony. Right?"

I didn't answer him.

I stood up from the chair. My sneakers padded softly against the plush carpet as I crossed the large room. The massive mahogany wardrobe stood in the far corner.

"Diana, answer me," Miles demanded through the phone speaker. "She's having a panic attack because of your silence. Just tell her it's fine!"

I gripped the brass handles and pulled the doors open.

My custom silk gown hung from the padded hanger.

A massive, muddy brown stain soaked the entire front bodice. The delicate French lace at the hem hung in jagged, shredded strips. It looked like someone had taken a pair of scissors to the fabric and then stomped on it with dirty shoes.

"Are you looking at it?" Miles asked.

"I am."

"See? I bet it's just a small spot. You can cover it with your bouquet."

Ninety-nine times.

Ninety-nine times I had argued with him. I had yelled, explained my feelings, begged for his attention, and demanded basic respect. I had fought for my place in his life.

This was time one hundred.

I looked at the ruined silk. I reached out and brushed my fingers against the shredded lace.

A dry, sharp laugh escaped my throat.

"Diana?" Miles snapped. "What is so funny?"

I turned away from the wardrobe and walked back to the vanity. I picked up the phone.

"Nothing," I said.

"Then tell Emma you forgive her."

"Goodbye, Miles."

I tapped the red button. The call disconnected instantly.

I tossed the phone into my purse. I didn't need the custom dress anymore. Just like I no longer needed the man who bought it.

A sharp knock echoed through the suite.

The heavy door swung open.

Miller Cross stood in the doorway. He wore a tailored black suit that fit his broad shoulders perfectly. His dark, sharp eyes locked onto mine, taking in my faded jeans, my white tank top, and the serene expression on my face.

"Twenty minutes," Miller said, checking his silver wristwatch. "I'm early."

"You are exactly on time," I replied.

He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. "So, where is the runaway groom?"

"Miller," I said, staring at the man in the doorway.

"Miller," he corrected smoothly, stepping into the room. "Miller Wilson. I dropped the alias last year when I took over the family board."

I stared at him. The wealthiest heir in the city had been my former boss. "You lied about your name."

"I protected my privacy," he countered. He closed the heavy oak door behind him, his tall frame dominating the space. "Miller Cross was my mother's maiden name. It kept the press away while I built my own firm."

"And now?"

"Now, I don't hide." He glanced at the mahogany wardrobe. His sharp gaze dragged over the shredded lace and the massive brown stain soaking the silk. "Did a wild animal attack your wedding gown?"

"Emma spilled coffee on it," I said. "Then she scrubbed the silk until it tore."

"And Miles defended her."

"Of course he did." I turned away from the wardrobe. "He always defends her."

I sank onto the edge of the velvet sofa. Three years ago, Miles used to bring me breakfast in bed. He used to leave sticky notes on my bathroom mirror. *You are my whole world*, he wrote once. He used to look at me like I was the only person in the room.

Then Emma moved back.

"She knows exactly what she's doing," Miller stated. He unbuttoned his tailored suit jacket and sat in the armchair opposite me.

"Last New Year's Eve," I began, the words spilling out bitter and sharp. "We went to a rooftop party. Emma drank six tequila shots. When she threw up on the host's expensive rug, she pointed right at me."

"What did she say?"

"'Diana kept handing me glasses,'" I mimicked Emma's high, fragile voice. "'I didn't want to drink, but she forced me. She knows I have a low tolerance.'"

"And your fianc�� believed that?"

"He yelled at me in front of fifty people. 'Why would you do that? She's grieving her parents, Diana! Have some sympathy!'" I crossed my arms over my chest, shivering at the memory. "I hadn't touched a single bottle all night. I was driving."

"Did you defend yourself?"

"I tried. I told him to ask the bartender." I let out a harsh laugh. "Miles didn't care about the truth. He just wrapped his coat around her shoulders and carried her to his car. He left me at the party to apologize to the host and pay for the ruined rug out of my own pocket."

Miller's jaw tightened. "You stayed with him after that."

"I thought it was a phase. I thought he was just trying to be a good friend to an orphan." I dug my fingernails into my palms. "Two months later, my vintage music box disappeared from my nightstand. The one Miles bought me for our first anniversary. It played my favorite song."

"Let me guess. The orphan needed it."

"I asked him where it went," I said. "He was typing an email. He didn't even look up from his laptop. 'I gave it to Emma,' he told me. 'She saw it when she came over for dinner. She said the melody reminded her of her mother. You can buy another one.'"

"He gave away your anniversary gift to another woman."

"I told him it was disrespectful. I told him to get it back."

"Did he?"

"No. He slammed his laptop shut and called me selfish." My voice cracked. I forced it steady. "He said, 'She has nothing, Diana. You have to be understanding. You have me.'"

Miller leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "But you didn't have him."

"I haven't had him for six months," I agreed. "Every piece of my love for him just... eroded. A little more every day. Every canceled date. Every ignored text. Every time he picked her over me."

"And today was the final piece."

"He left me in an empty bridal suite while two hundred guests take their seats downstairs." I gestured to the shredded white silk hanging in the wardrobe. "My dress is destroyed. My groom is holding another woman's hand in an emergency room, promising her that I won't be mad."

"The guests are expecting a show," Miller noted.

"They are waiting to laugh at the bride who got left behind." I stood up, pacing the length of the carpet. "Miles made me a joke. He wants me to delay my own wedding so he can play savior. The caterers are already serving appetizers. The string quartet is playing on a loop. I am a laughingstock."

Miller walked over to the door and opened it.

Two women in black uniforms stepped inside. They carried a massive, garment-covered box.

"Put it on the mannequin," Miller ordered.

The women unzipped the canvas bag.

I stopped pacing. My eyes widened.

It was a wedding gown. It wasn't just any gown. The bodice sparkled with hundreds of hand-sewn crystals. The skirt flared out in layers of pristine, shimmering tulle. The sheer sleeves were embroidered with delicate silver thread. It was a masterpiece. Far more expensive and intricate than the one Emma had destroyed.

"What is this?" I asked, stepping closer to the mannequin.

"A solution," Miller said. He gestured for the two women to leave. They bowed their heads and exited the suite, closing the door softly.

"You brought a custom wedding dress to my venue."

"I own the luxury boutique that designed your original dress," he explained, his dark eyes locking onto mine. "When my floor manager told me Emma ruined it yesterday, I made a call. My top seamstresses worked through the night to finish this one."

"Emma ruined it yesterday," I repeated. The realization hit me like a physical blow. "She didn't trip today. She came here yesterday to destroy it."

"She did," Miller confirmed. "She paid off a staff member to let her into the suite. And she timed her little ankle injury perfectly to pull Miles away before the ceremony."

"Everyone downstairs is waiting for a wedding." I stared at the glittering crystals.

Miller stepped closer. He reached out and gently tilted my chin up.

"The wedding won't be canceled," Miller said. His voice was low, carrying absolute certainty. "This time, the groom will be me."

"You want to marry me today?" I whispered.

"I told you on the phone, marriage is a permanent contract." His thumb brushed my jawline. "Put the dress on, Diana. Let's go give your guests a show they will never forget."

A knock sounded at the door before I could answer.

"Miss Diana?" Sarah, the wedding planner, called out from the hallway. "Miles's mother is demanding to know why the groom isn't at the altar. What should I tell her?"