On my thirtieth birthday, Gideon Salton told me to meet him at city hall.

He made sure I wore a wedding dress and brought my papers, hyping it up as a huge birthday surprise.

But when I showed up, all dressed up, he turned to his trashy crew and laughed. "No way—she actually did it. Dress, docs, the whole thing. Pay up, fifty bucks each."

Then he looked at me. "Come on, Madison. You didn't seriously fall for that?"

I didn't answer.

He smirked. "If you're that thirsty to get hitched, go inside and grab some rando to register with."

His friends cracked up.

They called me Gideon's loyal simp, his forever backup plan. Said I'd never end up with anyone else.

But when I came out with my husband and a legit marriage certificate, Gideon just froze—pale, silent, wrecked.

I saw it—Gideon Salton taking cash from his buddies, one after another.

That was when it clicked: I was just the punchline in some bet.

The ones who lost laughed first, then rolled their eyes like I was the idiot.

"Madison Montclaire, do you even get how much I lost 'cause of you? Use your brain for once."

"We've told you a million times—Gideon's way outta your league. You really thought he'd marry you?"

"He's played you, what, eight, ten times? And you STILL fall for it? You're hopeless."

I bit my lip so hard it stung, fingers digging into my own skin.

Gideon, done raking in the cash, strolled back like nothing.

"What's wrong, Madison? Not happy?"

Then he turned to his crew.

"Hey, chill out. It's Madison's big day. Don't pick on the birthday girl."

For a second, I almost thought he grew a conscience.

Then he fished a bill from his pocket and held it out.

"Thanks for the thousand, babe. Here—five bucks. Go get a cupcake or something. Happy birthday."

The group cracked up again.

"Gideon, you're too sweet. Careful, she might fall for you AGAIN!"

"You see that dress? Girl's been planning your wedding since forever. Dream big, huh?"

If this was the old me, I'd be in tears—begging him to quit, asking him not to do this again.

This time, I took the five bucks.

"Thanks. Filing fee's thirty-five—I'm short four. We'll call it your contribution."

Gideon froze, then laughed like I was comedy gold.

"Madison, did you leave your brain at home? You really think I'd marry you? I'm messing with you. You're beyond pathetic."

He shook his head, like just looking at me was gross.

Even though I'd braced for it, his words still sliced right through.

Truth was, I found out about the bet last night.

He called me, sounding weirdly soft. "Madison, meet me at city hall at nine. Got a big birthday gift for you. Dress up a little—wear that new wedding dress. Bring your documents. Don't be late."

I hung up with my heart racing.

I'd just posted about trying on and buying a wedding dress.

Did he see it and decide to marry me?

Not long after, someone sent me a video.

Gideon was showing my post to his buddies. "What's this even mean?"

One of them jumped in, "She's desperate. Almost thirty and freaking out—this is her way of begging."

Another added, "She's just jealous Gideon's got a new girl. That post? Straight-up attention grab."

His new girlfriend was Olivia Cooper—an heiress with a fancy background.

Gideon worshipped her.

He shook his head. "Getting tied down to someone like that? Nightmare. Let's make a bet. One call from me, and she'll show up at city hall in that dress. Wanna see a clown in a wedding gown?"

Someone cracked up. "And if you lose? Let Olivia dance for us."

The laugh barely left his mouth before Gideon decked him.

His face went stone cold. "You got a death wish? Don't even say Olivia's name."

Olivia was everything to him—off-limits, even as a joke.

And me? I was just the clown in his game. Free to humiliate however he liked.

By the time the video ended, my chest ached.

Tears hit the screen, smudging his smug, grinning face.

I wiped my eyes. And the phone.

Stared straight at him.

This was the best friend I'd loved for eight years.

He knew exactly how much I cared—so he knew exactly where to hit.

He'd clearly forgotten those old promises.

"Madison, if you're still single at thirty, I'll marry you."

Well, guess what? I was thirty today. And I was getting married.

Just not to him.

The dress I picked hit right at my ankles. My fiancé helped me choose it.

Lifting the skirt, I stepped around Gideon and headed toward city hall.

He grabbed my wrist. "Drop the act. Who do you think you're fooling? If you're that thirsty to get married, go grab some rando and get the papers signed. Just leave me out of it."

I looked at his face—and felt nothing but disappointment.

No fight. No anger. Just done.

The Gideon who once chased a guy down eight blocks to make him apologize for trash-talking me? Gone.

I shook my head and tried pulling my hand back.

That's when Olivia showed up. "Gideon!" she called out.

He instantly dropped my wrist, then—trying way too hard—pulled out an alcohol wipe and scrubbed the hand that touched me, like I was something gross.

Olivia walked up. "Gideon, what are you doing here?

"Madison, are you actually getting married? You even wore the dress."

Gideon glanced around, clearly too scared to admit the whole thing was a setup.

Panicking, he grabbed one of his trashy friends and shoved him next to me, forcing a laugh.

"Olivia, you're too sharp—you figured it out! It's Madison and Bruce's big day! We're just here to cheer them on!"

His group jumped in right on cue.

"Yeah, yeah! Madison and Bruce! Big day—we're here to celebrate!"

I glanced at Bruce—shorter than me, grinning like an idiot—and felt sick.

Gideon caught Olivia's suspicious look and shoved us forward.

"Go on, get that license. Olivia's watching!"

I stumbled. Bruce, getting way too confident, grabbed my hand.

He leaned in. "Madison, Gideon's never gonna want you. But you've got a decent face and body. We could make it work."

That was it.

I ripped my hand away and staggered to the wall, dry heaving.

Gideon jumped in fast. "Whoa, Madison—don't tell me you're already pregnant. Shotgun wedding? Bruce, look at you!"

Olivia lit up. "Madison, I used to worry about your love life, but now you've got a husband AND a baby on the way? Congrats!"

I stared straight at Gideon, still cracking up like it was all hilarious.

"I AM getting married," I said, deadpan. "Just not to any of you lowlifes. My fiancé's inside, grabbing our number. Save the congratulations."

Gideon's smile froze mid-laugh.

Just then, my phone buzzed.

I picked up, nodded through the call. "Second floor? Got it. I'll grab a number first."

Gideon was still frozen.

"I'm in a wedding dress because my fiancé booked a photographer," I said. "He wanted to capture the day we register. This one's the lightest of the seven I picked—easiest to move in. Since you're all here, I'll hand these out now. Wedding's on the tenth next month. You're invited."

I pulled out white invites, passing them around.

When I got to Gideon, he didn't take one.

The others started whispering.

"Wembley Hotel? That's the nicest spot in the city. Did Madison marry rich or what?"

Gideon sneered, eyes full of judgment. "You always loved a dramatic entrance, huh? Invitations? Wembley? This whole act's embarrassing."

He barely touched the invite—just flicked it aside like trash.

Olivia glanced at it and sighed. "Sorry, Madison. But no photo of you two? It doesn't exactly scream legit."

We didn't have photos because we hadn't taken them yet.

Olivia held my hand like we were close. "I've always known how you feel about Gideon—"

Gideon stiffened. "Olivia, wait—"

She cut him off. "No need. You two have history. I get it."

Then she turned to me. "Madison, I get it—girl to girl. But feelings aren't something you can force. Gideon's always said you're like a little sister to him. And now that I'm basically family too... just hear me out. Stop doing stuff that makes people laugh at you."

The crowd murmured behind her.

"Olivia's so reasonable."

"No wonder she's high-class. Still trying to help Madison save face."

Olivia gave me that pitying look. "Come on. Let's get you out of that dress."

Here we go again.

Every time Gideon embarrassed me, Olivia swooped in like some graceful savior. The worse he acted, the more perfect she looked—and the more convinced he was that my messiness only made her shine brighter.

I was about to shut her down when she spotted something behind me.

She reached over, grabbed the tag, and read it out loud like she'd caught me red-handed. "Oscar de la Renta. This season's wedding line? Madison... did you RENT this? You didn't even take the tag off. You really don't have to keep this up..."

Gideon's smirk deepened.

He pulled her in, kissed her hair. "You're too soft, Olivia. She's not worth it."

Olivia stayed in character, clinging to him. "Gideon, don't be like that. I'm sure Madison didn't mean harm. It's just... silly vanity. As long as she drops it now, no big deal."

My face burned. I clenched my fists. "The dress was a gift from my fiancé. He bought it yesterday. I just forgot to take the tag off—"

"Save it," Gideon cut in, lazy and smug, chin tilted like he had me cornered. "Lie enough and you'll start believing it. If this fiancé's real, call him out. Let's meet him."

His crowd jumped right in.

"Yeah, let's see the guy."

"Rich enough for designer dresses and the Wembley Hotel? Bring him out."

"Aren't you getting married today? Where's the groom?"

I stood there at the entrance to city hall, people walking past, slowing down to stare.

Bruce—the guy I'd shoved off earlier—pointed straight at me and shouted, loud enough for everyone to hear, "Hey, check this out! This girl tried to play side piece. Got caught, then flipped the script and said she was here to get married. Let's see it—where's her so-called groom?"

The crowd froze. People pointed, whispered. A few pulled out their phones.

The wind cut through me. I hugged myself without thinking.

Olivia crossed her arms too, and Gideon was quick to peel off his jacket and drape it over her shoulders.

Then he yelled, all annoyed, "Madison, call your groom already! If Olivia gets sick, that's on you!"

I looked down. Cold to the bone.

The truth? I didn't even know if my fiancé would show. We'd only met once.

Time dragged on. No one came.

The crowd swelled. Phones were inches from my face.

I kept backing up, dodging cameras, until I bumped into someone.

"Sorry, I—"

Before I could finish, strong hands landed on my shoulders.

"I'm the one who should be sorry," said a familiar voice. "Sorry I'm late, babe. Traffic was hell."