My Wedding, His Breakdown

Dylan pulled me into bed, his desires insatiable. His kisses trailed down to my collarbone, leaving a trail of hickeys.

“You smell so good tonight, Vee,” he murmured in a low, husky voice beside my ear, his warm breath brushing against my neck.

I gently pushed against his chest. “What’s gotten into you today?”

He didn’t answer. His hand slipped inside my blouse, skillfully unfastening my bra. Soon, I lost all sense of reason, sinking with him into a haze of passion. I told myself he was just a man. Boys would be boys, after all.

After everything, he leaned lazily against the headboard and lit a cigarette.

Lying in the swirl of smoke, he suddenly said, “Vee, design a wedding ring for me, will you?”

My heart skipped a beat. I fought to suppress the joy that almost burst from my chest. I thought he was finally going to propose. We had been dating for three years, but he had never given me any formal promise.

“What made you change your mind all of a sudden?” I asked, trying to sound calm, though excitement crept into my voice.

Dylan gave a soft chuckle, exhaling a ring of smoke. His tone was casual, even indifferent. “It’s an arranged marriage. I can’t let it look too bad.”

The smile on my face froze.

“Who is the ring for?” I heard my voice, dry and brittle.

He kissed the corner of my lips. “Obviously, for the woman my family picked for me. Who else?”

My blood turned to ice.

“Didn’t you say you hated arranged marriages?” I forced the words out. “At Mason’s birthday party, you said—”

“That was just nonsense that I said when I was young,” he interrupted impatiently.

“In families like mine, arranged marriages are the norm. Haven’t we always had an unspoken understanding, you and I?”

He stubbed out the cigarette and leaned closer, using that familiar, coaxing tone. “Vee, you’re the most important person to me. My marriage for her is just for show. It's a sacrifice that I have to make for the sake of my family. You’re the best. I know you’ll understand and support me, right?”

Seeing the blood drain from my face, he sneered, “Vee, you didn’t think I’d marry you, did you?”

He rolled off the bed, grabbed the robe off the floor, and threw it on. His tone was light and flippant. “At most… we're just pillow friends.”

Those last two words pierced my heart like a knife. I remembered the first time I met him. It was at my younger brother, Mason’s, birthday party.

Mason had dragged me there, insisting on introducing me to his friend. I had been sitting in a corner, bored and sipping fruit juice, when I heard a clear voice. Dylan stood there, waving a bottle of liquor, his eyes bright and defiant.

“This is the 21st century. Why are we still doing this crap? If I get married, it’s going to be to someone I choose!”

At that moment, I thought I had found a kindred spirit. His rebellious, untamed look captivated me instantly, and I began to pursue him. I had always been thoughtful and caring, and I cared for him without regard for anything else until he finally said yes.

He once told me, “Vee, you’re not like other women. I hate the hypocrisy at home. I can only breathe when I'm with you.”

I thought we were soulmates who would resist the world together. I thought he would not betray me.

However, it turned out that I was the only one who believed that.

I nodded calmly. “Alright. I understand.”

Dylan looked surprised at my composure and raised an eyebrow. To him, I should be crying, screaming, and accusing him hysterically.

However, he did not think too much of it. He probably thought I was trying to play cat and mouse again.

With a smirk, he said, “I knew you were the best, Vee.”

He gently stroked my cheek, then walked away without looking back. I was left sitting alone on the messy bed, awake the entire night.