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On the day that was supposed to be my wedding—the bride wasn’t me. The ceremony I’d waited for five years for turned into a joke when Valentina, my sister, walked down the marble aisle in a white wedding dress. Her arm was linked with Luca’s — the man who was supposed to be waiting for me at the altar. “I’m sorry, Bianca,” she said softly. “But you are no longer the bride today.” Then she touched her stomach, eyes gleaming with triumph. “I’m pregnant with Don Romano’s child.” Her words detonated inside my skull, and the whole world went silent. As if afraid I wouldn’t believe her, she lifted something glossy up towards the light. A black-and-white ultrasound image. It read clearly: Gestational age — 12 weeks. My eyes burned, tears stinging as I turned to Luca, desperately searching for anything—a denial, an explanation, regret. Instead, he only sighed, weary and resigned. “Bianca, I’m sorry.” he said helplessly. “Valentina doesn’t have much time left. This wedding… it was her last wish.” “I’ll make it up to you,” he added. “We can have another wedding later.” My father, Moretti, stood behind him, wearing the same stern expression he’d worn my entire life. I have never seen him smile at me, not even once. “Bianca,” he said sharply, “Your sister is dying. Let her have this.” My brother nodded without saying a single word, as if that was enough to be a solid answer. All my life, they had chosen her—her tears, her whims, her needs—over mine. Today was no different. Something inside me quietly cracked. Fine. If no one in this family cares about me, I’ll leave.

Four years into her marriage, when the dazzling woman from her husband’s past returned, Alyssa Jones finally understood the truth. Her husband, Justin Scott, was not cold by nature; he had withheld both affection and intimacy, saving them for his first love. He gave Alyssa a monthly allowance of six hundred dollars yet spent six hundred thousand dollars on research for the woman he truly cherished. The difference between being loved and being ignored was revealed in the most humiliating way. Justin claimed he couldn’t bear to let his “true love” be worn down by the trivialities of marriage. Yet he demanded that Alyssa quit her one-thousand-a-month job and settle into the role of a full-time housewife, willingly fading into obscurity. What Justin never knew was that Alyssa was no ordinary employee. For four years, she had been in charge of a nationally classified research project. Her clearance was so high that even the woman he idolized was qualified only to work under her. What he also never realized was that the document he signed so casually was the divorce agreement that ended their marriage. One month later, Alyssa’s identity as a leading scientific authority was made public and the finalized divorce certificate was delivered to Justin. The CEO who had always been gentle and composed tore it apart, disbelief turning into red-eyed fury. “Other than me, who would want a divorced woman like her?” Yet the one who spoke so harshly was also the one who later knelt, begging for reconciliation. When they met again, Alyssa appeared with her arm lightly linked through the hand of Lucien Wells, the man in control of one of the most powerful elite families. She looked at her ex-husband without the slightest trace of emotion. Lucien raised an eyebrow and calmly produced a marriage certificate. “Mind your manners, Mr. Scott. You should address her as Mrs. Wells.”

My partner, Derek Crawford, calls himself a traditional man. On our tenth anniversary, I bought him a pair of his favorite AJ sneakers. Instead, he gifted me a bag of pastries. "Your cake is extremely tiny, and yet it costs you a few dozen dollars! Look at the pastries I got you—not only are they cheap, but they are also huge in quantity! Now this is what I call worth it!" After that, Derek tells me that he'll make it up to me by throwing an engagement party. He has also invited my parents and my relatives to the party. With anticipation brimming in our eyes, we arrive at the restaurant, only to see Derek serving us with store-bought pickles and dinner rolls. "I'm a traditional man, you see. I'm not used to fancy food and foreign cuisines. This, right here, is the basics of a traditional dinner. You don't see patriotic men like me nowadays!" My relatives' expressions change drastically on the spot. Meanwhile, my parents look very mortified. I can only smile awkwardly at them while doing everything I can to stop them from leaving. But as soon as I leave the hotel, I receive a notification from the bank that 200 thousand dollars have been deducted from my account via a supplementary card linked to it. At the same time, Derek's childhood sweetheart, Renee Young, posts a photo of her 12-layered luxurious cake on her social media account. "When I told Derek that I wanted to celebrate my birthday, not only did he buy me the most expensive strawberry cake, but he also reserved a dozen or so tables that are served with the grandest feast! "If your man loves you that much, he won't need any lessons in pampering you! Traditional men definitely know how to love and pamper their queens!" I tighten my grip on my phone. As I look back at Derek, who keeps claiming that he's a traditional man stuck to his traditional ways, I suddenly find it exhausting to continue being in a relationship with him.