Chapter 4

Silence stretched between us over the line for two agonizing seconds.

When Everett finally spoke again, his voice was laced with something complex and unreadable.

"Leah, are you seriously that desperate to get married? You couldn't even wait six months?"

I glanced down at my phone, where a nonstop stream of text messages from my mom kept flooding the screen.

The fully decorated venue, the hotel suites, the master guest list, the printed invitations, the party favors…

Along with early congratulations messages popping up from distant relatives.

I opened my mouth and said, "No, I can't wait. Everett. I can't wait another minute, not another second."

…

Everett let out an ice-cold, bitter laugh.

"Leah, do you actually think pulling a stunt like this gives you leverage over me? You're being incredibly naïve.

"I'm not showing up to the wedding tomorrow. Do whatever you want, but you're only going to embarrass yourself."

Before I could reply, the line went dead.

Standing outside the airport terminal, I paused for a moment, then forwarded the wedding invitation featuring my new fiancé directly to his phone.

A split second later, a bright red exclamation mark popped up next to the message bubble.

He had blocked me.

Right on cue, another notification flashed on my screen:

[I'm already at the airport. Text me when you land and I'll come find you.]

[Safe travels.]

I let out a long, shuddering breath.

It felt as though I was finally exhaling every last drop of grievance and resentment I had bottled up over the past five years.

I typed back a quick reply: [Okay.]

Grasping the handle of my suitcase, I walked toward the gate with lighter steps and boarded the plane.

Everett didn't return to the apartment until the next afternoon.

He pushed the front door open, greeted only by hollow, empty silence.

He yanked off his tie, tossed it onto the couch, and pulled out his phone to check his messages. Sienna had sent a text earlier.

[Are you guys okay? Is Leah alright?]

Everett replied: [What could possibly be wrong with her? I've just been letting her walk all over me lately, and now she thinks she can act totally out of line.]

He opened his feed and kept scrolling down the screen.

Then, his thumb froze over a nine-photo grid posted by Leah's mom.

It was the wedding venue. A sea of white roses stretched across the floor under crystal chandeliers that dazzled like starlight.

The bride stood beneath a floral archway in a sleek satin gown, her veil cascading all the way to the floor in a sweeping, elegant curve.

Sienna had also forwarded the post directly to Everett.

[Holy crap, even your mother-in-law posted about it. Are you seriously not going?]

[Leah loves you so much, there's no way she's actually backing out.]

[Everett, don't do something stupid. If your wedding gets ruined because of me, I'll never forgive myself.]

Everett ran a hand through his hair, his brow furrowed.

[This has nothing to do with you. Leah is just throwing an irrational tantrum.]

[Let her figure it out herself. She's been completely out of control lately.]

Tossing the phone onto the coffee table in frustration, he leaned back into the couch and closed his eyes.

Yet the moment his eyelids shut, those images branded themselves into his mind like deep roots.

The fresh flowers. The white veil. The soft lights. Leah, standing there in a wedding dress, a sight he had never once witnessed in person.

Suddenly, he remembered the wedding dress he had spent five years designing for her, a dress Leah had never worn in front of him even once.

It was because the sizing was always off.

It was because he kept getting her measurements wrong.

Everett snapped his eyes open, snatched the phone back up, and opened the post again.

The photos were professionally shot, every single frame looking like a high-fashion magazine cover.

Leah stood backlit against the sun, her expression soft and unreadable.

Yet her posture was completely relaxed, her shoulders open, her chin lifted slightly, looking striking and effortlessly composed.

Then his eyes hit the eighth photo: a high-resolution shot of the wedding invitation.

Embossed gold lettering decorated the cover above a design featuring two figures wrapped in an embrace.

It was a design concept Leah had spent hours eagerly pitching to him long ago.

How had Everett responded back then?

It had been a half-hearted brush-off: "Whatever you pick is fine by me."

Pressing his lips together into a thin line, he instinctively tapped to enlarge the intricate card.

In an instant, his pupils dilated in shock.

Printed clearly across the gold foil were the names of the couple.

[Bride: Leah Mitchell. Groom: Tristan Lawson.]

The groom wasn't him.