Chapter 3

I turned around to face him. "But Sunny isn't part of the bridal party."

"It’s just a last-minute addition," he said, waving his hand dismissively. "What’s the big deal?"

Sunny stood right beside him, twirling a strand of her hair around her index finger. "If Grace doesn't want me to, then forget it. It’s not like I'm desperate to be a bridesmaid anyway."

Tristan turned his head to look at her. "You don't always have to play the martyr."

Then, his eyes shifted back to me. "Grace, it’s just a dress."

Just a dress.

Just a line of vows.

Just a reception backdrop.

It seemed like absolutely everything associated with me could be instantly reduced to a meaningless "just" the second Sunny cast her eyes on it.

I tapped on my phone, pulling up the wedding vendor's contact information, and forwarded the bridesmaid dress shop details straight to his number.

Tristan’s cold expression softened a fraction. "See? Was that really so hard?"

I didn't offer a single word in response.

That afternoon, I went back to my apartment to organize the rest of the wedding inventory.

The living room was completely piled high with cardboard packing boxes.

There were custom wedding favors, table placement cards, guest sign-in registries, and that thick, leather-bound memory album.

I had curated that album entirely by hand.

Spanning from elementary school to high school, and all the way through college.

I had carefully affixed every single photograph in perfect chronological order.

On the very first page was a snapshot of Tristan standing squarely on my right side, physically blocking a crumpled ball of paper a boy in the back row had hurled at my head.

On the back of that photograph, I had scribbled a short line: He was the world I heard first.

Back then, I genuinely, truly believed those words.

The front doorbell chimed.

I opened the door to find Sunny standing out in the hallway, flanked by two junior design assistants from the wedding agency.

She offered a bright smile, casually swaying a boutique shopping bag in her hand. "Hey, Grace! I just came by to pick up the bridesmaid dress, and I figured I'd see if there was anything else I could help you unpack."

I didn't step aside to grant her entry. "No need."

Sunny peeked over my shoulder into the apartment. "Wow, look at all these boxes. You've prepared so much stuff."

Before I could bar her path, she smoothly slipped past my side and marched straight into the living room.

I reached out my arm to stop her, leaving the two design assistants hovering awkwardly at the threshold.

Sunny had already caught sight of the memory album resting on the coffee table. She flipped open the first page and let out a light chuckle. "Oh my god, you guys looked so hilarious when you were little kids."

I strode over and firmly snapped the album shut right in front of her. "Don't touch that."

She blinked her eyes at me, looking entirely innocent. "Wow, you're keeping it that heavily guarded?"

Tristan’s voice suddenly echoed from the open doorway. "Sunny, I thought you said you were just running in to grab the dress?"

He had followed her up.

Sunny immediately retracted her hands, pulling them close to her chest. "I was genuinely just taking a quick look, but it seems like Grace is really angry with me now."

Tristan directed his gaze toward me. "She was just being curious, Grace."

I clutched the memory album tightly against my chest, refusing to let go. "I explicitly said not to touch it."

Tristan’s face turned completely cold. "Grace, how much longer are you honestly going to drag out this tantrum today?

"Nobody is trying to steal your things," Sunny murmured in a tiny, fragile voice. "Tristan, please don't scold her. I'm sure it’s just because of her childhood hearing loss... people with those kinds of challenges usually suffer from a severe lack of emotional security over their personal belongings."

Tristan didn't offer a single word to contradict her statement. Instead, he fell into a heavy silence that lasted for two agonizing seconds.

I stared blankly at him.

Those two seconds were entirely long enough.

Long enough for me to realize that deep down in his heart, he viewed me exactly the same way.

Sunny reached into an open inventory box and pulled out an intricate bridal corsage. "Oh, wow! Grace, would it be okay if I kept this specific piece? I think it looks absolutely stunning."

That corsage had been painstakingly designed for the bride.

A cluster of pristine white camellias.

It was a flower I had cherished deeply for years.

And Tristan knew that better than anyone.

Because when we were young children, I had severely misheard a word due to my right ear. I had completely mistaken the word "Camellia" for the word "Comfort."

Ever since that day, he would gift me a fresh branch of camellias on every single one of my birthdays, repeating the same promise to me over and over again.

"I am your comfort."

Now, Sunny was pinching those exact camellias between her fingers, smiling beautifully as she asked if she could just take them for herself.

My voice was entirely unwavering. "No."

Tristan took a few steps forward, stepping between us. "If she likes it, just let her have it. We can easily have the florist whip up a duplicate on the morning of the wedding."

I lifted my eyes to look directly into his. "Tristan, you were the one who personally selected that flower."

He stiffened, caught entirely off guard for a fraction of a second.

Sunny looked back and forth between the two of us, a brilliant grin spreading across her face. "Oh, wow! So you were the one who picked it out, Tristan? Well, that makes me love it even more."

Without waiting for permission, she pinned the white camellias directly onto the bodice of her white satin dress. "How do I look?"

Tristan didn't offer an answer, but he didn't instruct her to take it off either.

A sudden, immense weight seemed to settle into the memory album I was clutching.

It felt so incredibly heavy that my wrists began to physically ache.

I lowered my head, placing the album back down into the packing box.

Then, I pulled out my phone and tapped open the private text chain with the wedding planner, typing out a direct response.

[If we officially cancel the event, you need the final confirmation before five o'clock this afternoon, correct?]

The response flashed across the screen almost instantly.

[Yes, that is correct.]

Before my fingers could even trace the glass to type out my confirmation, Tristan suddenly reached down and forcefully snatched the phone right out of my grip.

"Who exactly are you texting right now?"

The screen was still illuminated, and the text log glared right back at him.

The entire living room descended into a sudden, suffocating silence.

Tristan stared intently at the words on the screen, his voice dropping to a terrifyingly low, dangerous register. "Grace, what is the absolute meaning of this?"