Chapter 1I was scrolling TikTok when I saw it. That "Nobody knows me like you do" challenge.
Except this one wasn't cute.
My best friend Tate asked my boyfriend Soren: "You got the balls to tell Peyton we fucked?"
Soren: "Nah."
She wrote: "Chickenshit. But honestly? Same. Peyton's been my ride-or-die since kindergarten. She matters most."
Comments went off. Everyone ripping them apart. Like any of them gave a shit about me.
But here's the thing—I'm the one who owed THEM.
Soren went to prison for me. Stabbed someone to protect me. Everyone sees him as a killer now.
Tate got raped saving my life. Lost hearing in one ear. Still wakes up screaming.
Looked down at the cancer report in my hand. Stage four. Terminal.
I smiled. Then called Tate.
"Hey, wanna try on wedding dresses with me?"
Only way I could repay them? A wedding.
Their wedding.
Same day I booked my assisted suicide.
---
Tate showed up while I was looking at dresses.
Satin mermaid cut, pearls along the bodice. So her. Classy, elegant, the whole thing.
She made a face at it. "Wait, I thought you wanted one of those huge princess gowns? The ones with like, ten layers?"
"I dunno, just felt like something different." I shrugged.
She didn't notice how sick I looked. Didn't notice I could barely stand up. Just kept staring at that dress.
Before everything got fucked up, Tate would always talk about her wedding. Same thing every time—satin mermaid dress, champagne roses, all of it.
I remembered all of it.
I grabbed her hand. Freezing cold. "Hey, can you try it on for me?"
She pulled away. "Peyton, no. That's YOUR dress. For YOUR wedding. I can't—"
"Come onnn, I'm so tired though." I leaned on her and gave her the sad puppy eyes. "Please?"
She said okay. She always does.
She walked out and just... stopped. Looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes got all wet, like a kid at Disneyland.
Then she turned around fast, wiping her face.
Her voice cracked. "You're really gonna wear this? When you marry Soren?"
"Yeah."
She looked down. "Well... congrats, Peyton. Really."
I didn't say anything.
"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?"
I turned.
Soren was there, looking pissed.
Before I could say anything, he grabbed my wrist and pulled me to the dressing room. Hard.
His hand hurt. And he was going so fast I kept almost falling.
Then he pushed me.
I hit the wall and it hurt everywhere. Started crying—couldn't help it.
"Peyton, do you even care?" His voice was shaking. "You KNOW Tate can't get married. You KNOW. And you made her wear YOUR dress? Really?"
I tried to talk. Couldn't.
He glared at me. "You're so damn selfish. You really just hurt her for fun?"
No. That's not—
I wanted to say something. Wanted to tell him I saw Tate's post.
That I know about them. That this wedding? The dress, everything—it's FOR them. Not me.
Wanted to tell him I'm dying.
But I couldn't. The words just stuck. I couldn't breathe.
Soren's voice went cold. "You disappoint me."
He left with Tate.
The lady at the shop looked awkward. "Um... Miss Thorne, about that dress—"
I thought about how Tate looked. How happy she looked.
Gave her my card. "I'll take it."
First wedding gift—done.
Didn't take long to set up gift number two.
Chapter 2
I went to the wedding planner's office with a new plan.
The coordinator looked at me. "Miss Thorne, this is... I mean, it's completely different from before."
I felt bad. They stayed up all night working on the old plan.
"I'll pay more. A lot more. Just make it happen in a month, okay? Champagne roses, everything. Make it perfect."
They saw the number I wrote and nodded fast.
I smiled. "Oh, and change the bride's name too."
Their mouth dropped.
"I'm dying," I said. "Cancer. Stage four. I want the two most important people in my life to be okay after I'm gone."
I wasn't trying to be dramatic. Wasn't trying to make them feel bad. Just telling the truth.
They looked shocked. "I—okay. We won't tell anyone."
"Thanks."
I walked outside. Felt like I was gonna throw up.
Dropped down, trying not to puke, then—blood.
Shit.
I looked through my bag for my meds. The bottle I hid as stomach pills.
Not there.
Oh god. I left it in Soren's car.
I called him. My hands were shaking. "Soren, I—my stomach really hurts. My pills are in your car. Can you—"
Silence.
When we first started dating? If I got a papercut, he'd run a mile to get me bandaids.
Now? Nothing.
"You doing this on purpose?"
"What?"
"You saw Tate's post, right? You KNOW she's drunk at some bar. You KNOW it's not safe. So you're doing this to stop me from getting her?"
"I'm not—"
"Stop." His voice sounded tired. "You're so selfish now, Peyton. Tate already gave up everything for you once. She can't get hurt again. Get your own pills."
Click.
He hung up.
I just sat there on the sidewalk, shaking. Everything was going dark.
My whole body felt like it was falling apart.
I'm so scared of pain. That's why I'm doing the assisted suicide thing in Switzerland.
Three days before the wedding.
After I got my meds from the hospital, I went home and started writing my will.
Halfway through, I fell asleep at the desk.
Dreamed about when we were eighteen. Me, Tate, Soren. Back when everything was good.
Back when we were just kids, thinking we were so cool.
Then I came home that day—
The day Soren asked me out, the day I said yes—
Everything went bad.
Chapter 3
My uncle Davis got drugged. The guy who raised me after my parents died.
He looked at me with these crazy eyes. Saw the roses in my hand.
"Peyton... don't you love me?"
I never thought of him like that. Ever. He was just... Uncle Davis.
He came at me. Hit my phone out of my hand before I could call anyone.
Pushed me back against the window.
I screamed for Tate and Soren. They were still outside.
They broke down the door.
Soren saw my uncle on top of me. Lost it. Grabbed a knife and stabbed him in the back.
Tate threw herself at my uncle, held onto him so he couldn't come after us.
"GO!" she screamed. "Get Soren out of here! NOW!"
I dragged Soren out. Thought that was it. Thought we were safe.
We weren't.
By the time we got back with the cops, Tate was on the floor.
Half-naked. Blood pouring out of her ear where he'd hit her.
She'd been raped.
The doctors said the damage was bad. Real bad. She'd never be able to have kids.
Tate's mom lost it. Slapped me across the face.
"Why wasn't it YOU?" she screamed. "You're the one who brought this on us. You're a curse."
I believed her.
Went up to the hospital roof. Stood at the edge.
But Tate found me. Grabbed me. Sobbing.
"If you die, what happens to me and Soren? Don't leave us. PLEASE."
So I stayed.
But I hid a knife in my sleeve. Went back to the house.
Gonna make Uncle Davis pay for what he did to her.
Except he was already dead. Slit wrists. Bathtub full of blood.
He left a note. An apology. Some legal shit saying he wouldn't press charges.
That's how my childhood ended.
I woke up from the nightmare drenched in sweat. Soren never came home.
I opened TikTok. Tate's secret account popped up again.
This time—a video.
Two hands on MY bed. The one I picked out for the new place.
Caption: "Sorry, Peyton. Last time, I swear."
I laughed.
Tate, you idiot.
That apartment? That bed? I bought it for THEM.
Why couldn't you just wait three more days?
But then it hit me.
My best friend. My boyfriend.
They both fucked me over.
I ran to the bathroom and puked. Looked up at the mirror—tears everywhere.
For a second, I saw her. Eighteen-year-old Tate, smiling at me.
"Satin mermaid dress. Champagne roses. You remember, right?"
I nodded. "Yeah. I remember. I remember everything, Tate."
Happy wedding, you two.
