How To Cancel The Engagement Gracefully?

The day before our engagement, my fiancé, Shawn Williams, said he would accompany me to look for a wedding dress. He still was not there by the time the bridal shop closed. I received a text from him on my way home. Shawn said: [Britney said she ran out of pajamas, so I'll accompany her to go shopping.] I called him, but his junior answered the phone. "Shawn is taking a shower. I can pass along a message if you have something to tell him." Shawn and I had been in a relationship for four years. Whenever I had something important to do, his junior would suddenly need his help with something trivial. He would always abandon me and rush to her side. As expected, he did not hesitate to abandon me on a day as important as today. Feeling exhausted, I calmly replied, "Tell him the wedding is canceled. I don't want to marry him anymore."

On the eve of my wedding, I was run over by my fiance's childhood friend. My life was in danger. My best friend tried to call my fiance, but he hung up directly. He sent her a text message. "Ruth is sick. I don't have time." My best friend then called her boyfriend who happened to be a well-connected celebrity. However, he said, "Ruth is sick. She needs me by her side right now." After a night of resuscitation, we looked at each other in the ward and spoke at the same time. "I don't want to get married." To our surprise, both our fiances went crazy when they found out we called off our weddings.

A video of my boyfriend proposing to his secretary makes it to the trending topics. Everyone squeals over how romantic and touching it is. His secretary even posts on social media, "I've waited so long for you to appear, and I'm glad I didn't give up. I'll leave my life in your hands, Mr. Emerson." One of the comments goes, "God, this is so sweet. A CEO and his secretary—I ship them!" I don't weep or cause a fuss. Instead, I close the webpage and ask my boyfriend for an explanation. That's when I hear him talking to his friends. "I didn't have a choice. She would've been forced to marry someone she doesn't love if I didn't help her." "What about Vicky? She's your actual girlfriend. Aren't you afraid of her getting mad?" "So what if she is? She's been with me for seven years—she can't live without me." Later, I have my wedding on the same day as his. Our cars drive past each other, and I exchange bouquets with his secretary. When he sees me, he breaks down.

At 8:00 am, I sit in the hotel suite dressed in a custom haute couture wedding gown. At the moment, I'm waiting for Everett Green, the man I've dated for five years, to arrive with the bridal car fleet. A photograph suddenly pops up on my phone screen. Everett's childhood sweetheart, Della Coyle, is dressed in a pristine white tulle dress. She sits in the passenger seat of the Rolls-Royce that serves as the lead bridal car. The thing is, that seat is supposed to be mine. Her caption reads, "He says that I have to be the first person he sees on the most important day of his life." Suppressing the violent trembling in my hands, I dial Everett's number. His background noise is full of Della's giggles. In a matter-of-fact tone, Everett says, "Della has dreamed of riding in a Rolls-Royce ever since she was a kid. She felt upset today, so I made a quick detour to Soumoton to pick her up first." "Soumoton and my place are in opposite directions. You gave her the seat in the lead bridal car, so what am I supposed to mean to you?" I demand. "Could you stop being so petty? She's just my little sister, so what's the big deal if she sits in the passenger seat?" Everett impatiently clicks his tongue. "Tell the guests that the fleet will be an hour late. It's our big day, so don't ruin the mood over nothing. " The call abruptly ends. I stare at my reflection in the mirror, at the woman who has spent three hours getting her makeup done. Every ounce of devotion I've poured into this five-year relationship feels like nothing but a pathetic joke. After taking off my wedding gown, I call the hotel manager, Clifton Payne, and give him a final order. "Cancel the two-million-dollar wedding scheduled for today."

My fiancée, Diana, is the princess of a powerful New York Mafia family. She claims to love me deeply, yet a month before our wedding, she told me she wanted to have a baby with her childhood sweetheart, claiming it was a "family arrangement." I refused. But she brought it up every single day, pushing me into a corner as if my consent didn’t matter. Two weeks before the wedding, I received a pregnancy report from a private clinic. That’s when I found out she was already nearly a month pregnant. She never intended to wait for my permission. In that moment, I finally woke up. Our years of history were nothing but a fragile illusion. So, I canceled the wedding. I burned every single gift she had ever given me. On the day we were supposed to say "I do," I boarded a flight to Italy to pursue my advanced degree in clinical medicine. I officially accepted a mission with Doctors Without Borders and cut all ties with the Mafia family. From that day on, Diana and I were finished. For good.

The air in the Parisian haute couture salon smelled like money and fear. I’d waited six months for my wedding dress. Now, it was draped over the shoulders of Sofia Ross—the trending influencer, and my mafia fiancé Vincent Cassio’s god-sister. The salon manager was sweating bullets, his eyes darting between me and the man lounging on the velvet sofa. Vincent Cassio stood up. He adjusted a fold of the diamond-encrusted train on Sofia with a casual flick of his wrist. “Her premiere next week needs a statement piece. She’s borrowing it. Pick something off the rack and stop making a scene.” His tone was flat, final. Under the crystal chandeliers, Sofia admired herself in the full-length mirror, a triumphant smile on her lips. I looked at my reflection in the same mirror, wearing jeans and a soaked trench coat. I looked like a lost tourist. Suddenly, the entire past year of planning felt like a sick joke. I didn’t yell. I just felt cold. Numb. I slipped the five-carat engagement ring off my finger. It hit the glass coffee table with a sharp, final click. “You’re right, Vincent. I don’t need this wedding dress. This wedding… I don’t need it either.”