Chapter 3

Inside my rental apartment, I sat scrolling through my phone, searching for a reputable plastic surgery clinic.

Just then, a push notification lit up my screen.

[Top Trending in the City: The Wedding of the Century—Genius Designer Sylvie Thompson and Her Beloved!]

I had told myself I was over it. But the moment I saw the headline, a dull ache welled up in my chest.

I tapped into the Thompson Group's official livestream.

It was just in time to see Sylvie and Tyler exchanging rings.

The camera zoomed in, panning slowly from the hem of his suit upward in a polished close-up. Beside him, Sylvie beamed with joy, addressing the audience as she explained the inspiration behind the suit.

"This was designed by my husband and me, a tribute to the promise we made in our youth. We hope all couples in love can journey from school uniforms to suits, from shirts to wedding gowns."

That suit—the one she once promised would be mine—fit Tyler perfectly.

The initials "TC" shimmered faintly under the spotlight, embroidered on the chest pocket. They glowed like the rings on their intertwined fingers.

So that was the truth.

The suit was never mine to begin with.

A cascade of notifications buzzed through my phone.

They were messages from Tyler.

He'd sent photos of him and Sylvie. Their wedding portraits. Group shots with the entire Thompson family.

Anyone looking at them would think: what a perfect couple.

The pride and declaration was unmistakable.

The wedding I had longed for over five years, the acceptance I had waited so long to earn—Tyler had received with ease.

Like Sylvie, he came from a privileged family. He shared her brilliance in design. Perhaps, in the eyes of the Thompson family, he had always been the ideal son-in-law.

Wanting to spare myself more pain, I blocked Tyler without hesitation.

But before I could even set my phone down, Sylvie called.

Out of habit, I answered.

Before I could speak, her voice came roaring through the receiver.

"Johnny, how long are you planning to keep this up?! You ran out before the wedding—I haven't even said a word about that! And now you're taking it out on Tyler?! If he hadn't stepped in today, do you even realize what kind of joke I would've become?!"

I blinked, stunned for a moment, slowly piecing things together.

So Tyler ran to her—complaining like a child.

A wave of exhaustion washed over me.

"I'm not making a scene. I really do wish you both well," I said.

She fell silent for a beat, then softened slightly.

"Don't get the wrong idea. I was the one who asked Tyler to let you know. Make sure you come to the family dinner tonight. Mom and Dad are not happy with how you behaved today. You can explain it to them yourself."

Without thinking, I refused.

"There's no need. I'm just an outsider now. No reason to crash your family dinner."

My answer made her explode.

Her voice rose, sharp with indignation. "The wedding was just for the brand's exposure! You're still my husband! I forgive you for running away from home over such a trivial matter. You have to show up for this family dinner!"

How ridiculous.

A wedding, supposedly ours—where the groom wasn't me.

A suit that didn't fit me.

A ceremony staged to promote her company's latest line.

And she expected me to accept all of it, as if none of it mattered. As if I should smile and show up to dine with her family, like nothing had happened.

The truth was painfully clear. My feelings had never been part of the equation.

From the other end of the call, I heard Tyler's voice. The dinner was starting.

I clenched the phone in my hand, suddenly too tired to argue anymore.

"Sylvie," I said quietly. "I don't want to be your husband anymore. Find a time to finalize the divorce, so I can make room for him."