Chapter 3

Liana's POV

The sight of Mona standing there in my wedding dress froze me in place.

Weston shot to his feet, his eyes lighting up with open admiration.

Mona clutched the skirt, blushing as she stole a glance at him. Standing together, they looked just like a bride and groom preparing to walk down the aisle.

"Do I look good?" Mona asked sweetly.

"You're gorgeous!" Weston blurted out without missing a beat, as though even a second of hesitation was too long.

The blush spread to the tips of Mona's ears.

I stepped out from behind the partition and stared straight at Weston. "Why is she here?"

Panic flashed across Weston's face the moment he saw me, but he quickly composed himself and cleared his throat. "Mona heard I was coming with you to try on your dress today. She insisted on coming along to give you a second opinion."

I said nothing, shifting my gaze to the wedding dress Mona was wearing. "Then why is she wearing my dress?"

"She thought it looked pretty and wanted to try it on," Weston said casually, as if it were something completely ordinary. "You weren't here yet anyway, so I let her have some fun trying it on first."

"Liana, I was just trying it on to help you see how it looks," Mona said, pouting as she carefully stepped down from the fitting platform. "Don't be mad. I'll take it off right now."

She paused, running a hand over the fabric. "But… why did you choose a pattern like this? It looks kind of cheap. Big, bold embroidered flowers would look so much more elegant."

"Liana's taste is a little conservative," Weston chimed in, nodding in agreement.

Back when he was pursuing me, he'd searched half the city for a bouquet of freesias and told me they symbolized everlasting love, as unwavering as his feelings for me.

So when it came time to choose the pattern for my wedding dress, I hadn't hesitated to sketch freesias onto it. It was meant to be a testament to our love.

Looking back now, it was nothing more than my own wishful thinking.

"Aren't you going to take it off?" I asked, looking calmly at Mona.

Her eyes reddened instantly, tears welling up and threatening to spill over.

Weston's voice dropped, his eyes filled with displeasure. "Why are you making such a big deal out of this with your own sister? Letting her wear it a little longer won't hurt the dress."

Mona stormed out of the dressing room and threw the wedding dress at me. "Here! Take it back!"

Tears streamed down her face.

Weston quickly pulled her aside and comforted her in a soft voice.

I ignored them and began looking over the wedding dress.

"I don't want this dress anymore," I said calmly.

The moment the words left my mouth, some of the weight on my chest lifted.

Mona looked up at me in shock.

Weston frowned and grabbed my wrist. "Don't make a scene in public. I'll make it up to you when we get home."

I shook off his hand, looked Mona straight in the eye, and repeated myself. "You wore it, so I don't want it anymore."

"Is messing with me like this fun for you?"

Her face flushed with embarrassment as she clung to Weston, weeping pitifully.

Weston moved in front of her, shielding her behind him. "Is there something wrong with the dress?"

I said, "No."

"Then what are you throwing a fit for?" Weston grew visibly impatient. "She wore it once. Is it really that big a deal?"

"It is," I replied, holding his gaze. "It's my wedding. I want a wedding dress that's wholly mine, one that belongs entirely to me from start to finish. I don't want anyone else to have worn it."

For more than 20 years, I'd had very few things that were truly mine.

Mona was constantly on medication, and a large share of the family's spending went toward her. Everything she used had to be brand-new and high-quality. As a healthy child, I was always expected to make do with hand-me-downs.

We were only a year apart, so we could swap just about everything.

Everyone got used to living that way. Even after Mona got better, nothing changed.

I'd tried to speak up for myself before, but Mom and Dad always ended up accusing me of being inconsiderate toward them and the family. They called me dramatic.

So I learned to stay quiet.

From the initial measurements to the finished dress, I'd made seven trips to the boutique. Every single stitch was exactly the way I wanted it.

At my own wedding, I just wanted to have this one thing entirely to myself.

But now, that wish had been shattered.

The day I ordered it, he'd promised me it would be mine alone.

I looked up, ready to remind him, only to find nothing but confusion in his eyes. The words died in my throat.

"Forget it."

The words were so faint that no one heard them.

Ignoring the voices calling after me, I turned and walked away.