Chapter 3

My father still hadn't let go of the idea of canceling the wedding.

He looked at me with such pain in his eyes that he couldn't get a single word out.

But my mother said Mia could still make it in time. A short delay wouldn't matter. The priest had already gone over the revised schedule with everyone.

Now all we had to do was wait for Mia to arrive. Once she finished my hair and makeup, I could head straight into the church. My assistant brought over my wedding gown and helped me put it on first.

Meanwhile, the backup stylist started treating my hair.

Everyone pulled themselves together except my father. He stood off to one side in silence, his eyes red as he turned away.

Seeing him like that broke my heart.

Growing up, he had never once raised his voice at me. Even when I accidentally broke the family signet cuff links he treasured, he had only smiled and asked if I'd hurt myself.

I had always been free to walk into his office and flip through confidential files that even his right-hand man wasn't allowed to touch.

No one in my family had ever let me suffer the slightest grievance. No outsider was allowed to say a single bad word about me. But today...

Because I hadn't asked him to step in, all my father could do was stand there and watch.

He had to watch me suffer at Dillon's hands.

He remained by the doorway without saying a word while the bridal suite buzzed with frantic activity. Everything was ready. We were only waiting for Mia.

Then Dillon called.

My assistant's eyes lit up. "They must be here, open the door.

"I'll go check."

A cheer rippled through the bridal suite.

The priest wiped the sweat from his forehead and urged me, "Answer it, Ms. Monica. He must be calling to apologize."

After a brief hesitation, I picked up.

Dillon's voice was gentle. "Monica, I'm sorry."

The apology loosened the knot in my chest. The hurt and anger I'd been holding onto began to melt away.

I was about to answer. Then he kept talking.

"Even if I sent Mia over now, she won't have enough time to finish your makeup. So I think she should do Mrs. Garcia first.

"If Beth and her mom look their best today, it reflects well on all of us. Don't worry—I already sent Beth's former stylist to you. She'll be there soon. She did Beth's gala look before, and it turned out beautifully. I'll meet you at the church."

My head buzzed. The blood drained from my face, and I nearly collapsed. The bridal suite fell silent. Everyone turned to stare at me.

My mother grabbed my arm, furious enough to snatch the phone away.

I moved out of my mother's reach, steadied my voice, and asked, "Do you truly want me to be your wife?"

Dillon laughed. "Of course I do. That's why I'm fixing the problem. I found you another stylist. If I weren't serious about marrying you, I wouldn't have gone to all this trouble.

"Stop making this into a bigger issue than it is. We'll talk after the wedding."

A bitter laugh escaped me. By now, this wasn't about a makeup artist anymore. Dillon had considered everyone else's wishes and, as always, put mine last.

"Dillon... don't regret this."

My voice was firm.

For a split second, he fell silent.

In the ten years we'd been together, I'd never spoken to him like that. Not once. He knew exactly what kind of person I was. He knew I meant every word.

But then he must have convinced himself that we'd come too far to turn back. There was no way I'd let the wedding end in disaster.

"Alright, it's settled. Stop making a scene and holding everyone up. I'll be there soon."

He hung up on me again.

Just like that, he made the decision for me.

My mind went blank. A loud ringing filled my ears until I could barely process anything he'd said.

My father was beside himself with rage. No one in the bridal suite dared to speak. Only my mother rubbed the back of my hand, trying to comfort me.

"Monica, it's okay. No one gets to treat you this way. Whatever you decide, we'll stand behind you."

My father looked utterly disappointed in Dillon. He couldn't bear to see me suffer. "Whatever you choose, we are on your side."

The videographer urged, "According to the schedule, we need to leave for the church now. All the guests have arrived."

I wiped away my tears. Even my wrists were trembling.

"Go ahead and do my makeup." I lifted my chin. "I'm done putting up with this."

Everyone exchanged uneasy glances. Then the backup stylist my mother had hired stepped forward and resumed working on my hair.