Wedding Humiliation

Chapter Six

Christiana’s POV

It had been exactly one week since that kiss, and somehow the world still kept spinning like it didn’t know something inside me had shifted.

The sympathy in me has reduced by 40%.

I stood in front of the mirror in my hotel room, adjusting the neckline of my black, silk and backless dress. It clung to me like it had been poured onto my skin. It wasn’t revealing in the obvious way, but it isn't something one would forget so easily.

I wanted to be remembered. I wanted to be the shadow Bella couldn’t unsee.

Tony sat on the armrest of the chair behind me, watching me through the mirror. His jaw was tight, but he didn’t speak.

He hadn’t spoken much since that phone call. But he still showed up. Drove me to Dallas. Dressed in a sharp black suit and a look that said, “I shouldn’t be here.”

“Last chance to back out,” he muttered as I slipped on my heels.

I looked over my shoulder and smiled. “And miss the show? Not a chance.”

***

The venue was gorgeous, of course it was. Rolling green vineyards, candlelit arches, violins humming something classical under a tented canopy. Bella had spared no expense to look like the kind of woman who deserved a fairytale.

Too bad she didn’t realize she invited the villain. Well, she never expected that I would ever have any darkness in me. Little did she know.

She and Bryan Adams exchanged vows, and got married happily. The reception buzzed with champagne flutes and slow jazz, laughter drifting over the garden. Waiters floated through the crowd with trays of expensive hors d’oeuvres and wine that tasted like wealth.

And then came the moment I’d been waiting for..

One by one, guests approached the newlyweds where they stood beneath a garland of white roses, accepting hugs, handshakes, and fake smiles.

My turn came.

I walked up slowly, Tony just behind me. Bella’s eyes found me first, her smile tightened, ever so slightly, and her posture straightened like a cobra that sensed danger.

When Bryan’s gaze landed on me, he froze.

His pupils dilated like he’d just seen a ghost. I’m sure he would have wondered what the f*ck I was doing at his wedding. The corners of his mouth twitched, like they didn’t know whether to smile or fall open in shock. The color drained slightly from his face.

Anyone paying attention would’ve seen it the flicker of confusion behind his eyes. I extended my hands to congratulate him and he took it slowly like he was trying to convince himself I was real..

His fingers tightened just a little, his mouth opened slightly like he was about to say something, but before he could speak, Bella reached between us and pried his hand from mine.

She laughed. “Bryan, you’re holding onto her like you know her.”

I smiled, sweet as poison. “We’ve met.” I mouthed but she didn’t hear me.

Bella turned to me fully now, eyes sparkling with something wicked. “Christiana,” she said like the name tasted sour on her tongue. “I’m so glad you could make it.”

Her smile widened, and then she tilted her head in mock sympathy. “I’m sorry I couldn’t attend your mother’s funeral. I do hope she’s… resting in peace.”

Her voice was light, but the venom behind the words slapped me harder than any scream could’ve.

Tony grabbed my elbow just in time

“Let’s go,” he whispered sharply, pulling me away before I could lunge at her.

I let him lead me through the crowd, past guests and clinking glasses, but I didn’t head for the exit.

Instead, I veered off.

“Where are you going?” Tony called after me, but I was already gone.

***

I slipped through the corridor unnoticed, heels echoing softly against polished stone as I moved away from the main hall. Laughter, clinking glasses, and violin music faded behind me. The buzz of the kitchen grew louder. I followed it like a scent. Sharp scents of rosemary, butter, garlic, and heat drifted under the door before I pushed it open.

The kitchen was alive , a blur of white coats, metallic clangs, slicing knives and moving hands. Pans hissed, ovens beeped, servers shouted over one another, but it was all organized chaos. The kind that made people overlook quiet shadows like me.

I stepped in with ease, slipping into the rhythm. No one questioned me, not when I walk with the confidence of someone who belongs. I wore the black dress like armor, like authority.

A tall cook with caramel skin and a cocky grin looked up from garnishing a tray. “Whoa. You’re definitely not supposed to be in here, gorgeous.”

I smiled sweetly. “And yet, here I am.”

Another guy who was shorter, rounder, with a towel flung over his shoulder, whistled low. “If they’re letting angels serve the food now, we’re all blessed.”

They both laughed, loud and a little too eager.

I tilted my head. “Tell me something…” I moved closer, lowering my voice just enough to feel conspiratorial. “Which dish is for the bride and groom?”

The tall one straightened. “Private entrée. Chef’s special. Reserved just for them.”

“Is it out already?” I asked casually, as if I were helping with event coordination. “I’m on the decor team. I’m supposed to confirm plating.”

The shorter one pointed to the tray beside the stove, his eyes never quite leaving my neckline. “That’s the one. Chicken breast with truffle cream. No spices, they wanted it clean. Same goes for their sides, steamed greens, no garlic. Guess they’re scared of honeymoon breath.”

They laughed again. I laughed too.

“And those are going out when?” I asked, leaning slightly forward, watching their pupils dilate like schoolboys caught in a dream.

“Ten minutes,” the tall one said. “We’re just waiting on the final garnish.”

“Perfect,” I murmured.

They were too caught up in the view to notice my fingers slipping into my clutch.

I pulled out the tiny vial of powder I’d tucked inside, the cap already loosened. It was odorless, colorless — not harmful in the long term. But potent enough to cause a very sudden, very violent disruption of the stomach.

I leaned closer to the tray, pointing. “That’s the truffle sauce?”

“Yeah,” said the shorter one, standing behind me, still grinning. “House-made.”

“Smells amazing.”

I made a small show of adjusting a garnish that wasn’t even out of place. My hand moved quickly, practiced. A light tap. Just enough powder. Stirred with the back of a spoon. The scent masked it. The sauce would coat the chicken and mask the taste.

“Done,” I said, smiling. “Thank you both.”

The taller one raised a brow. “You sure you don’t want a personal tour? I make a mean crème brûlée.”

“Maybe next time,” I purred.

I turned, walking out without a single glance back. My heels clicked against the tiles like applause.

***

It didn’t take long for the effects to set in.

By the time the Master of Ceremony, called for the cake-cutting, I could see it unraveling, subtle at first, like watching a foundation crack before the collapse. Bella’s smile tightened, corners twitching despite the photographer’s commands to “hold it!” She clutched her stomach once, then again, this time longer. Her brows pinched in discomfort, but she forced another gracious wave to the crowd.

I leaned into Tony with a barely concealed smirk. “Looks like something isn’t sitting right with the bride.”

He raised a brow. “You didn’t…” His voice trailed off.

I shrugged, sipping champagne. “Just a pinch of it. I figured she’d want to feel as sick as I felt watching her walk down the aisle.”

Tony’s jaw ticked, but he didn’t argue.

Bryan wasn’t faring much better. He stood beside Bella, shifting awkwardly, his hand slipping inside his jacket to dab at his brow. His complexion, once glowing under the golden light, had turned an odd shade of pale.

Bella leaned toward him, gripping his arm. “Bryan,” she whispered harshly, not realizing I could read lips across the room. “I need to go. Now.”

Bryan looked around, confused, before his face contorted with his own jolt of pain. “Jesus,” he muttered under his breath, nodding. “Okay. Act normal. We’ll just... step away.”

The two of them turned swiftly, walking off through a side tent, trying to mask the urgency with forced smiles. A few guests exchanged glances, whispers bubbling like a kettle ready to scream.

Ten minutes later, they returned.

Bella’s makeup had been touched up, but not well. Bryan’s shirt clung to his back with sweat. They tried to smile, to stand tall, but their bodies betrayed them.

“How long?” Tony asked under his breath.

“Not long,” I said, eyes fixed on them like a lion tracking wounded prey. “Watch this.”

The MC stepped onto the stage. “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time for a sweet tradition to celebrate a sweet love, the cutting of the cake!”

Guests clapped politely. The photographer motioned them forward.

Bella took one step. Then another. Her hand flew to her stomach. She paused.

“Bryan…” she gasped, barely audible.

He turned, confused then realization dawned across his face like a slow-moving train wreck. “Oh no...”

Then a low, wet sound broke the silence like thunder in a cathedral.

There was a beat, then the room exploded in gasps.

Bella stood frozen, lips trembling, as a dark, wet stain bloomed from beneath her gown and spread down the backs of her legs. Her pristine Vera Wang, custom-stitched and hand-beaded, was now soiled in the most mortifying way imaginable.

A woman near the front screamed. Someone dropped a wine glass. Phones rose into the air like a synchronized reflex, cameras flashing like lightning strikes.

“God...oh my God,” a voice said somewhere near me. “Is she… did she just...?”

“Shit,” Bryan cursed under his breath, yanking off his jacket and spinning it around her waist, trying to cover what was already seared into everyone’s minds.

Bella’s face crumpled. Her body shook with shock, horror, and humiliation. “Bryan... Bryan, get me out of here,” she hissed. “Oh my god, they’re filming me.”

“I know. Let’s go,” he said through gritted teeth, pulling her away from the cameras and guiding her toward the nearest exit with panicked urgency.

Right before they disappeared under the archway, she turned her head and her eyes found me in the crowd like a magnet, pulled straight through pain and shame.

I was standing by the bar, champagne flute in hand, posture perfect, not a single hair out of place.

A full-bodied, breathless laugh that started in my chest and spilled into the room like wildfire.

“Oh, no,” Tony murmured beside me, his face falling. “Christy…”.

It ripped out of me uncontrollably. It wasn’t just funny, it was righteous. It was justice, smeared in silk and tears and the scent of karma.

Bella’s face twisted with rage, shame, absolute devastation.

Her lips parted like she was going to scream. Like she might turn back and attack me, covered in her own humiliation.

As she stumbled out of her own wedding in disgrace, the crowd murmuring behind her and flashbulbs chasing their steps like hounds, I lifted my glass in her direction.

“To karma,” I whispered to myself, and took a long, slow sip.