1: 1

Seven years together, and Garry Gilbert never once let himself touch me.

Three days before the wedding, I found tens of thousands of intimate videos on his laptop, all with the same woman.

I didn't cry. I didn't make a scene. I booked a flight leaving the country on the wedding day.

He kept playing his one-man show, sure of himself the whole time.

On the wedding day the bride ran. And he was the one who lost his mind.

1

The videos ran long and short.

From the cheap motels near campus to a rented apartment, and then to the terrace of a hotel overlooking the sea.

In them, Garry was eager, half out of his mind, every inch of muscle in his body speaking of raw, animal hunger.

A version of him I had never seen.

My hand on the mouse started to shake, and my stomach heaved.

I stared at those images for a long time.

Until my phone rang. It was a director from company headquarters.

"Myra Harding, that overseas branch head position I mentioned last time. Have you thought it over? We need an answer by next week."

I drew a long breath, and my own steadiness startled me.

"I've decided. I'll take it. I'll send you my paperwork later."

"But aren't you getting married next week?"

"Not anymore. Work comes first."

I hung up and immediately booked the earliest flight out on the day of the wedding.

Choosing my seat, my hand finally started to tremble past all control.

Seven years, and there had always been an invisible line between us.

I didn't touch his laptop or his phone; he never asked about who I spent time with.

I had asked him once why he couldn't be possessive, the way ordinary couples were.

He only froze for a second at that, then smiled and stroked the top of my head.

"Because I trust you. So you should trust me without conditions too."

"Those guys only pretend to care on the surface, because they want a girl's body. I'm different."

Every time things heated up between us, he would ease me back at just the right moment.

Said he wanted to save the best of it for our wedding night.

I believed every word.

I even bragged about it to my best friend, quietly.

Said I'd struck gold, that a man who knew how to treasure a woman like that was hard to find these days.

Only now did I understand.

It was never about treasuring me.

He was just keeping himself pure for another woman.

Seven years of being moved by my own story, and now it was one complete joke.

If I hadn't left my own laptop behind tonight and borrowed his on the spot, I might have stayed in the dark for the rest of my life.

Something a friend of his had let slip when he heard we were getting married came back to me now.

"You're really getting married? You sure it's not just age catching up and settling for it? I seem to remember some people used to buy condoms by the case."

"Or is it that unless it's Lucinda Pruitt, anyone will do?"

Back then I hadn't noticed the panic in his eyes. I had just clung to his arm, all confidence.

"We're soul mates. We don't bother with any of that."

However firm I sounded then, that was exactly how much the slap stung now.

A bitter little smile pulled at the corner of my mouth.

I opened our chat. The last message still sat there from a day ago.

A wedding photo I'd saved online.

A man lying on the sand, a woman straddling his lap, the two of them looking close and happy.

I had asked:

"Should we do our photos like this? The other poses are all the same, no imagination. Want to practice tonight?"

He hadn't replied.

I tapped into his profile. His status was one short line:

"Better alone than settle."

Once, I'd believed I was the choice he refused to settle for.

Looking at it now, I'd been laughably naive.

Three days until our wedding.

I set the countdown as my wallpaper.

Every tick of the second hand marked how close our relationship was to its end.

I was about to toss the phone aside when the name "Garry" flashed on the screen.

I answered, and it was one of his friends.

"Myra, Garry's had too much to drink. Come get him. I'll text you the address."

Through the speaker came his friend's frantic shouting.

"Damn it, Garry, what are you doing? Have a few drinks and don't go getting handsy! I'm not gay! You've been holding it in till you cracked, huh?"

"Lucinda..."

Garry's voice made my heart skip a beat.

On the other end, someone clapped a hand over the phone and hung up.

I changed, went to the entryway, pulled open the drawer, and reached for an umbrella just in case.

My eyes landed on the box of condoms beside it, expired two years ago.

My best friend had given them to me when she found out I was seeing someone, swearing I'd need them.

I laughed at myself and tossed them into the trash.

By the time I reached the door of the private room, a shaken voice was coming from inside.

"Lucinda, thank god you're here. You didn't see it. Garry almost ate me alive just now! I barely kept my dignity intact!"

I drew a breath, forced up a smile, and pushed open the door.

The laughter inside cut off at once, every face gone awkward.

The man who was supposed to marry me in three days had another woman pinned down on the couch, his face wild.

And that woman's face, I'd just seen it in his laptop, more times than I could count.

2: 2

His friend hadn't expected me so soon, and lunged to pull him off.

But Garry had clearly had too much to drink, both hands clamped on the woman's shoulders, refusing to let go.

In the struggle, her collar slipped.

Baring the red mole on her chest.

My breath stopped.

Same spot. I had one on my chest too.

Except mine wasn't a mole.

It was a scar. Garry had burned it into me with a cigarette one night when he'd had too much.

His friend pulled harder, and the others moved in to help.

It took real effort before they finally dragged him off Lucinda.

He dropped heavily into the couch beside her, his face flushed red.

His friend let out a long breath and hurried to explain.

"Myra, don't get the wrong idea, okay? Garry's just drunk. He's not usually like this, you know that."

"This is Lucinda, our college classmate. She just got back today, and she happened to catch the reunion..."

The old me would probably have lost it right there.

But now, my head was full of nothing but that mole on Lucinda's chest. I'd even forgotten how to think.

Lucinda's eyes moved over me with an amused, probing curiosity.

His friend started introducing who I was.

At the word fiancée, Garry shot up off the couch.

"Don't talk nonsense!"

"Lucinda, I haven't touched anyone else all these years. Believe me! I swear!"

For a moment, the hand under my sleeve curled into a fist, nails digging deep into my palm.

Everyone's faces changed, and the looks they gave me were full of awkwardness.

When everyone assumed I'd get angry and walk out then and there.

I drew a breath, smiled, and held out my hand to Lucinda.

"Hi, I'm Myra, a friend of Garry's. You have a really nice figure, Miss Pruitt."

The moment I finished, the room went dead silent.

People glanced at one another.

Lucinda gave an unbothered little smile.

"So do you, Miss Harding. We're about the same height too. At a glance you'd think we were sisters."

Then she reached for the drink on the table.

Garry, who had only just settled, snatched the glass away and blurted out,

"You can't drink today, your period's almost due. I'll get the waiter to bring some juice."

He said it while pushing himself unsteadily to his feet.

Lucinda just grabbed his wrist and pulled, and Garry dropped back down beside her.

She smiled, all helpless amusement.

"It's been ten years. My cycle hasn't been on that schedule for ages. Are you stupid?"

In that moment, something in my head seemed to detonate.

The shards left my heart torn to pieces.

So it wasn't that he couldn't remember. He just didn't care about me.

Seven years. Countless times I'd reminded him that my cramps were bad, that I had to have painkillers ready before my period.

And every time he forgot. Every time he'd wait until it was too late, then go buy them, grudgingly.

At first I got angry. Later I gave in.

I even lied to myself, told myself he was just worn out from work, that there was no room left in his head for anything else.

But today, reality slapped me awake again.

Every little detail was laying bare the fact that he didn't love me.

His friend gave an awkward laugh and leaned close to my ear, lowering his voice.

"Myra, take him home, would you? The idiot's drunk and acting up. Don't take anything he says to heart."

Expressionless, I pulled Garry to his feet.

As I went downstairs to catch a cab, Lucinda came out after me.

She watched me with a bright smile, then glanced at Garry slumped against me.

"You actually like Garry, don't you?"

"I'm a woman too. I can tell."

"He likes girls in white dresses, hair in a high ponytail. Maybe you should give it a try."

I clenched my teeth, said nothing, and turned to get in the car.

She stepped forward, blocking my way.

"Miss Harding, I don't mean anything by it. I'm really glad to have met you as a friend."

"How about I get your contact info? If you ever run into any problems chasing Garry, you can ask me anytime. I've got experience in that area."

3: 3

My nails dug in until they nearly broke skin, and my lashes wouldn't stop trembling.

Seven years together, and here I was, learning from another woman how to chase my own fiancé.

I stared at those innocent eyes of hers for a long moment, and in the end I nodded.

In the car, I opened her social feed, and the cover photo was a wedding-style shot.

The background was the athletic field of our old college campus, and the man's face was turned away.

But I knew at a glance it was Garry.

The two of them looked so young, so raw, the hormones of that first love practically bursting off the screen.

Tears slid down my cheeks without a sound. I lifted a hand and wiped them lightly away.

Almost home, we hit traffic.

His phone screen lit up. A message from one of his friends:

"If you ask me, just drop this whole thing with Myra. Playing marriage like a game to bait Lucinda back really isn't worth it. I watched her today, and honestly, Lucinda's probably already moved on from you."

My breath caught.

I pressed his finger to the screen to unlock it.

And saw what he'd vented to his friend two days ago:

"I really have no interest in Myra, none of that kind of thing at all. I guess I still haven't gotten over Lucinda. I want to be brave one more time. A sham marriage. This is my last chance."

My finger froze, and I shut the phone off hard.

But my breathing wouldn't slow down.

No matter how I opened my mouth, the air just wouldn't reach my chest.

The tears came harder along the corners of my eyes.

No wonder he'd suddenly proposed three days ago.

No ring. No home for us. No engagement gifts.

Just one line: Don't tell the family.

I'd thought it was guilt, that he hadn't given me a proper courtship.

It never occurred to me that the wedding I'd waited seven years for was nothing but a chip to lure Lucinda home.

I marked the message unread and slipped his phone back into his pocket.

Once we got home, he'd sobered a little, and went to shower.

I sat frozen on the couch.

His words filling every corner of my head.

No interest in me. None of that kind of thing.

The sheer refusal to accept it nearly crushed whatever sense I had left.

The sound of water in the bathroom softened.

I stood up abruptly and went back to the bedroom.

Standing at the wardrobe, I took out the white dress I'd bought two years ago.

He'd said he didn't like dresses, so after I bought it I never wore it again.

I pulled the dress on, and, taking Lucinda's advice, tied my long hair into a high ponytail.

Then I went back to the couch and turned off the light.

The room went dark all at once, only a hazy wash of moonlight left.

Garry pushed the door open, wrapped in a towel.

I could hear his breathing turn heavy in an instant.

No time to turn around.

The next second, he had me pinned to the couch.

Kisses rained down thick and fast, until I could barely breathe.

They moved from the corner of my lips to my jaw.

Then to my collarbone, my chest.

The moment the dress was pulled down, the small scar on my chest showed.

He stopped.

He jerked upright and swung his hand across my face.

"Who told you to dress like this? Take it off!"

Catching himself, he quickly softened, coaxing me:

"Myra, I didn't mean it that way. I mean, you look too tempting like this. I was afraid I'd lose control."

"I promised you we'd wait for our wedding night..."

"Afraid you'd lose control, so you hit me?"

I cut him off, my voice cold with scorn.

He blanked for a couple of seconds, then rushed to defend himself:

"Because I love you. Hitting you hurts me more than hitting myself would, and it snaps me out of it faster."

I pointed at the scar on my chest.

"This. You told me you burned it by accident when you were drunk. But Lucinda has a mole in the exact same spot."

His brow knotted in an instant.

"It's just a coincidence. Don't blow it out of proportion."

"I drank too much tonight. I don't want to fight with you."

With that, he turned, walked to the cabinet, and downed the water in his glass in one go.

He slammed the glass down on the table.

Then he turned and went back to the bedroom.

I couldn't help the bitter smile.

Lucinda's method really did work.

The power of an old flame. I'd finally learned it firsthand.

The next day was the day we'd booked for our wedding photos.

Early that morning my boss called, asking about the overseas transfer.

"Yes, I've already packaged up the files on my desk and sent them to my colleagues. Anything that comes up later I can handle from abroad."

"Abroad? You're going abroad?"