Marianne's POV

The latest messages stopped last night.

[I swear, Arabella. You could’ve at least warned us you were coming. Didn’t you know Marianne would be here?]

[Exactly. Don’t let her find out you and Gideon are getting close!]

[I really don’t get it. Why does whatever Gideon and Arabella have to do with some third party?]

Arabella replied to that last one. [Some women are petty. She probably thinks that if Gideon and I patch things up, she’s out of the picture.]

From the start, Gideon hadn’t defended me. He never said one word to explain that I hated Arabella because she’d bullied me for three years.

I found myself scrolling back through the chat and realized this group was created the day we got married.

I remembered, on our wedding night, he didn’t touch me as he had to deal with a difficult client, he said. But the truth was, he spent the whole night in that group chat.

I wiped my tears and called my Colette.

“I suddenly want to go to the amusement park today. You free?” I asked, wrapping myself up against the fall chill.

We met there a little while later, and as soon as we met, she handed me the divorce papers.

Without ceremony, she asked the question we both already knew the answer to. “Those two are together?”

I nodded.

She ground her teeth with anger. “Gideon’s an idiot. His dad got murdered by that bitch, yet he acts like it’s nothing. Also, he knows how badly Arabella treated you because of him himself.” Her voice was thick with fury.

She was right. Because I’d dragged Gideon out of a wreck, we’d confirmed our relationship.

But after that, someone locked me in a bathroom and forced me to drink disinfectant.

If someone hadn’t found me in time, I would have died.

Just because I saved him, things between him and Arabella had only gotten worse, at least on paper.

The park was huge, but I soon found them. Arabella’s head rested on his shoulder as she ate a double-scoop ice cream. Their voices were low, but I heard everything.

“We shouldn’t go out alone anymore,” she said. “Even if I’ve done nothing, your wife still looks at me like an enemy. I’m a woman too, I get hurt.” She wiped at her eyes. “Also, that night three years ago, I was drunk. Let’s just pretend it never happened. We can still be enemies, but move on.”

So that was why Gideon was impossible to reach before our wedding night. He’d been busy with Arabella. No wonder she had time to get a tattoo on him before the wedding.

Even though I’d braced myself, her words felt like a bucket of ice water poured over my head.

But Colette, hot-tempered as always, rolled up her sleeves and started forward.

Luckily, I grabbed her in time. But a kid holding an ice cream cone barreled into us, and the sticky mess splattered across my clothes.

When I looked up, Gideon was using his finger to wipe ice cream from the corner of Arabella’s mouth. I felt ridiculous, humiliated, scrubbing my shirt until the stain only grew worse.

Then I heard him say, casual and cruel, “I stopped blaming you a long time ago. My dad used to yell at you. So, him getting hit by you is just his karma. As for Marianne, if she hadn’t been in the picture, maybe you and I would’ve been together long ago. I always thought that sometimes hate, at its extreme, is just another kind of love.”

Arabella’s eyes lit up. “Then will you give me a wedding?”

My vision blurred. I didn’t see his answer. But Colette covered my eyes with both hands, swearing under her breath.

“You ungrateful dog!” she hissed. “If you hadn’t dragged him out of that car back then, he’d be six feet under! You helped him without asking for anything, and yet he let her ruin you for years!”

“Divorce isn’t enough,” she kept muttering as she fumed. “I’ll make sure he walks away with nothing.”

Marianne's POV

I pulled Colette’s hand away from my eyes, only to see that the two of them were still on the bench, kissing like nobody else existed.

My hands shook as I dialed Gideon’s number. Once, twice, three times.

Yet he ignored every call, acting like he couldn’t hear.

Only when he finally picked up his phone did he see my text.

[Gideon, since you’re busy today, I came to the amusement park with my best friend.]

The moment he read it, he jumped to his feet and looked around in panic. But Arabella tugged on his arm and dragged him toward the roller coaster. That was when I stepped out from behind the tree.

All afternoon, I watched them riding the carousel together, taking the Ferris wheel all the way to the top.

All the while, I held Gideon’s spare phone, so I read his private wedding plans with Arabella.

Hundreds of wedding dresses were also sent to their group chat for the guys to vote on.

Those men usually sweetly called me and took favors from me, yet not one of them told me about the plan.

I used to believe Gideon just wasn’t into wedding stuff.

Back then, I handled our wedding planning myself. I picked the dress, and I tried it on alone. Even during the rehearsal, I stood in an empty hall pretending he was there, while he claimed to be too busy with work.

When my mom complained, I even defended him, reasoning, “Men just don’t care about these things.”

But tonight, I sat in the city’s best restaurant with Colette, back-to-back with Gideon and Arabella.

As he ordered food for her, he was messaging me, flooding me with pictures of wedding gowns and asking, [A friend of mine is getting married. Since you’re good at planning weddings, can you help her pick a dress?]

I scrolled through hundreds of photos and picked the gown I once loved most, the very same one Gideon had told me wasn’t flattering on me.

Yet he quickly replied, [My wife really has great taste. My friend loves it.]

Soon after, a message popped up in my work group chat.

[Boss: There’s a small private wedding at the church this weekend. The groom needs an experienced planner. Who’s available?]

Without hesitation, I typed, [I’ll take it.]

The next few days, Gideon acted like nothing had changed. He still staged little “romantic gestures” for me. But I noticed the difference. Most of those gifts were cheap leftovers. Clearly, the real treasures went straight to Arabella.

They were like lovers in their honeymoon phase, a love-hate couple, still targeting each other, but becoming deeply affectionate.

Arabella flaunted it shamelessly. [If I keep pushing forward, what place will she have left?]

She never said my name, but everyone knew. And I pretended not to. I just focused on the wedding I was planning.

When everything was finally set, Gideon came home with his usual apologetic face. “Marianne, I’ve got a business trip this weekend. I’ll have to bail on you again.”

He leaned in to kiss me, but I moved just enough to dodge it.

That flicker of rejection startled him.

“Baby, next week, I swear, I’ll spend every moment with you,” he promised again.

When I nodded faintly, he finally relaxed.

I offered to drive him to the airport, but he refused. I could just watch him get into Arabella’s car.

By Saturday, I had the timing memorized. I drove to the church with Colette, and from there, I remotely ran the entire ceremony, lights, music, everything.

And I invited everyone: Gideon’s clients, his employees, his relatives, his friends.

When the groom pulled up with his bride, he froze at the sight of the packed hall. For a second, he thought he was at the wrong wedding.

But one of Gideon’s closest friends frowned in annoyance. “What the hell are you all doing here? This isn’t some free-for-all. Get out before the bride and groom arrive—”

Then he turned and saw Gideon, stepping out of the car with Arabella on his arm. And his face went pale.

Holding a framed photo of Gideon’s father, I stepped out of the crowd, pressed the remote, and the projector switched on.

As their elegant couple’s photo was changed, Arabella’s carefully applied makeup seemed to crack.

"What the hell is happening?!" she shouted, fuming.