The next moment, Spencer ripped his hand from mine and strode toward Fiona, as if drawn by an invisible string.

Everything else—the church, the guests, even me—blurred into the background. The only thing in sharp focus was the two of them.

Of course. The second she showed up, I'd already lost.

"I'm here, Spencer. Let's never be apart again," Fiona declared, snatching a microphone from one of the staff. Her words rang out boldly, unapologetically.

Without missing a beat, Spencer took her hand and led her toward the church doors.

Around me, murmurs swelled into a chorus of whispers. I forced a smile, stretching my lips painfully, trying to save face. But the tears came anyway, blurring my vision.

Through the haze, I watched them fade, their figures melting into the fog of my tears.

But then, Fiona stopped suddenly and spun around.

She pointed at my wedding gown, her voice dripping with venom.

"I want that dress back. It's mine."

The audacity hit like a slap, but before I could react, Clara—my one true friend—snapped.

"Fiona, you've gone too far!"

She lifted her skirt and charged down the aisle.

Spencer moved instinctively, stepping in front of Fiona to shield her, leaving Clara's fury squarely aimed at him.

"Spencer Saun, Fiona ditched you the moment your family hit rock bottom. Now that you're back on top, she's glued herself to you again? Oh, so this is true love, huh? Toss you a bone, and you come running like a loyal dog? How pathetic can you get?"

Her voice rang sharp and clear, slicing through the room.

She went on. "This is your wedding to Maya! Not only are you walking out with her, but you're letting her humiliate your bride in front of everyone? Spencer, what kind of man are you?"

Spencer Saun, the golden boy of the high society, had never been spoken to like that—even when he hit rock bottom.

And that was because I had always been there, standing between him and the world, shielding him from every blow.

Now, he didn't even glance at Clara. His focus was solely on Fiona, his voice soft, almost indulgent.

"We'll get you a brand-new, custom-made dress. Something no one else has touched."

But Fiona wasn't satisfied.

"No! This is the one I want. I won't wear it after her, but she can't have it either."

She'd rather destroy it than let me keep it.

Spencer rubbed his temples, visibly irritated. A silent signal followed, and from the shadows, his bodyguards emerged.

Two restrained Clara, while another group closed in on me.

Their hands were rough, pulling at my veil until it yanked painfully at my scalp. The sting blurred my vision for a moment.

Stripped in front of everyone, I could feel the weight of their mocking stares. Whispers and muffled laughter rippled through the room, each one slicing deeper.

It was like all my worst moments were being replayed. The times when anyone and everyone had stepped on me, trampling what little dignity I had left. Every small cruelty now wove itself into a suffocating net, trapping me completely.

Back then, Spencer was my shield, the one who stood between me and the world's malice.

Now, he was the malice.

"Let me go! I'll change in the dressing room myself!"

Desperation clawed at my voice as I clutched my chest, my cheeks burning with shame.

But Fiona's voice rang out again, dripping with cruelty.

"No. She'll change right here."

Spencer didn't say a word to stop her. The bodyguards carried out their orders with cold efficiency, their professionalism only adding to the humiliation.

Clara fought against the guards restraining her, tears streaking down her face as she screamed in frustration.

But nobody else moved. Not one person stood up for me.

Fiona finally got what she wanted.

She sauntered away, head held high like she'd just won a prize.

I crumpled to the floor, numb, my mind latching onto one small mercy: at least I'd worn an undershirt.

Clara broke free, rushing to me and draping her jacket over my shoulders. She sobbed uncontrollably, her cries raw and piercing.

But I couldn't cry. Not anymore.

Back at the house Spencer and I once shared, my fingerprint was gone from the system.

A few suitcases sat by the doorstep, their contents thrown together.

This was it. Everything I'd gathered over years of loving him.

I crouched, rummaging through the mess when the door creaked open.

The door creaked open, catching me off guard.

Fiona stood there, smug. "Maya Lane, you still have the nerve to show up here? If I'd been stripped in front of everyone like you were, I'd find some quiet hole to crawl into and die of shame."

I ignored her, focused on finding the one thing I needed.

When I didn't respond, Fiona dangled something in front of me. "Looking for this?"

In her hand was a simple black hair tie, adorned with a small yellow daisy.

To anyone else, it was cheap. But I'd kept it for so long that most of the yellow paint on the daisy had chipped away, leaving it faded and speckled.

It was my most precious belonging.

"Give it back," I said, reaching for it.

She yanked it away.

"This worthless little thing? This is why you stuck around all these years? Maya, you're just like the junk you hold onto—pathetic and cheap."

She tugged sharply at the hair tie, snapping it in two, then tossed the pieces to the ground.

I scrambled for it, but just as my fingers brushed the broken remnants, her heel slammed down on my hand.

She ground her heel into them. I tried to pull my hand back, but she pressed harder.

"That's enough."

Spencer stood in the doorway, wearing a bathrobe, his damp hair dripping water.

"Don't get so worked up right after coming back. It's not worth it," he said softly.

He crouched beside her, gently massaging her ankle as if she'd been the one hurt.

In the process, her weight shifted just enough for me to free my hand.

Ignoring the throbbing pain, I grabbed the broken pieces of the hair tie and tucked them into my pocket. They were useless now, beyond repair.

Then I looked up, meeting Spencer's gaze head-on.

For the first time, I didn't bother to hide the raw intensity in my stare.

The air between us grew heavier, a tension thick with everything unsaid.

Spencer's expression flickered—confusion, hesitation, maybe even something he couldn't name.

But it vanished the moment Fiona's soft voice broke the silence, pulling his attention back to her.

He turned, murmuring reassurances as he ushered her inside.

And then it was just the two of us.

He lit a cigarette, the motion as smooth and practiced as ever. The sharp scent made my throat itch.

He handed me a check.

"Maya, I owe you. This is compensation. Fiona's back now, and I need to treat her well."

A lump rose in my throat. For the first time, Spencer was apologizing.

I stared at him, silent. My hands stayed, not moving to take the check.

"Spencer, what do the years I spent with you mean to you?"

The answer was obvious. Still, I asked. Maybe I just needed to hear it.

For once, he looked... uncertain. That flicker of confusion returned to his eyes, like he wanted to say something but couldn't find the words.

I waited, giving him time. For once, I wasn't in a rush to fill the silence.

But before he could speak, Fiona's voice rang out from inside the house, calling for him again.

He hesitated—only for a second—before tossing the check onto the ground.

Without another word, he walked away.

The way he stubbed out his cigarette was rushed and clumsy, almost childlike, like the first time he'd secretly smoked behind his parents' backs.

Even before stepping back into the house, Spencer checked himself over, patting his clothes and exhaling carefully to make sure the smell of smoke was completely gone.

Fiona hated that smell.

I didn't bother picking up the check.

Instead, I gathered my things, clutching the broken hair tie in my pocket, and left.

'Spencer, I hope you stay firm in your choice. Don't regret it. Never, ever regret it.'

I never thought I'd hear from Spencer again.

When his call came, I was stuck in a hospital bed, watching my blood churn through the loops of a dialysis machine.

I ignored most of his calls—too wiped out to care.

When I finally picked up, his voice hit me, sharp and demanding.

"Maya, just help me one last time. We can't let anyone keep attacking Fiona like this."

Before I could even process, Clara yanked the phone out of my hand.

"Help you? Are you kidding me?" she snapped. "You and Fiona deserve every bit of the backlash you're getting! If your perfect little princess can't handle it, maybe she shouldn't have messed with someone else's fiancé! Don't ever call Maya again, Spencer. Go back to Fiona, your precious little train wreck, and leave her alone!"

When I left the hospital, the doctor's words followed me out: treatment would only get more expensive.

But honestly? What was the point?

I decided I wasn't going back.

***

When we got back to Clara's place, Spencer was waiting at the door.

The wedding footage had gone viral. Fiona's behavior at the ceremony had drawn massive backlash.

Spencer's PR team scrambled to file lawsuits to pull it down, but they were too late—the clips had already spread everywhere. They couldn't stop the storm.

The video of Fiona barging in, humiliating me in front of everyone, and Spencer just standing there, doing nothing, hit a nerve. It wasn't just a scandal; it was outright bullying.

Fiona was falling apart under the pressure. And now, Spencer wanted me to fix it.

If I forgave them publicly, the narrative would change. If I, the bride, let it go, what right did anyone else have to keep judging?

Clara was ready to go off on him again, but I stopped her. I stepped forward, meeting his gaze without a shred of emotion.

"What exactly are you asking me to do, Spencer?" I said. "Should I tell everyone I was the other woman? That I forced you into this marriage? That I came between you and Fiona, and now I'm backing out to make room for your true love? Should I take the blame for all of it?"

He hesitated but still answered.

"If you could do that, it'd be for the best."

Clara shoved him, hard, like she couldn't get him away fast enough.

As he turned to leave, he threw one last shot over his shoulder. "Maya, you say you love me, but you can't even accept the person I love? Haven't I done enough for you? Fiona gave me a kidney eight years ago. Five years ago, she was humiliated because of me. And you? What have you ever done for me? You can't even help with this one thing!"

Clara sucked in a sharp breath. "How can someone be this shameless?!"

***

Spencer went all out defending Fiona, making sure everyone saw just how far he'd go for her.

When I finally caved and agreed to help, he turned it into a full-blown spectacle. The press conference was staged like something out of a drama, with cameras flashing so fast it felt like being under a strobe light.

I flinched, raising a hand to block the glare, but Spencer's lawyer shot me a look that made me drop it right back down.

I didn't have a choice.

Clara had just lost her job, out of nowhere.

We'd been harassed by strangers on the street.

Even at home, people I didn't recognize would linger nearby, watching, waiting.

I could let my own life crumble—it wasn't like I had much left to lose. But Clara? I couldn't let her go down with me.

This was Spencer's message: Clara was my weak spot now, and he'd use it.

***

The reporters didn't hold back.

"Miss Lane, the public sympathizes with your situation. Why are you supporting Mr. Saun at this press conference?"

"As a bride whose wedding dress was ripped away while her groom ran to another woman on what should've been the happiest day of her life, do you hate Miss Wore?"

"Users online claim the three of you have been connected since childhood. What caused this dramatic fallout?"

"Please, Miss Lane..."

"Can you comment on..."

"Miss Lane..."

I let their voices blur together until I finally raised a hand, silencing them with a faint smile.

"Let me tell you a story, Maybe it'll give you the answers you're looking for..."