The flight to North Carolina was two hours. I spent it staring at the seat-back screen without seeing anything. Killian had booked the ticket. He said it was important. He said I needed to "properly understand the situation" before the wedding. He made it sound reasonable. Like a business meeting.

I rented a car at the airport. The address he gave me was in a neighborhood with old trees and wide lawns. Big houses set back from the road. The kind of place where families had names instead of just money. I parked in front of a white colonial with black shutters. Everything about it looked perfect. Maintained. Controlled.

I walked up the brick path and rang the bell. The door opened. Selena Barnes stood there in a cream cashmere sweater and tailored slacks. She was smaller than I expected. Delicate features. Dark hair pulled back neatly. She smiled at me. A soft, practiced smile.

"Aviana," she said warmly. "Please, come in."

The house smelled like lavender and lemon polish. The furniture was antique. The kind you inherit, not buy. She led me to a sitting room with pale blue walls and poured tea from a china pot into matching cups. She handed me one. Her nails were perfectly manicured.

"Killian will be here soon," she said. "He's just finishing a call."

I nodded. I held the teacup but didn't drink. I didn't trust my hands not to shake.

She sat across from me and folded her hands in her lap. "I know this must be difficult for you," she said gently. "But I think it's good we're meeting. It's important we understand each other."

"I'm not sure what there is to understand," I said quietly. "You're his wife. I didn't know."

"Well, now you do." Her voice was still soft. Still kind. But something in her eyes had changed. "And we can all move forward like adults."

I heard a door open somewhere in the house. Footsteps. Killian's voice on the phone, low and businesslike. Selena glanced toward the hallway. Then she leaned forward. The softness dropped from her face like a mask coming off.

"Let me be clear," she said. Her voice was quiet. Precise. "You've been playing house in his apartment for six years, sweetheart. I've been his wife the whole time. Legally. Financially. In every way that actually matters. You're the other woman in your own love story. And if you think a wedding ceremony in Manhattan is going to change that, you're even more naive than I thought."

I stared at her. My chest felt tight. I opened my mouth but nothing came out.

She sat back. The soft smile returned. She picked up her teacup just as Killian walked into the room.

"Sorry about that," he said. He kissed the top of Selena's head absently and sat down beside her. "Work emergency. You know how it is."

I looked at him. Then at her. She was sipping her tea like we'd been discussing the weather.

"Killian," I said. My voice sounded strange. Thin. "She just—"

"She just what?" Selena's eyes widened. Concerned. Innocent. "I was just telling Aviana how glad I am that we can all handle this maturely."

Killian looked at me. "Aviana, I know this is a lot. But Selena's been incredibly gracious about everything. I need you to meet her halfway here."

I felt something cold settle in my stomach. "Meet her halfway?"

"This is a complicated adult situation," he said. He rubbed the back of his neck. "We all need to be reasonable."

I stood up. The teacup rattled when I set it down. "I need some air."

I walked out of the room. Down the hall. Out the front door. I stood on the brick path and pressed my hands against my thighs to stop them from shaking. I heard the door open behind me.

"Aviana." Killian's voice. Tired. Irritated. "You're being emotional."

I turned around. He was standing on the porch with his hands in his pockets. Selena was visible through the window behind him, watching.

"I'm being emotional," I repeated.

"Yes. You are. I asked you to come here so we could all be on the same page. Selena is trying. I need you to try too."

I looked at him for a long moment. At the man I had loved for six years. The man I had built my entire future around. And I understood, with perfect clarity, that he would never choose me. Not when it cost him something. Not when it required him to actually stand up to someone. Not ever.

"I'm leaving," I said.

I got in the rental car and drove back to the airport. I didn't cry. I didn't call anyone. I just drove. And the whole way, I felt something inside me harden. Something that had been soft and trusting and open. It closed. Locked. And I knew it would never open again.

Back in Manhattan, the wedding preparations kept moving. Flowers. Music. Seating charts. My mother called every day to ask about details. Her voice was getting weaker. I could hear it.

Two weeks before the wedding, I took her to the bridal boutique for a dress fitting. She had lost weight. Her clothes hung loose. But she smiled when she saw me step out in the gown. A real smile. The kind that reached her eyes.

"Oh, baby," she whispered. "You look beautiful."

The seamstress pinned the hem. My mother stood beside me in the mirror. She reached up and smoothed my hair back from my face. The gesture she had made my whole life.

"Your father would have been a fool to miss this," she said softly.

I looked at her reflection. At the woman who had raised me alone. Who had sacrificed everything. Who had weeks left and only wanted this one thing.

I smiled. I squeezed her hand. I said nothing about the lie we were both walking toward.

Because what else could I do?

Diana Cho cornered me after the bridesmaid dinner. The restaurant had cleared out—Megan and Sarah left together, laughing about something I hadn't heard—and Diana stayed. She sat across from me at the empty table, still holding her wine glass, and just looked at me.

"What?" I said. I tried to smile.

"You tell me," she said.

I straightened a fork on the tablecloth. Lined it up with the edge of my plate. "I don't know what you mean."

"Aviana." Her voice was quiet. Careful. "I've known you since sophomore year. I know what you look like when you're happy. And I know what you look like when you're pretending."

I felt something tighten in my chest. I kept my eyes on the fork. "I'm just tired. The planning has been—"

"Is everything okay with Killian?"

My hand stopped moving. I looked up at her. She was watching me the way she always did when she thought I was lying. That steady, patient look that said she would wait as long as it took for the truth.

I opened my mouth. The words were right there. He has a wife. I'm pregnant. My mother is dying. I'm walking toward an altar built on a lie and I don't know how to stop. But if I said them out loud, they would become real. And I couldn't make them real. Not yet. Not when my mother had two weeks left and this was the only thing holding her here.

I closed my mouth. I laughed. It sounded thin even to me. "Diana, I'm fine. Really. It's just been a lot. You know how weddings are."

She didn't look convinced. She set down her wine glass and leaned forward. "If something's wrong, you can tell me. You know that, right?"

"I know." I reached across the table and squeezed her hand. "I promise. Everything's fine."

She held my gaze for another long moment. Then she nodded slowly. "Okay," she said. "But I'm here. If you need me."

"I know," I said again.

She left. I sat alone at the table for twenty minutes after she was gone. I didn't move. I just sat there, feeling the weight of everything I hadn't said, and understanding that I could never let it slip again. Not to Diana. Not to anyone. Because the moment I said it out loud, the whole thing would collapse. And I couldn't let it collapse. Not until my mother had seen what she needed to see.

I straightened the fork one more time. Then I stood up and walked out.

The morning of the wedding, I woke up at five. I hadn't slept. I'd been lying in the dark, staring at the ceiling, counting hours. The venue was booked. The flowers were arranged. Three hundred guests had confirmed. My dress was hanging in the bridal suite. Everything was ready.

I got up. I showered. I put on the robe the bridesmaids had given me—white silk with "Bride" embroidered on the back in gold thread. I looked at myself in the mirror. My face looked pale. Hollow. I put on makeup to fix it.

My mother arrived at the venue at seven. I heard her voice in the hallway before I saw her. Quiet. Steady. She was talking to someone—maybe the coordinator—giving instructions about something. She sounded exactly like herself. Like she wasn't dying. Like this was just a normal day.

The door opened. She stepped inside. She was wearing the dress she'd chosen two months ago—pale blue, carefully pressed, with a delicate beaded collar. She had lost more weight since the fitting. The dress hung a little loose at the shoulders. But she stood straight. She refused the arm the coordinator offered and walked to me on her own.

She stopped in front of me. She looked at me for a long moment. Then she reached up and cupped my face in both hands. Her palms were warm. Soft. I felt the slight tremor in her fingers.

"You look exactly the way I always imagined," she said softly.

I felt something crack inside my chest. I covered her hands with mine and held them against my cheeks. I memorized the warmth of them. The weight. The way her thumbs brushed gently across my cheekbones. I knew, with absolute certainty, that this was the last private moment we would ever have. Just the two of us. Before everything shattered.

"I love you, Mom," I whispered.

"I love you too, baby." Her eyes were bright. She smiled. "Now let's get you married."

She stepped back. She smoothed the front of her dress. She turned toward the door, and I watched her walk out into the hallway, moving carefully, her head held high.

I stood alone in the bridal suite. The dress was behind me. The veil was laid out on the chair. In three hours, I would walk down an aisle toward a man who had lied to me for six years. I would stand in front of three hundred people and pretend everything was fine. I would do it because my mother was dying and this was the only thing she wanted.

I pressed my hands together to stop them from shaking.

Then I turned around and started getting ready.

The venue was perfect. Floor-to-ceiling windows. White roses everywhere. Three hundred people in their seats, dressed like they were attending something important. Which I guess they were. Or thought they were.

I stood in the bridal suite and looked at myself in the mirror one last time. The dress fit exactly right. Hair pinned back with small pearls. Makeup flawless. I looked like a bride. I looked happy.

Diana adjusted my veil. Her hands were gentle. Careful. "You ready?" she asked.

I nodded. I didn't trust my voice.

She squeezed my shoulder. Then she left to take her place. The door closed. I was alone.

I pressed my hand against my stomach. Still flat. No one could tell. The baby was there though. A secret I was carrying down the aisle along with everything else.

The coordinator knocked. "It's time, Miss Grant."

I walked to the double doors. Through the gap I could see everyone. Faces turned toward the front. Killian stood at the altar in his tuxedo. He looked good. He always looked good. That was never the problem.

The music started. Pachelbel's Canon. The doors opened.

I walked. One step. Another. The aisle felt longer than it had during rehearsal. My mother sat in the front row. She was crying. Smiling and crying at the same time. She looked so small in that chair. So fragile. But her eyes were bright. Happy.

I kept walking. Past rows of people I barely knew. Business associates. Killian's college friends. Distant cousins. All of them watching. All of them smiling.

I reached the altar. Killian took my hand. His palm was warm. Steady. He leaned close and whispered, "You look beautiful."

I said nothing.

The officiant began. I heard the words but didn't process them. Something about love. Commitment. Partnership. All the words people say when they're pretending marriage means something permanent.

Killian was looking at me. His expression was perfect. Tender. Devoted. Like he meant every second of this. Maybe he did. Maybe he really believed he could have both of us. That this was fine. That I would just accept it.

The officiant smiled. "And now, the vows. Killian, if you'll begin—"

The doors exploded open.

The sound was massive. Wood slamming against stone. Every head in the room turned.

Selena stood in the doorway. She was wearing white. A long white dress, fitted, expensive. Her hair was down. Perfect. She looked like a bride. She looked like she belonged here more than I did.

"KILLIAN!" Her voice cut through the room like a knife.

I felt Killian's hand go rigid in mine.

She walked down the aisle. Not fast. Not slow. Deliberate. Her heels clicked on the marble. Every eye followed her. No one moved. No one breathed.

She stopped ten feet from the altar. She looked at Killian. Just him. Like I wasn't even there.

"Killian," she said again. Softer this time. Her voice broke. "How could you?"

Then she crumpled. Just folded in on herself and collapsed onto the floor in a perfect heap of white fabric. Her hand reached toward him. Her eyes fluttered closed.

For one second, no one moved.

Then Killian dropped my hand.

He didn't look at me. Didn't say a word. He just let go and walked away. Down the steps. Across the space between us. He knelt beside her and lifted her head into his lap.

"Selena," he said. His voice was raw. Desperate. "Selena, I'm here."

I stood at the altar. My hand was still extended where his had been. I stared at the empty air.

The room erupted. Voices. Gasps. Someone shouted for a doctor. Chairs scraped. People surged forward. I heard my mother's voice—high, confused, calling my name.

Diana was suddenly beside me. "Aviana—"

The crowd pushed closer. Bodies everywhere. Someone's elbow caught my shoulder. I stumbled. Another shove from behind—harder. I felt myself falling forward. I tried to catch myself but my heel caught in the dress. I went down.

My abdomen hit the marble edge of the altar step.

The pain was instant. Blinding. White-hot and catastrophic. It radiated out from my stomach in waves that made my vision blur. I couldn't breathe. Couldn't move. I pressed my hand against my dress and felt something warm and wet spreading beneath my palm.

No. No no no.

"AVIANA!" Diana's voice. Distant. Panicked.

I tried to push myself up. My arms wouldn't hold me. The pain was everywhere now. Consuming. I looked down. Blood. Dark and spreading across the white silk.

Someone screamed. I think it was me.

I heard my mother. Her voice cutting through everything. "AVIANA! MY BABY—"

Then another sound. A crash. A thud. More screaming.

I turned my head. My mother was on the floor. Collapsed between the chairs. People were surrounding her. Someone was shouting about calling 911.

I tried to crawl toward her. I couldn't move. The pain was too much. Everything was red and white and noise.

Diana was beside me. Her hands on my shoulders. Her face pale. "Stay still. Don't move. Help is coming."

I looked past her. Killian was still on the floor with Selena. Still cradling her. He hadn't looked up. Hadn't noticed.

I closed my eyes. I felt the blood pooling beneath me. I felt everything inside me breaking apart. And I understood, with perfect clarity, that I had just lost everything.

The baby. My mother. My dignity. My future.

All of it. Gone.

In the distance, sirens.