At my bachelorette party, the night before my wedding, I saw my fiancé passionately kissing another woman.

The woman was someone I knew well. She was the same girl who had been moved to tears at our wedding rehearsal when my fiancé and I embraced each other.

"Really? Does comforting her childhood sweetheart require such a sacrifice?"

Tomorrow was supposed to be my wedding day with James Kushner. According to tradition, we weren't supposed to see each other tonight.

We had agreed to each invite a few close friends and have separate bachelorette and bachelor parties to celebrate our last night of freedom.

We chose the same place for our parties in a weird twist of fate.

Trusting that we would respect each other's space, I didn't think much of it until I had too many drinks and turned around to see James making out with another woman. My first reaction was to slap myself awake, hoping it was just the alcohol.

When the woman's face became clear, I recognized her as James' childhood friend and our wedding planner, Emily Cline.

Suddenly, memories of our wedding rehearsal flashed through my mind. James' tie was crooked, and Emily's lipstick was smudged when she tearfully said, "It's so beautiful. I'm so moved."

No wonder James was so picky about changing planners until Emily was brought on board. No wonder the decorations didn't include his favorite baby blue but a plain sky blue. The floral arch didn't feature the lilies he liked, but common perfume lilies. And when his favorite comedian couldn't be the host, he didn't mind Emily stepping in.

With clarity returning, I pulled out my phone and messaged the bar owner, asking him to save tonight's surveillance footage. I had to thank all the business connections I had made.

When I looked up again, Emily raised her glass in a distant toast to me.

"What nerve she has," I said inwardly.

"Oh, Emily, you should have come back sooner. James has been waiting for you for so long," one of James' friends, now a coworker, said with a smirk.

"Exactly, everyone knew about the beautiful couple from our college days," another chimed in.

"It's a bit of a shame, James' getting married, and the bride isn't Emily," yet another added.

These guys were James' juniors and now worked at the same company. They always respected me before.

Emily smiled gracefully, "Oh, don't say that. I've met the bride, she's beautiful. I wish them all the best in their marriage."

"Wishing us well by making out with my fiancé?" I thought.

The men around her praised her for being gentle and understanding, the ideal type of woman to marry.

One of them, probably a bit too drunk, slurred out complaints about how strict I was with them at work, accusing me of being late, leaving early, and always getting drunk and needing James to drop everything to pick me up.

They didn't know that James' first startup failed because his team was made up of friends, and they were lazy and unproductive. He couldn't bring himself to reprimand them, so the company's work fell to just him and me, the only non-friend assistant he hired. I knew he didn't want to sour relationships, so I took on the role of the "bad guy."

I left work early because I had to network. In this competitive tech industry, deals were often made over dinner and drinks. James had a sensitive stomach, and I didn't want him to suffer, so I would leave early to eat something to prepare for a night of heavy drinking. How had this been twisted into me being aloof, self-serving, and overly demanding?

I stared intently at James, waiting for him to explain for me. But he didn't.

He was the one who insisted on picking me up himself to feel at ease. He was the one who said it was okay to sleep in after a night of drinking because she would get headaches.

Now, he just held Emily with one arm and twirled his drink with the other, looking as smug and sleazy as any unfaithful husband.

"Why did you leave without saying goodbye back then?" He suddenly turned to Emily, leaning so close that their lips were almost touched.

Emily was stunned, then forced a smile and replied, "I was too young and impulsive back then."

I suddenly remembered hearing Emily's story before.

It was during James' first startup. We were celebrating our first successful deal, and everyone got drunk.

During a game of truth or dare, a colleague asked James about his biggest regret.

He said, "I did not achieve something significant while she was still around. I was not able to make her stay."

Everyone teased him, asking if he meant Emily. He said yes.

Back then, I was just his assistant. Watching him tear up while answering deeply moved me. Now, that same sentiment makes me sick.

Emily glanced at me out of the corner of her eye. She had noticed me long ago. She lit a cigarette in the restroom and leaned against the corner, waiting for me. "You saw everything, right? Your boyfriend... No, your fiancé has always been thinking about me."

My heart couldn't help but sting, but I quickly steadied myself thanks to my years of experience at business dinners. "Why are you doing this?"

"To take back what's mine," Emily said. "Oh, by the way, the wedding is designed just how he and I envisioned it when we were together. When he cried, he was looking at me. When he expressed his gratitude, it was for me."

I remembered the red stain on James' collar during the rehearsal as I watched her lips move. It was the same shade as her lipstick.

She crushed out her cigarette and leaned close to my ear. "Let's make a bet. No matter how much you have suffered with him, or no matter how many things I have done to let him down, as long as I come back, there will be no place for you."

I said inwardly, "Fine, let's bet. Who says you'll win?"

I returned to the apartment alone in the early morning, torn about whether tomorrow's wedding was worth continuing. Could I really leave my parents to face this mess? Could I just accept that these six years were wasted?

I was lying in bed when my phone buzzed twice with a message from James: [Are you asleep? I'm already at the hotel.]

He had suggested staying at a hotel so I could rest well in the apartment. What once seemed considerate now made me question his true intentions.

I looked around the small apartment, recalling how, when James' startup failed and he couldn't afford rent, his original partners had scattered, leaving him with nowhere to go. I had helped him move into this apartment.

To protect his pride, I never mentioned that my parents had bought it. I told him it was rented and that I had him move in to help with rent. I covered the rent for the first few months, telling him to pay me back when he could.

This apartment had witnessed his confession, his proposal, and his promises. Now, it also witnessed his betrayal.

Maybe he didn't change. Perhaps that was who he really was all along. The tears I had held back all night finally fell.

When I woke up the next day, my eyes were swollen. The makeup artist knowingly said, "Were you too excited to sleep well last night?"

I forced a smile and closed my eyes, letting her work on my face while my mind replayed the scene of James and Emily kissing.

Outside, I heard James and the groomsmen loudly demanding entry, and my heart ached. When I opened my eyes again, I was filled with cold resolve.

James eventually found the hidden shoes, helped me to the living room, and paid respect to my parents.

My father looked at James without a word, but I noticed his hand trembling slightly. My mother's eyes were red, and she choked. "James, after today, you'll be a family. We live far away, and many things won't be as convenient. You must take good care of Cynthia."

My parents had always disapproved of my relationship with James. They believed I stayed away from home after graduation because of him.

My parents were even more worried when James' startup failed, and his father got sick. They had to sell their house and were still deep in debt.

But how could parents win against their children's wishes? Though they said I was disobedient and not dedicated, they bought me a house and sent money, fearing I'd suffer. Only after James achieved some success did they reluctantly accept him.

"Don't worry, Helen, Gary. Cynthia has gone through so much with me. I'll treat her well," James promised as he accepted the envelope from my parents.

I watched as James squeezed to check the thickness of the envelope and casually handed it to Emily.

Yes, Emily was here too. She naturally took the envelope, put it in her bag, and said, "James, we need to head to your place next. Trishelle is getting anxious."

"Trishelle? Their relationship has gone even further," I thought to myself.

James nodded and stood up without another word.

"Hey, you need to carry the bride out!" the wedding videographer shouted at him.

James looked puzzled and turned to Emily.

I couldn't help but think, "What? Does he need her permission to do anything?"

Emily softly responded, "It's just superstition. It doesn't matter."

I said nothing and got ready to stand up.

Emily made a show of reaching out to help me, but I sidestepped her and stood alone, staring at her. "Ms. Cline, in what capacity are you making decisions for us as a couple?"

Emily's eyes immediately filled with tears as she replied, "I just wanted to help since you don't have any uncles or brothers around."

James stepped forward and shielded Emily, saying, "It's my fault for forgetting the traditions. Come on, honey, let me carry you out."

Pushing him aside, I laughed bitterly. "No need. I can walk out on my own. I don't need you to carry me."

James' family home had been sold to pay for his father's medical bills, and after his father passed away, his mother moved back to her hometown.

Trishelle had never liked me, thinking I was spoiled and unworthy of her son.

Trishelle sat on the sofa when we arrived, showing no joy on this supposed happy day. But when she saw Emily, she immediately took her hand, thanking her profusely for all her hard work organizing the wedding.

After I paid my respects and called Trishelle her first name, she responded reluctantly. Then, Emily pulled out a tattered envelope from the bag containing the one my parents had given to James and handed it to me.

I mimicked James by squeezing the envelope, and Emily noticed. She said, "Don't mind it, Cynthia. In our hometown, it's customary for the daughter to give out the envelopes for her mother. This paying respect and calling the first name is just a formality, so we don't usually put money in it."

I had little expectation for this wedding, but I didn't anticipate something even more infuriating. "I saw my husband squeeze the envelope when he received it. Is that another of your hometown traditions? And what kind of daughter are you?" I threw the envelope in front of her and asked sternly.

The lively scene went silent as everyone turned to watch us.