Early the next morning, Beck returned with a bag of funnel cakes in hand. He said, "Babe, I brought your favorite breakfast. I stood in line for over an hour to get them."

Just like he did in the early days of our relationship, he took one out and tried to feed me. I was tired and hungry, so I didn't refuse.

Midway through the meal, the furniture craftsman we had arranged arrived to begin the installation.

While Beck stepped away to supervise, I took the chance to unlock his phone. His password was the date we first became a couple.

I had trusted Beck completely. His love seemed so real that I never thought to check his phone. But now, the truth struck me like a sudden blow.

In a chat labeled "Katie Cuddle Bug", the messages were shockingly explicit. There were bold invitations from the previous night, and a message from just ten minutes ago.

"Hey, sweetie, I made these funnel cakes myself. They're filled with all my love. You had better eat every last one."

The funnel cake slipped from my fingers. Suddenly, it felt impossible to swallow. I spit it into a tissue and tossed it in the trash.

Scrolling through the woman's social media, I discovered that she had been involved with Beck for six years. It was an affair that had never stopped.

Whenever Beck claimed to be working late or away on a business trip, they were in fact lost in passion at the villa.

At that moment, I felt like the other woman. My anger toward Beck surged, reaching a breaking point. I put the phone down and went out to find Tonya.

I asked, "What do I do? I can't keep pretending. I have to confront him."

When Tonya discovered that Beck was keeping a mistress and hadn't ended it despite our wedding being so close, she was even angrier than I was.

"He's nothing but a filthy scumbag! I swear, I want to rip him apart and see if he still has the nerve to be horny!"

After venting her anger, she held me tightly and reassured me, "Just hold on for two more weeks. I've booked your flight abroad and arranged a job for you at my brother's company. Once you're there, you'll be far away from this place that's brought you nothing but pain."

…

When I arrived home, Beck was still not back from work.

I stared at the wedding dress hanging in the closet. Without a second thought, I grabbed a pair of scissors and tore it to pieces.

By evening, Beck finally returned.

I took out the wedding invitations and handed them to him. "Go ahead and write these yourself."

"Babe, there are over 200 of them. How long do you think that'll take? Maybe the assistant should handle it, don't you think?"

"Are they too much trouble for you? Then maybe we shouldn't get married at all."

Beck's expression instantly stiffened. He wrapped his arms tightly around my waist, holding me like I was something precious he couldn't afford to lose. "Don't say that, babe. I've waited ten years for this day. Marrying you is the greatest dream of my life."

He kissed my forehead gently, his eyes full of tenderness. "How about we register our marriage tomorrow? Two weeks is too long. I can't wait any—"

"You're acting all nervous. Did you screw something up and now you're scrambling to fix it?" I teased.

Beck's grip on me suddenly tightened. His entire body stiffened, and his eyes darted away uneasily. "How could that be? I love you more than anything. Oh no, I need to finish writing these invitations. The ink's already drying out."

But inside, I was filled with bitterness and disappointment.

On the vibrant invitation, golden letters shimmered with the words, "Together forever, never apart."

Beck glanced up at me, a smile playing on his lips. "Babe, days like this feel like a dream. I really can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you."

Let him dream. It would only make the fall that much harder.

By 2:00 am, the final invitation was finished.

With a contented sigh, Beck set them aside and went to the bathroom to freshen up.

I silently pulled one invitation from the stack. I was ready to deliver an unforgettable surprise at a wedding where the bride had no intention of showing up.