Alterations

By the time I return home from a business trip, it is past midnight. However, my wife, Celeste Beaumont, isn't home. A man's shirt that isn't mine is lying on the couch. When I call her, she tells me that she's working late at the office. "Whose shirt is it on the couch?" I ask, cutting straight to the point. She playfully scolds, "Who else would it be? It's a gift for you, so hurry up and try it on." I skeptically put it on and immediately feel how tight and uncomfortable it is across my shoulders. "This is an L, babe. I've always worn XL." Celeste runs a clothing company. She's the one who handles all my clothes and even uses my body measurements for her menswear line. There's no way she doesn't know my size. The line goes quiet for half a second before she thoughtfully says, "It's from my new menswear collection. "I had pieces custom-made for you and Felix, so I must've grabbed the wrong piece. I'll swap it tomorrow." A beat later, her voice carries a little sob as she continues, "Babe, I've been so exhausted without you these past few days. I've missed you so much…" It's past midnight. As I listen to the undeniable weariness beneath her affectionate, playful words, my heart aches in distress. I can't help chiding myself for overthinking. However, after hanging up, realization hits me. Her brother, Felix Beaumont, and I are about the same build. He's always worn XL.

My husband dotes on me. He's always saying I'm the one he cherishes most in this life. Everyone else envies me too, saying I married well—pampered like a princess. It all started when I mentioned, offhand, that tailored cuts flatter my figure. From that moment on, he kept it in mind every day, going out of his way to gather all kinds of designer womenswear for me. In the walk-in closet at home, there's always a wardrobe filled exclusively with my new clothes—each piece haute couture, with exquisite fabrics and impeccable craftsmanship. On New Year's Eve in our third year of marriage, the house was lively, packed with relatives chatting and laughing. With a smile, my husband handed me a gift box. "Go on, open your New Year's present." The frustration and resentment I'd been bottling up for so long exploded in an instant. I shoved the box to the floor. "It's the New Year—can you just stop for once?" The moment the words left my mouth, everyone fell silent. The relatives' expressions shifted; one after another, they began to scold me for being ungrateful, for not knowing how lucky I was. My husband looked at me, eyes full of shock and hurt. "I just bought you some pretty clothes. Why are you angry?" Amid their pointing fingers and his wounded questioning, I rushed into the walk-in closet like I'd lost my mind, dragging out those designer clothes and throwing them all over the floor. Everyone stared at me, stunned. No one said another word.

On the day I went to try on my wedding dress, Enzo had said he would come with me—but he never showed up. The train of the gown was too long. I stood alone in front of the mirror, bending over again and again to fix it more than a dozen times. The third time I stepped on the hem, my phone finally buzzed. 'Natalie just came back and isn't used to the weather here. I'll go pick her up. You try on the dress first.' The next second, a new post popped up on social media. Natalie had uploaded a photo. In it, Enzo was crouched in front of her, one hand wrapped around her slender ankle as he carefully fastened the strap of her high heels. The caption was only one line. 'He still couldn't bear to let me bend down.' When I tapped into the post, I saw that Enzo had already liked it. The bridal assistant sensed the shift in the air and tried to comfort me in a low voice. "Ms. Blackwood, Mr. Beck really cares about you. He was worried you might secretly diet and hurt your health, so he specifically told us not to alter the waistline any further." I smiled. He cared about me, yes. But his care had never stopped him from favoring someone else. I lowered my head and looked at the wedding dress on my body. Then it suddenly struck me. The thing that did not fit had never been the dress. It was this wedding.

After the tragic incident inside the huge mansion of the Finregans, Kalia wants nothing but justice for her parents. With the intense desire to serve justice to them, she entered the same agency where her parents used to work because she believes that only there, she will be able to get information about her parents' killer. However, that desire didn't only lead her to the justice but also towards the girl she is destined to be with. The agency and personal mission became the bridge to meet the woman she is destined for. From the moment, she realized... her life is altered. Exquisitely Altered.

"Are you sure you want to change the bride's name to Jasmine Shaw, Quinn?" Quinn Sullivan's voice was resolute. "Yes, I'm sure. Do as I say." She sat in silence for a long time after hanging up. She recalled what she saw after her engagement party. Her fiancé had his arms wrapped around another woman in a swaying car. He whispered sweet nothings into her ear, looking like he couldn't bear to leave. Quinn didn't understand. She and Nicholas York had gone through so much to get to marriage. How could he cheat on her? Well, it didn't matter. She was willing to give him her blessings since he was in love with another woman. He could marry someone else, then. She would give him the wedding of his dreams.

At our engagement party, the woman my fiance, Evan Hartley, hasn't seen in six years; the one who got away, is working as a waitress. When a drunk guest won't leave her alone, he rushes over and shields her in front of every guest in the room. I think he still has feelings for her. But in the next moment, his expression turns cold, and he shoves his assistant's business card into her hand. "He'll set you up with a decent job. Stay out of my life." The next day, she shows up at his office anyway, in a soaking-wet delivery uniform, dropping off food. He can barely contain his anger. "I told you to call my assistant. Why are you still doing this kind of work?" She pushes him away, her eyes rimmed red. "I can take care of myself. I don't need your pity." After a long silence, he wraps his arms around her from behind, his voice low and rough. "I owe you for what happened back then. From now on, I'll make it up to you myself." Before long, she's his secretary. She travels with him on business trips, sits through his client dinners, and stays late with him at the office. Gradually, on the nights he doesn't come home, she's the one who picks up when I call. Her voice drips with satisfaction she can barely hide. "Ms. Ellison, he had too much to drink. He's already asleep. I'll take good care of him for you. "After all, this is something I'm very good at." I smile, hang up, and read a message from the hotel manager. "Ms. Ellison, please confirm the wedding arrangements." I reply, "Everything stays as planned. But the groom might need to be swapped out."