Chapter 4

When I got home, the house was pitch black.

Standing alone in the darkness, I sent Delilah a text.

[One of my colleagues asked me to come over and watch the game. It's getting late, so I won't be coming home tonight.]

Her reply came almost immediately.

[Okay. But don't stay up too late. Your stomach's been acting up, so you have to get up and eat breakfast tomorrow morning.]

There was none of her usual prying.

I knew Delilah wouldn't be coming home that night, so I pulled out my suitcase and started packing.

After sitting alone in the living room until dawn, I took a cab straight to the bridal boutique.

"Cedric, you're here. Have you had breakfast? I brought you some bread."

The moment I walked in, Delilah and Marcel came over to greet me, drawing envious looks from the staff.

"What a lucky groom you are! Your fiancee and your best friend got here ages ago and have been waiting for you."

At that title, Marcel's face instantly turned pale.

Delilah noticed the change in his expression and immediately withdrew the hand that had been offering me the bread.

I said nothing. Just like I always had, I casually patted Marcel on the shoulder.

"I drank an iced soda last night, and my stomach's killing me today. Think you could try on the tux for me?"

"What?"

"Come on. Help me out." I stood beside him with a playful grin.

Delilah immediately dragged me over and pulled a bottle of antacids from her purse.

Frowning, she shoved a pill into my mouth. "I told you not to drink, so instead you drink something ice-cold. You're asking for trouble."

I chuckled, but I kept pestering Marcel until he finally gave in.

When the fitting room curtain opened, the entire boutique fell silent.

Marcel stood on the platform like a perfectly sculpted model. The tux fit him flawlessly. For a moment, he was breathtaking.

Delilah froze where she stood, staring at him without blinking.

Suddenly, there was a loud crash. A nearby clothing rack tipped dangerously, bolts of fabric sliding off the shelves.

Delilah's eyes widened. Without thinking, she rushed toward Marcel and threw herself in front of him.

At the same time, she shoved the falling rack away from him. She never even noticed I was standing beside it.

Instinctively, I wanted to call her name, but she didn't spare me so much as a glance. All of her attention was fixed on Marcel.

The next second, a dull pain shot through my arm as a hanger struck me hard, and warm blood quickly seeped through my sleeve.

I lowered my eyes to look at it as a chill spread through me. Maybe, in Delilah's heart, I had never truly been her priority.

After making sure Marcel was okay, Delilah finally turned around and noticed me standing there, clutching my arm. Her expression changed instantly.

She and Marcel hurried over together.

"What happened? Where are you hurt?" Her voice was strained as she reached for my arm, but I instinctively stepped back.

Suppressing the bitterness rising inside me, I forced a smile. "It's nothing. Just a minor scrape. Let's not waste time. We're here to look at wedding outfits. Marcel's still waiting."

Then I looked at him and smiled. "Marcel, you seriously look incredible in that tux."

Delilah's attention immediately shifted back to him.

"Dashing, hmm?" asked the salesperson with a smile.

"He does..." Delilah murmured absentmindedly. Only after the words left her mouth did she realize the question hadn't been directed at her.

"He looks amazing!" I applauded enthusiastically, smiling through a sheen of tears.

Marcel didn't notice. A faint blush spread across his cheeks as he hurriedly pulled the curtain shut again.

After that, he tried on several more outfits. The fitting didn't last particularly long, yet throughout the entire process, Delilah's gaze remained fixed on the dressing room.

Like a real bride, she sat there full of anticipation, waiting for the man she loved to walk out of the fitting room.

I watched her back in silence, then I took out my phone and began messaging the wedding planners one by one.

"What are you doing?"

At some point, Delilah had walked over.

Without looking up, I answered, "Confirming tomorrow's wedding schedule."

"Haven't you already done that?"

"It never hurts to double-check." I carefully reviewed every detail, one message at a time. Delilah watched me for a long moment, her expression complicated.

Eventually, she hesitantly reached out and brushed her fingers against my cheek, but her heart wasn't with me, which was why she never noticed that the wedding schedule in the group chat listed Marcel as the groom.

"Remember to get up early tomorrow. I'll come pick you up myself!"

Before sending Delilah off to the wedding hotel, I stood beside Marcel and waved enthusiastically. My smile couldn't have been brighter.

Delilah nodded, but she wasn't looking at me.

A minute later, reflected in the taxi windshield, I saw a message appear on Marcel's phone.

[I told you before—you are my only husband. That's why I've transferred all of my premarital assets to you. Let's pretend tomorrow's wedding belongs to us. Consider the money my dowry to you in the life we should've had.]

I took a slow breath and dug my nails into my palm. Even then, I kept smiling as though I were genuinely happy.

No one could have guessed that by the time the makeup artist knocked on my door the next morning, I would already be gone.

Looking at the photo of the three of us on my phone, I softly whispered, "Congratulations on your wedding."

Then I deleted the picture.

From that moment on, the carefree and innocent Cedric Davenport ceased to exist. The three of us would live under different skies, worlds apart.