The Day I Found Her Real Groom

Adam's POV

After sending out a text to the wedding planner to cancel the wedding, I sat in the study, my fingertips icy cold.

The glowing screen displayed three full years—1,095 days—worth of posts from the pet account.

Every single day featured Kristy Simpson. Sometimes it was a profile shot, sometimes it was her back, and sometimes she was holding a ragdoll cat named Pudding, smiling tenderly at the camera.

I turned off my phone.

The living room light was still on. I'd made a habit of leaving it on for her when she came home late, and I'd kept doing so for five years.

The sound of a key turning came from the entryway.

Kristy was back.

She took off her coat and walked straight over to me, her brows slightly furrowed.

"You're not done with the wedding intro video yet?"

She didn't say a single word about why she'd come home so late, nor did she notice anything off about me.

I looked at her calmly. "Almost."

She didn't seem to notice the coldness in my voice and kept talking. "It's due tomorrow. Don't forget."

Then she tossed her camera bag onto the couch. A black camera remote slipped out of the side pocket and rolled onto the carpet.

My heart sank.

It was the same remote. In countless videos, the guy named Victor Olsen had held it up, grinning as he called out to the off-camera Kristy, "Kristy, we're rolling!"

As it turned out, she hadn't simply happened to end up in front of the camera. She had been the one pressing the shutter herself.

Kristy bent down to pick up the remote. Noticing my gaze, she casually shoved it back into the bag.

"Why are you looking at that?"

I swallowed the bitterness in my throat.

"Kristy, what's going on with that pet account?"

She looked annoyed. "I told you. It's work. A collaboration with a pet influencer."

"Work? What work requires you to be on camera every day for three years straight?"

"Why are you overthinking things again?" she snapped, her voice rising. "Adam, can you be more mature? Not everything has to be about our relationship."

"I just wanted to—"

"You don't need to know," she said, cutting me off. "Just do what you're supposed to do and finish editing the wedding video."

She was always like this. Whenever I had questions or felt wronged, she'd shut me down with words like "be mature", "it's work", and "don't be childish".

In the past, I'd immediately apologize and reflect on myself. But tonight, I just nodded.

"Okay."

Seemingly satisfied with how sensible I was being, she turned and walked into the bathroom.

When I heard the water running, I opened my conversation with the person in charge of the exhibition. They had just sent me a confirmation.

"Mr. Cox, regarding the two-year restoration residency program at the Old Film Museum in Orvale, are you certain you'd like to accept the position? You turned it down before because of the wedding."

For the sake of the future Kristy had talked about, I'd given up my dream opportunity. But now, I was taking it back with my own hands.

"I'm sure. Thank you for holding the spot for me."

…

The next morning, Kristy discovered that her camera batteries hadn't been charged and the shooting script wasn't laid out on the table like usual.

Visibly irritated, she started rummaging through the house.

"Adam, where's my spare battery?"

I was packing my film restoration tools and didn't even look up.

"I don't know. Look for it yourself."

She froze, looking at me in surprise.

I ignored her and continued using the deposits returned by the wedding planning agency to pay the breach-of-contract fees, one payment at a time.

She'd always used work as an excuse to be a total hands-off bride for this wedding, so the wedding vendors only had my contact information.

That made it easy for me to cut every last tie cleanly. The venue, the officiant, the transportation… I severed every connection with my own two hands.

Finally, I logged into the studio's backend system to revoke my keycard access.

"Are you sure you want to revoke access?"

I clicked "Yes".

My phone buzzed.

A confirmation letter had come from the residency program.

"Mr. Cox, welcome aboard. Your residency check-in date is seven days from now."

At the same time, I opened the electronic seating chart for the wedding and deleted my name from the groom column.

In Kristy's mind, the wedding was still moving forward as planned. But her groom had already quietly made his exit.