Seven days before the wedding, Ronald Harding was in a car accident.

I kept vigil in the ICU for seventy-two hours, clutching the wedding invitations I hadn't had time to print.

My phone buzzed.

It was an email from “Eternity Corp.”

“Dear Ms. Pruitt, our client Mr. Ronald Harding has failed to check in for 72 consecutive hours. Per the terms of his estate-trust agreement, we are forwarding all archived estate materials to you as his designated recipient.”

Attached was a compressed file.

I never knew Ronald had set up an estate trust, let alone that he'd named me as his beneficiary.

A raw ache spread through my chest. So he'd already decided I was the most important person in his life.

My hands were shaking as I opened the file.

The next second, I couldn't move.

His pinned conversation wasn't with me. It was with Hope Summers.

My maid of honor. My best friend of eight years.

The earliest message was dated three years ago, on Valentine's Day.

Ronald：“Is she asleep?”

Hope：“Just dozed off. She saw the Van Cleef necklace you got me and asked who it was from. I told her it was a birthday gift from my mom. She didn't suspect a thing, so don't worry.”

Ronald：“I'm sorry you have to go through this. Once the studio's stable, I'll break things off with her. I promise I'll make us official.”

Hope：“I'm not suffering. As long as I'm with you, nothing else matters.”

——

My fingers froze against the screen.

I'd been with Ronald for five years. Hope had been in my life for eight.

The three of us graduated together, built the studio together.

Scraped by in this city with nothing until we finally found our footing.

I had never once doubted either of them.

Three years ago.

Back then, Ronald and I had just landed our first round of funding. I thought our future was wide open.

And all along, he'd already started a new chapter with someone else.

I swallowed the shock and the bitterness and kept scrolling.

Each message crushed my heart a little more, like a cold fist grinding it to dust.

Our home. He'd decorated it to Hope's taste.

Our wedding itinerary. He'd designed it with Hope while the two of them vacationed in Malibu.

He told me he'd been on a business trip to Harbor City that week, too busy to reply to my texts.

I'd felt sorry for him, worried he was burning himself out working late every night.

The engagement ring he gave me was the same model as the one he bought Hope.

Only mine had a smaller stone. Cheaper.

The wedding I'd spent six months planning was nothing but a joke the two of them had written for me.

They'd had it mapped out all along.

On the day of the ceremony, Ronald would stop mid-vow and announce that the woman he truly loved was Hope.

Then the two of them would walk out hand in hand, right in front of every friend and family member we had.

And I'd be left standing on that stage alone, the laughingstock of the entire city.

I stared at the love notes, the intimate photos taken in our home, the videos too vile to describe.

My stomach turned violently.

I barely made it to the bathroom before I was retching so hard the room spun.

When it was over, I looked up at my own reflection. Gaunt, hollowed out, wrecked. And then I laughed.

I was such a fool.

The whole world knew they were together. I was the only one still in the dark.

A nurse came rushing over.

“Ms. Pruitt, Mr. Harding is awake! He's been moved to a regular room. You can see him now.”

I wiped my eyes and took a long breath.

Then I slipped my phone into my pocket and walked into his room.

Ronald lay in the hospital bed, face white as the sheets, lips dry and cracked.

When he saw me, he managed a weak smile and reached out his hand.

“Millie, you're here. I missed you so much.”

“When the car hit, I thought I'd never see you again.”

“Come here, let me hold you……”

My heart lurched.

For a split second, I wanted to delete everything on my phone.

Pretend none of it had ever happened.

As long as he was awake, that was all that mattered.

I walked to the bed but didn't take his hand.

I just set the thermos on the nightstand.

“How are you feeling? The doctor said you're recovering well.”

“I'm fine. Just a little sore.”

Ronald's hand hung frozen in midair, but he didn't look the least bit embarrassed. If anything, his gaze grew softer：

“I'm sorry I worried you. The wedding's going to have to be pushed back, isn't it? It's my fault for being careless behind the wheel.”

I was so calm it frightened me.

“It's fine. The wedding can wait.”

“All that matters is that you're okay.”

Ronald let out a breath, relief washing over his face.

“Millie, you're so good to me. The second I'm better, we'll get married right away. I'm going to give you the biggest, most beautiful wedding and make you the happiest woman in the world!”

He sounded so sincere. His eyes were brimming with love.

If I hadn't seen those messages, I would have been moved to tears.

But now, all I felt was revulsion.

The door swung open.

Hope rushed in carrying a thermos, her pretty face tight with worry.

“Ronald, you're finally awake! You scared me half to death. After Millie called, I was up all night!”

She darted to the bedside, snatched the cup right out of my hand, and lifted it to Ronald's lips.

The motion was practiced. Effortless. Like she'd done it a thousand times.

“Drink. Look at your lips, they're completely cracked.”

Ronald parted his mouth and took a sip without a second thought.

Then Hope pulled out a tissue and reached over to dab the water from the corner of his lips.

I stood right where I was, watching them.

Like a stranger who'd wandered into the wrong room.

Hope seemed to notice me only then and gave an apologetic little smile：

“Sorry, Millie, I just got so worked up. Don't be mad. I was worried for your sake too.”

“I mean, you're the one marrying him. If something had happened to him, I was afraid you wouldn't be able to handle it.”

“I'm not that petty.”

I leaned against the wall, arms folded, and watched them perform.

Ronald immediately furrowed his brow and put on a stern look, scolding Hope：

“See what you did? You upset Millie. Don't be so forward next time.”

“Okay, okay, I get it.”

Hope stuck out her tongue playfully and gave Ronald a light punch on the arm.

“It's only because I was worried about you, you ungrateful jerk.”

Ronald laughed and caught her wrist：

“Alright, alright, thank you for worrying about me. Happy now?”

They kept play-fighting until Hope's hand accidentally brushed against Ronald's wound.

Ronald sucked in a sharp breath, and Hope immediately leaned in close, her face taut with concern.

“Are you okay? I didn't mean to! Let me see!”

She bent over him, her face nearly pressed to his chest.

Ronald reached up and ruffled her hair, his eyes so full of tenderness it was spilling over.

“I'm fine. Doesn't hurt. Don't worry.”

I watched them, the way they acted like no one else existed in the room.

And I remembered the last time he'd been hurt. I had leaned in the exact same way, trying to check his wound.

He'd flinched away.

Told me it didn't look right, doing that in a hospital.

It was never about how it looked. It just looked wrong because it was me.

Hope seemed to remember something and lifted her head, her smile bright and teasing：

“Oh, Ronald, do you remember? Three years ago when we went to the beach, you tripped and fell just like this. Your knee was bleeding everywhere, and I carried you on my back for two miles to the hospital.”

“Of course I remember.”

Ronald laughed at her playfulness：

“You weighed, what, barely a hundred pounds back then? And you carried me on your back when I was a hundred and forty, huffing and puffing the whole way. I remember thinking, does this girl have a crush on me or what?”

Hope's cheeks flushed. She reached over and pressed her hand against his mouth.

“Oh, please! Nobody but Millie would ever look twice at you. Don't flatter yourself. I only helped because she's my best friend!”

“What's there to worry about? Millie's not an outsider.”

Ronald caught her hand and held it, then turned to me：

“Right, Millie? The three of us have been close for so many years. We're practically family.”

I tugged at the corners of my mouth. Said nothing.

Love doesn't turn into family.

The moment a lover becomes family,

the lover's place is left empty.

They sat there in front of me, shamelessly sharing memories that belonged only to the two of them.

Their ski trip to Aspen last winter.

The concert they went to together last month.

The cat they adopted together, the one they named “Mochi.”

That cat. Ronald told me it belonged to a friend who needed someone to look after it.

And because I was allergic to cat hair, he never once let me come see it.

“I'm not feeling well. I'm going to head out.”

I grabbed my bag and left.

Ronald called after me：

“Millie, what's wrong? Are you feeling sick? Want Hope to go with you?”

I didn't look back：

“No need. Just focus on getting better.”

“Hope, take care of him for me.”

“Don't worry, Millie! I'll take great care of him!”

Hope's voice couldn't quite hide how happy she was.

I walked out of the room, leaned against the hallway wall, and gulped for air.

The tears finally came.

I took out my phone and scrolled to a number I'd never saved but knew by heart.

It belonged to the man my mother had been trying to set me up with. Percival Henson, heir to the Henson Group.

My mother said that if I agreed to marry Percival, the Hensons would invest enough to pull our family through the crisis.

I'd always refused.

I told her I loved Ronald, that I wanted to marry for love.

Now that felt like a joke.

He picked up after three rings.

A low, resonant voice came through the line：

“Ms. Pruitt? I didn't expect you to call me first.”

I took a deep breath, forcing my voice steady：

“Mr. Henson, the marriage arrangement you proposed. I accept.”

A pause on his end.

“You're sure?”

“I'm sure.”

“The date will be June eighteenth.”

The same date Ronald and I had settled on for our wedding.

Percival didn't ask why：

“Done. I'll take care of everything. My assistant will send the contract over tomorrow.”

“No need to send it to me. Send it directly to my father. He handles the business side.”

“Thank you.”

“No need for thanks. The pleasure is mine.”

After I hung up, I deleted every photo of Ronald from my phone.

When it was done, I lifted my head.

Sunlight pooled at the far end of the hallway.

My heart was still.

The day Ronald was discharged, I went to pick him up.

The moment he saw me, his face lit up：

“Millie! I thought you were mad at me. I figured you wouldn't come.”

Even though he assumed I was upset, he hadn't sent a single message in all those days.

When someone cares, it's hard to hide.

When they don't, that's hard to hide too.

I pulled my lips into a smile：

“Why wouldn't I? I'm your fiancée. Of course I came.”