On our wedding day, the big screen glitched—then flipped to kissing shots of Caleb Gorman and his "girl best friend," Holly Beech.

Holly shot up, hand over her mouth, smiling all fake-innocent.

"Relax, everyone. We were just messing around. Caleb and I go way back. Guess that makes me wife number two."

Caleb smiled, soft like always.

"That's just her. She's a total blabbermouth. Don't take it seriously."

I looked at him. Calm. "She plays kissing pics of you two at our wedding and calls herself your 'wife number two.' That's messing around?"

His face tightened. Annoyed. "It's a few photos. We've been together five years. You're really gonna nitpick something this small and not let it—"

I raised a hand, cutting him off. "Yeah. I am. I'm not letting it go."

That hit him. He wasn't used to me standing firm.

I turned to the crowd.

"This wedding's over."

Caleb's face went dark.

He grabbed my wrist. "Mira Massey, you done making a scene?"

He leaned in, voice low, anger barely held back.

"You even know what today is? You really gonna throw a tantrum right now?"

I didn't argue. I peeled his hand off and walked for the exit, done with this sick excuse of a wedding.

He grabbed me again, yanked me back.

"They're just a few photos. A joke. Is that really worth this?" His voice edged with impatience. "Think about the bigger picture. Our families are here. Everyone's watching. You make a scene, what are people gonna think?"

I snapped my head toward him.

"A scene? Open your eyes. Who's making a scene here?"

The giant screen still blasted those photos.

He and Holly—locked together, way too close.

Caleb's eyes flickered. His voice softened, but it was the same excuse.

"It was just a game. A punishment. We were drunk. Nothing happened. We've been together five years. Can't you give me that much trust?"

He dipped his head, almost coaxing.

"We're about to exchange rings. Whatever it is, let me explain after the wedding, okay?"

I frowned at him. "It's been five years. When have I ever not trusted you? And when have you ever actually explained anything?"

They went to movies alone.

Talked late into the night.

When Holly got sick, he left me to take care of her.

They'd crossed the line a long time ago.

Every time I called it out, he brushed it off. "Trust me."

And now—our wedding day—she blasts kissing pics, and he still wants trust.

Caleb went quiet.

A beat later, he pulled the line that always made me sick.

"I know your family messed you up. You're insecure, sensitive, suspicious. I don't blame you. But don't let that ruin the wedding we've been waiting for."

Five years.

Every time Holly came up, he dragged my family into it.

Said he felt bad for me. Said I grew up without love. Said I overthink. Doubt everything.

So yeah—some nights, I lay there wondering if he was right.

If I was too sensitive.

Now I know.

I'm not.

It wasn't anything new. Just Caleb leaning on the same excuse that always worked.

My family? His free pass to do whatever he wanted.

Deep down, he really believed he was above me. Like marrying me was him settling.

Only now did it click. This whole thing was never equal. It should've ended a long time ago.

I took a breath, swallowing the lump in my throat, and nodded.

"You're right." My voice came out calm—too calm. "With a family like mine, I'm not worthy of you, Caleb. So yeah... 'Mrs. Gorman'? I'll pass. Give it to whoever you think fits better."

A flicker of panic crossed Caleb's eyes. "Mira, that's not what I meant—"

He didn't get to finish.

Holly stood, walked straight over.

White strapless gown. Full skirt. Flawless makeup. She looked like a second bride.

She stopped between us, fake surprise all over her face.

"Mira, you're not seriously mad over something this small, are you?"

I glanced at her. Said nothing.

She rolled her eyes, annoyed. "Why are you so petty? It's just a few photos. That's how we joke. Keep this up, Caleb's friends won't like you."

She paused, then raised her voice on purpose.

"Besides, Caleb and I grew up together. We even slept naked next to each other as kids. Don't tell me you're jealous of that too?"

The room started buzzing.

Caleb's face darkened.

Disgust hit. I stepped around her, ready to leave.

Holly slid in front of me, blocking me hard. "You can't leave. As Caleb's best bro, I'm not letting you walk out like this. If you leave, what does that do to his image?"

I let out a short laugh.

"When you played those kissing pics and smiled, calling yourself his 'wife number two,' did you think about his image then?"

Her face went pale. She shut up.

A second later, like she had nothing left to lose, she planted herself in front of me.

"I don't care! You're finishing this wedding today. If not, you're not leaving this place!"

The anger I'd been holding snapped.

"Move!"

She froze.

Then Caleb stepped in, pulling Holly behind him. The look he gave me—pure blame.

"Mira, if you're mad, take it out on me. Don't make it hard for her!"

I slowly lifted my eyes to him.

"Make it hard for her? Caleb Gorman, open your eyes. From start to finish, who's been making it hard for whom?"

I ripped off the diamond ring we were about to exchange and hurled it at their feet.

It hit the floor with a sharp crack.

I looked at them, voice steady. "You care about each other that much? Then you two can finish the wedding."

Caleb's brows pulled tight. "Stop being ridiculous!"

Holly scoffed, all attitude. "If my existence bothers you that much, fine. I'll cut Caleb off. As long as you finish the wedding, I swear I'll never show up in front of you again. That should make you feel better, right?"

She made a whole show of leaving, looking wronged.

Caleb grabbed her wrist. "Holly, we've known each other for over twenty years. How are we supposed to just cut ties?"

She spun back, pointing at me, voice sharp with resentment. "Then what do you want me to do? Your bride treats me like I'm trying to steal her place. If I don't leave, what am I supposed to do? This way, she can finally get married in peace, right?"

Every word hit like an accusation.

Like I was the problem. The one making a scene. The one pushing her out.

I didn't have it in me to argue. Didn't want to watch their act anymore.

I walked out without looking back.

Caleb came after me.

Outside the hotel, he caught up, already impatient.

"If you're still upset, fine. We'll postpone the wedding. When you calm down, we'll do it again."

I let out a sharp laugh. "Do it again? Next time is she putting your bed pics on the big screen?"

"Mira!" His face went red. "Take one more step, and you deal with the consequences."

I stopped, looked at him, confused.

He caught that—and leaned in.

"Your dad just asked me for money. I already lined up a job for your brother. You walk away now? No money. Job's gone."

I froze.

I had no idea when my family went to him—or that he'd been doing all this behind my back.

"What did you just say?"

He thought I was playing dumb.

"Stop acting." He stepped closer. "Come back with me, and we forget this ever happened. Walk away, and think about what happens to your family."

I stared at him. Familiar—yet not at all.

After a long beat, I laughed, eyes stinging.

"You disgust me."

I didn't look at him again. I got in the car and drove off, no hesitation, leaving that humiliation behind.

At a red light, my phone buzzed twice.

One message—from Caleb.

[Mira, all these years, the only person I've loved is you. The only woman who'll ever be my wife is you.]

A dull ache hit my chest, knocking the air out of me.

Caleb loved me.

And he also thought he was the best I'd ever get.

That's why he was so sure I wouldn't leave.

Why he stayed too close to Holly—no boundaries.

Why he brushed off every complaint.

Why I was the "immature" one every time I got hurt.

Why, even today, he let her humiliate me in public.

He thought as long as he had money and power, as long as he could help my family, I should be grateful—just accept everything.

If this marriage went through, I could already see the ending.

Endless compromise.

Endless resentment.

Endless favoritism.

And in the end—ruin.

The other notification was an email from my mentor, Pierre Creighton.

He was inviting me—again—to study abroad. Said with my eye for fashion, I shouldn't throw away my shot to grow.

The email sat there in my inbox, like the one bright spot in all this mess.

***

I drove back to my small rented apartment.

Not big, but clean, quiet—mine.

I turned off my phone, peeled off the heavy wedding dress, and washed the makeup off my face.