On the morning of the wedding, the bridesmaids decided to play the "Wife Test."

“Final question,” one of them laughed. “What special mark does Elara have that only you would know? Answer correctly, and you can take the bride home!”

My face stiffened. Elara and I had never gone that far.

Before I could respond, her so-called male best friend, Dorian Mercer, jumped in.

“I know this one!” he declared proudly. “Elara has a star-shaped tattoo under her left breast. I even designed it for her.”

My blood ran cold.

When I didn’t answer, Dorian smiled as if to smooth things over.

“Don’t overthink it, Adrian. Elara and I grew up together. We used to run around naked as kids—I’ve even seen her naked. She’s like family to me.”

——

Elara blushed, lightly patting his arm. “Don’t talk nonsense.”

But Dorian caught her hand, grinning at me. “What’s there to hide? I even saw her showering last night. She left the door open.”

Laughter rippled through the room. Elara pushed him with a coy smile, not truly angry.

Not only did he know about her tattoo… he’d seen her in the shower?

The bouquet in my hand tightened until the rose thorns pierced my skin.

Through clenched teeth, I snapped, “Dorian. Enough.”

He blinked innocently, pointing straight at Elara’s chest. “What? Adrian, you haven’t seen it yet?”

Then he actually reached for the collar of her wedding dress. “Let the groom see for himself—”

“Dorian!” Elara shrieked, batting his hand away, but there was no real fury in her eyes.

The laughter around us only grew louder.

“Dorian really understands Elara!”

“That’s what true friendship looks like!”

Elara Ashbourne glanced at me nervously. “Adrian, don’t overthink it. He’s just a jokester. We grew up together like this.”

I opened my palm—the blood was already dripping between my fingers.

Her resistance looked more like performance than protest. Nothing about him felt like a ‘best friend.’

The head bridesmaid quickly tried to smooth things over. “Alright, enough! Adrian, come inside and pick up the bride.”

The others began to chant. “The groom has to show off a silly dance move!”

I turned my gaze back to Dorian, sneered, and suddenly lunged. I ripped open his jacket, exposing his abs.

“Since you’re so close to her, Dorian, why don’t you do the dance? Maybe one of the guys here will fall for you!”

His face drained of color. He yanked his collar shut. “Adrian, are you insane?”

Elara rushed to shield him, glaring at me. “What are you doing? It’s just a game. Do you have to make a scene?”

The bridesmaids froze, realizing I wasn’t joking anymore.

“Elara, look at him!” Dorian ducked behind her, voice full of false grievance. “He humiliated me in public. He discriminated against me!”

“Adrian! You’ve gone too far!” Elara snapped, spreading her arms to protect him like a mother hen. “I know better than anyone whether Dorian is gay. Don’t ruin our wedding day with your nonsense!”

Her words stabbed deeper than any thorn.

“You know better than anyone?” My voice dropped like ice. “And when he touched your chest, why didn’t you tell him to stop?”

“It was just a joke,” Dorian muttered smugly behind her.

“Adrian, can’t you be more mature?” Elara shouted at me. “Apologize to Dorian right now—or this wedding won’t happen!”

How many times had I heard this before?

When Dorian called her at midnight, whining he was “afraid of the dark,” she went to keep him company.

When he used my secondary bank card to buy a game console, she brushed it off.

Every time, she said the same thing.

“He’s my most important friend.”

I kept telling myself he was only her “best male friend.” Again and again, I let that excuse stab me, let her trample my pride.

In her heart, my dignity never weighed more than a “joke” between her and Dorian.

Seeing me stand frozen, Dorian put on a show of restraint, pulling Elara back a step.

“Elara, don’t be impulsive. Adrian’s just jealous because he loves you too much…”

Then he turned to me with a mocking smile.

“Come on, Adrian. Be a man—be generous. Elara and I grew up naked together. I’ve seen every inch of her. What’s a tattoo compared to that?”

His words made the room erupt in laughter.

And Elara, persuaded by him, softened her voice.

“Dorian already explained. What else do you want? I know you’re upset, but he really is my most important friend. Can’t you just let it go? The guests will be coming in soon. Can’t I make it up to you later?”

She glanced toward the door.

“Both families are waiting outside. Do you want to embarrass yourself in front of them?”

Yes—we got married. The ceremony proceeded as though nothing had happened. Elara never mentioned the tattoo, never mentioned the argument, never mentioned the blood dripping from my palm. By evening, it was as if none of it had ever happened.

That night, during the after-party games, the guests went wild, laughing and cheering as they pushed Elara and me into the bedroom.

“It’s time for the newlyweds to eat apples!” someone shouted.

Elara, still in her wedding dress, smiled shyly at me through the noise.

Then Dorian barged in again. He tossed the apple aside and pulled a slinky black lace camisole from a gift box, holding it high.

“Apples are boring. Look at this instead!”

A chorus of whistles rang out. The panties sparkled—the lace edges studded with rhinestones that glittered under the lights.

“Surprise wedding gift!” Dorian grinned and shoved the garment into my hands. “Don’t be nervous. It’s for her. I heard it’s comfortable—make sure she wears it tonight.”

The crowd howled with laughter.

He suddenly tugged at the hem of Elara’s dress.

“Elara, why don’t you change into it now? I bought it in your size—guaranteed to fit.”

“Change into it! Change into it!” the guests began chanting.

I snapped, teeth grinding. “Dorian, don’t go too far.”

But Elara actually took the underwear from him and slipped into the bathroom to change.

When she came back out, Dorian’s hand immediately slid toward her thigh.

“I heard the bride hid a money envelope,” he smirked. “Guess I’ll feel around for it.”

His fingers crept closer to the hem of her skirt. I seized his wrist in fury.

Elara screamed and slapped him. “Dorian! Stop it! I’m not wearing shorts under my dress.”

He winced from my grip but still wore that infuriating grin.

“Relax—we’re just playing after-party games. Elara and I have bathed together since we were kids. What’s wrong with touching her thigh?”

Then, with deliberate malice, he shook off my hand and brushed against her chest.

“Besides, what part of her body haven’t I seen?”

The laughter died down. My whole body went cold, as if someone had poured a bucket of ice water over me.

And Elara? She didn’t lash out at him. She clung to my arm instead, pleading.

“Adrian! Don’t be angry! He’s drunk, just fooling around. Everyone’s watching—don’t spoil the fun.”

Spoil the fun.

The words drilled into my skull, each one sharper than the last.

I glared at her, my voice trembling with rage.

“He touches your thigh, jokes about your underwear, brushes your chest—and you call it ‘drunk’? My wife favors another man in front of me, and I’m the petty one?”

The guests, uncomfortable, tried to laugh it off.

“Don’t argue on your wedding night.”

“Dorian just likes to joke—he and Elara are like sisters, you know. Don’t take it seriously.”

“Stop arguing, stop arguing. Let’s just go home already,” someone muttered, trying to defuse the tension.

Home? Fuck that. Dorian had a man’s body but still dared to call himself Elara’s “sister”?

Elara shoved me, seizing the moment.

“Go outside and calm down! Don’t embarrass yourself here!”

I stood on the balcony for a long time. The night wind bit at my skin, but not as sharply as the laughter that spilled from inside. Elara’s voice, Dorian’s voice—mingling, light, intimate. Each burst of laughter stabbed into my chest.

When I finally returned to the bedroom, Elara was already out of the shower, hair damp, slipping under the covers.

She glanced at me casually.

“Dorian’s sleeping here tonight. He’s drunk, and it’s hard to get a taxi.”

My gaze fell on his jacket tossed carelessly on our sofa. I couldn’t help the bitter laugh that escaped.

Maybe this whole wedding was a joke from the very beginning. Did she really think I’d always endure it—just because I loved her?

Fine. Let’s see how far you’ll take this farce.

The next morning, Dorian was still snoring on our couch when Elara and I left for the island honeymoon we’d booked months ago.

At the ocean-view villa, Elara hugged me from behind, her chin resting on my shoulder.

“We could live like this every day. Isn’t it wonderful?”

I was about to turn and answer her—when her phone rang. She slipped out of my arms and rushed into the bedroom to answer it.

Through dinner, her phone never stopped lighting up. Dorian’s name filled the screen, message after message:

“Elara, I’ve got a fever. No one’s here to take care of me. Can you video call and teach me how to make ginger soup?”

“The ocean view you posted is gorgeous. A shame I’m not there with you. So lonely.”

Then came the photo: Dorian, sprawled in bed, wearing the very lace camisole Elara had once claimed was “too small for me, so I gave it to him.” His caption read:

‘This little thing you gave me feels just like you’re here with me~’

My chest tightened. “He’s a grown man. How the hell can he post something like that?”

Elara’s eyes narrowed instantly.

“Why are you at it again? He’s sick, he’s fragile—shouldn’t I care about him? If you keep picking on Dorian, don’t blame me for getting angry!”

Then she answered his video call, her tone instantly soft and sweet.

“Dorian, be good. Take your medicine first, alright?”

Her voice—the one I thought was mine alone—poured through the phone to him.

The next morning, Dorian stood at our villa door, suitcase in hand, smiling like a fox.

“Surprise! I had a business trip nearby, so I thought I’d stop in.”

Elara’s eyes lit up. She grabbed his arm. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He winked at her. “Wouldn’t be a surprise if I did. So… which room’s mine?”

“We booked a couple’s villa. One bedroom,” I cut in flatly.

He feigned shock, then waved it off. “No problem. Couch is fine.”

I ignored him and headed into the bathroom. As I reached for my toothbrush, a small box slipped from Elara’s makeup bag—birth control pills.

Before I could even process it, Dorian strolled in behind me, yawning. His eyes darted to the box, and his mouth curled into a smirk.

“I told her to take those. Getting pregnant right after marriage? What a drag. Better to enjoy life, just the two of you—right, Elara?”

He winked at her. She froze, then nodded weakly.

My chest turned to ice.

“Did he tell you to take them—or did you decide that for us?”

Elara wouldn’t meet my eyes.

“Of course it’s for us. And… and Dorian is right…”

Dorian is right.

Dorian smirked wider, twisting the knife.

“Don’t be hard on her, Adrian. She’s too kind. She knew you wanted kids, but she didn’t want to upset you. Isn’t that thoughtful?”

“Get the fuck out!”

I shoved him back, then kicked him hard. He crashed into the doorframe, his forehead splitting open, blood trickling down his face.