Chapter 2 Through the lens

Isla

I walked out of the corridor, adjusting my blazer with shaking fingers, trying to calm the burn still crawling up my neck. My lips still tingled. Silas had really— God, I couldn’t even think it without my stomach twisting. One more minute in that room and I might’ve forgotten where I was. He had that effect on me, like he knew every button to push until my brain fizzed.

But I’m not here as his girlfriend. I’m here to work.

Ava spotted me before I reached the hall. She stood near the grand double doors, camera strap looped around her neck, her blonde curls bouncing as she waved.

“There you are!” she hissed. “They’re about to make their entrance.”

I nodded, swallowing air. “Perfect. Let’s make it smooth, yeah? You focus on the entrance. Ben, you handle wide shots from the left aisle.”

I adjusted my own camera, checking the battery, pretending the flush in my cheeks came from the rush of work. Not from the fact that my boyfriend had just kissed me leaving me breathless against a wall.

Silas always had that playful charm in him, the kind that made my pulse forget logic. Seeing him in that crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled and hair slick, had done something to me. The memory made me smile despite myself.

Ava nudged my arm. “You okay? You look like you just got caught doing something sinful.”

I laughed weakly. “Just pre-show nerves.”

The wedding planner waved from the front. “Positions! They’re walking in!”

The room hushed, a sea of pastel dresses and murmured anticipation. Soft golden lights reflected off the chandeliers, scattering stars across the marble floor. I lifted my camera to my eye, letting the lens focus where my heart couldn’t.

Music swelled. The doors opened.

And then —

Silas stepped in.

For a moment, my brain refused to understand what my eyes were showing me.

He walked down the aisle in a fitted black tuxedo, hair perfectly styled, smile smooth and practiced. The kind of smile I’d memorized, the kind that had whispered I love you against my neck just few minutes ago.

The guests clapped. My hands trembled.

I blinked hard, adjusting the lens. Maybe I was imagining it, maybe my glasses were fogged. Maybe it was one of those lookalikes that happened at every event. But then—

He turned. And our eyes met.

That single glance punched the air from my lungs.

He didn’t falter. Didn’t freeze. He just winked.

A cold rush spilled down my spine, melting into disbelief.

What is he doing here? Must be one of the groom’s best man right?

The applause swelled louder, and I forced my camera to stay up, my finger mechanically pressing the shutter.

Click. Click. Click.

Ava whispered, “He’s cute, right? The groom, I mean.”

Groom?

The word barely made it through the sound roaring in my ears.

The next second, the bride appeared, arm linked with her father’s. The gown was ivory lace, trailing like mist. Her veil shimmered beneath the lights. She looked radiant.

She looked… happy. And she was walking straight toward him.

I couldn’t breathe.

The shutter kept clicking as if my camera was mocking me.

Silas reached out, took the bride’s hand, and smiled the same soft smile that used to undo me. The one that used to mean home.

It didn’t mean home anymore.

I lowered my camera slowly, vision blurring behind my glasses. My heart stuttered between shock and a pain too heavy to name. The noise of clapping guests faded into a low, cruel hum. Ava was saying something beside me, but it was like I’d slipped underwater.

The officiant began speaking. Silas never looked back.

My fingers tightened around the camera until my knuckles went white. “No,” I whispered under my breath. “No, that’s not—he wouldn’t…”

But the evidence stood at the altar, smiling, holding another woman’s hand.

He’d helped me get this job. He’d told me last week, “You deserve a big break, baby.”

And now I realized what kind of break it was, breaking me.

My chest rose and fell too fast. I took a step back, bumping into one of the decorative pillars. The flowers trembled, scattering petals that landed on my shoes like tiny white ghosts. Each petal felt like a quiet little mockery, like the universe itself whispering, you didn’t see this coming?

My camera slipped slightly in my hand. The lens pointed at the floor. My breath came in short, uneven gasps, the edges of the hall starting to blur as if my mind couldn’t decide what was real anymore.

Eight years. Eight years of building him up, of believing every soft apology, every late-night promise whispered into my hair. Eight years of telling myself we were endgame.

And here I was, reduced to a background extra in the story of his happily ever after.

My vision wavered, tears burning the corners of my eyes. I blinked them back furiously, I can’t cry here. Not in front of everyone. Not while the flash of my camera might still catch my reflection in a guest’s phone.

I forced myself to lift the camera again, to do what I came here for. To work. But how could I?

The lens trembled as I focused.

Silas was laughing now, his hand brushing a stray curl from the bride’s face. His lips moved, mouthing something I couldn’t hear. But I’d seen those lips enough times to know the words. “You’re beautiful.”

The same ones he’d told me this morning.

The room tilted slightly. My throat ached. The applause was thunder in my ears as they exchanged vows. Each word the officiant spoke, commitment, forever, loyalty twisted the knife deeper.

The bride’s voice trembled with emotion as she repeated the words.

I swallowed hard. The taste of metal filled my mouth.

He didn’t even glance my way. Not once.

He just kept smiling, holding her like she was the only woman he’d ever loved.

And maybe she was, maybe I’d just been the practice run, the bed warmer, the placeholder until he found someone who fit the kind of life he actually wanted.

I stepped back, one foot, then another. The camera dangled and I took every strength in me to shove it into my bag. The hall spun. I slipped out through the side door before the music could start again, the laughter chasing me out like a cruel echo.

The corridor was dim, lined with mirrors that caught fragments of my reflection, the smeared lipstick, the glassy eyes, the trembling mouth. I didn’t look like me anymore. I looked like someone cracked right down the center.

Outside, the night hit me cold. I walked until the noise faded, until I was behind the venue near the catering trucks.

Only then did I let myself bend forward, clutching my stomach as the first sob tore out of me.

I gasped between breaths, trying to muffle the sound, but it kept coming.