His Girl Bro Killed Our Wedding

At the bachelor party the night before the wedding, the truth-or-dare penalty was brutal—show the most hidden photo on your phone.

Gina, Peter's so-called "girl bro," lost. She just grinned and cast her screen onto the big TV.

A marriage license filled the screen, stamped by the county clerk.

Names: Peter Cooke and Gina Draper.

Date: yesterday.

The room went dead silent.

I stared at Peter's drained face. Gina didn't flinch. She patted his shoulder.

"Oops. Guess you found out. Joey, don't take it seriously. Just a dumb bet. I wanted to see what the county clerk's office looked like, so I dared Peter to register a marriage with me."

She leaned in, eyes on me like I was the joke. "You're still getting your wedding tomorrow. The vows, the ceremony. I just borrowed your fiancé for a stamp. Don't tell me you're jealous of his buddy."

Peter jumped up and pulled me in. "Babe, listen. You're the only one in my heart. It was just a joke."

He pulled out the diamond ring, dropped to one knee. "I'll file for divorce first thing tomorrow. It won't mess up our noon wedding. Invites are already out. Don't make this a scene in front of my friends. Once we're married, all my money's yours, okay?"

I smiled.

He had no clue how any of this worked. Didn't even know divorce came with a thirty-day wait.

I didn't take the ring. I pulled out my phone and blasted a group text canceling the wedding.

The send notification cut through the room.

Peter shot up and snatched my phone.

He stared at the group chat. Panic flashed, then twisted into anger. "Joey Jensen, are you insane? I said I'd file for divorce tomorrow. You really had to take it this far? You trying to make me a joke in front of everyone?"

Gina picked at her ear and snorted. "Peter, I told you—girls are drama. Can't take a joke without blowing it up."

She swung a leg over the couch and sat there, chewing gum. "Joey, you're being way too uptight. Peter and I grew up like family. If I actually wanted him, you wouldn't even have had a shot. It's just paper. You really gonna kill the vibe over that?"

A few of his buddies jumped in, same tune—I was the problem.

I looked at the guy I'd loved for five years, cold. "If it's just paper, then go marry it tomorrow."

I turned to grab my bag.

Peter grabbed my wrist.

"If you walk out that door tonight, don't expect me to come crawling after you."

He clenched his jaw, yanked a bank card from his wallet, and slapped it on the table. "Didn't you want that limited-edition bag? Take it. Spend whatever. Call it compensation. But send another message—say the cancellation was just truth or dare."

The card made my stomach turn.

Five years ago, his startup crashed. He couldn't even afford food. I worked three jobs to carry us. Back then, he carved me a wooden hair clip, eyes red, swearing I'd never suffer again.

Now he had money—and thought it could buy me.

I shook off his hand, didn't even look at the card. "Keep your money. Stay with your girl bro."

I shoved the door open and walked out. Didn't look back.

Behind me, glass shattered. Then Peter's voice, sharp with anger. "Let her go! Let's see how long she keeps this up!"

The night air hit cold. I pulled my coat tighter, and the tears finally came.

Six straight months. That's how long I'd spent planning this wedding—every detail on me.