Chapter 1"WEDDING GAME! GROOM TELLS TRUTH OR SHOTS!"
My fiancé's sister Lauren strikes first: "Blake—that hundred-K dress is for Vivian, right?"
"Yup."
I'm wearing an $800 rental.
My brother Marcus smirks: "You only stayed 'cause Riley was pathetic enough to beg, right?"
"Hell yeah."
Blake's mom Diane jumps in: "That house Riley's broke parents bought—Vivian's name is on it, right?"
"Of course."
My best friend Vivian sobs: "You're marrying her out of guilt because I'm pregnant, right?"
Blake touches her face. Eyes melting.
"Of course."
Some guest yells: "Bet you're dying for her to bail so you can marry Vivian!"
Blake looks at me.
I rip off my veil.
"Of course."
---
The whispers hit like slaps.
People who were just congratulating me are now side-eyeing me like I'm the mistress.
My brother Marcus scoffs: "God, Riley, chill. It's just a game. Why you gotta make Vivian look bad?"
Everyone's glaring at me. Poor, sweet Vivian.
Blake pulls me close, voice soft: "Babe, just smile, okay? Don't let people talk shit about Vivian. She can't handle it."
"She's your best friend. You'd worry too. I'm doing this for you."
Right. For me.
Like ditching our anniversary because Vivian had a "stomachache" was for me.
Like leaving my surgery to drive her home in the rain was for me.
"For me" means shut up and take it.
Vivian grabs my hand, eyes glistening: "Riley, I'm so sorry—this game was stupid—"
She stumbles. Scalding tea floods my lap.
I gasp.
Blake reaches for me—
Vivian moans, clutching her stomach.
His hand stops. Turns to her.
Hotel medic rushes in.
Blake doesn't hesitate: "Check her first. She's pregnant."
After clearing Vivian, he finally glances at my legs and pats my shoulder.
"Not bad. Just run cold water on it."
I stare at the blisters forming, kick off my heels, and walk.
"Marry each other. I'm done."
Behind the door:
"Blake, shouldn't you go after her? Riley's really upset—"
Blake sounds irritated: "She's dramatic. Throws fits over nothing."
"Let Vivian finish the ceremony. She's always wanted a real wedding anyway."
Lauren giggles: "You totally planned this! Wanted Riley gone so Vivian could have her dream day!"
Marcus gasps: "Wait—that's why Vivian got makeup first?!"
Blake's mom, all sweet: "I brought Vivian's dress. Two minutes."
In the lobby, staff whisper:
"Two brides? Two poster sets? What the hell?"
One snorts: "Pretty clear who the backup was."
My phone buzzes.
Wedding planner in the group:
[SWITCHING TO PLAN B. PROCEEDING.]
I open the file.
Vows. Kiss. Rings. Champagne tower. Bouquet toss.
Every "too extra" detail Blake refused for our wedding.
He didn't hate the fuss.
He hated me.
A video drops.
Three hundred photos. Blake and Vivian—Paris, Bali, Rome.
He's glowing in every shot.
Not like the stiff smile in our engagement photos.
Blake's text:
[Vivian needs a bridesmaid. Get back here.]
Tears stream down my face.
Six years together.
I'm just filling in.
I take a breath.
Pull up that job transfer email from two weeks ago.
Hit ACCEPT.
Chapter 2
Cab driver catches my eye in the mirror.
"Damn, girl—you're stunning. What kind of asshole lets his bride bail alone?"
My eyes sting.
Six months back, when corporate first offered me the transfer, Blake lost it. Wouldn't let go of me all night.
"We're getting married! You'd really just leave me like that?"
Now? He's handing our entire wedding—a year of planning—to someone else like it's nothing.
Back at the old place, I'm throwing shit in boxes.
Blake and Vivian moved their stuff to the new house ages ago. Mine's still gathering dust here.
Guess I was never invited to their little "fresh start."
His study. That damn safe he's never let me touch.
For some insane reason, I punch in Vivian's birthday.
Beep. Opens right up.
Ultrasound printout stares back at me.
My stomach drops.
Date stamped three months ago. The exact day my mom went under the knife.
Ten hours in surgery. Flatlined five times.
I called Blake twenty-three times, crying so hard I could barely breathe.
All I got: [Swamped. Later.]
He wasn't swamped.
I just wasn't the priority.
Blake's text lights up my screen:
[Got you burn cream and soup delivered. Don't be stupid and hurt yourself just cause you're pissed.]
[Look, about Vivian—we'll talk when I'm home. I'm only nice to her because she's YOUR friend. I'm doing it for YOU.]
What kind of "nice" knocks someone up?
Evening. I'm wheeling my suitcase out.
Burn cream tube by the door. Takeout bag next to it—soup's ice cold now.
Shrimp and crab congee. Vivian's go-to.
Not just the soup. The whole damn house. Paint. Furniture. The color of the goddamn toothbrushes—all her taste.
Her fingerprint's the first one programmed into the lock.
Like she's the one who lives here.
Vivian's waiting downstairs.
Wearing the champagne toast dress I picked out. Didn't fit me right, but on her? Perfect.
"Riley, come on. Why are you being like this? You're killing us—me and Blake."
Once? I would've fallen for that.
When Blake and I first got together, I busted my ass working three jobs to save for a trip.
Dead of winter. I'm out there in a blizzard handing out flyers. Ended up with a raging fever.
Vivian stayed up the whole night with me. Wouldn't sleep. Then she gave me her entire scholarship check for the trip.
Turned out later—that was basically every cent she had.
She ate once a day. Got so lightheaded she tumbled down a staircase. You can still see the scar by her eye.
So yeah. Even when Blake treated Vivian like royalty, I swallowed it.
Turns out I'm just an idiot.
An idiot everyone's been playing this whole time.
I stop walking.
Pull out my phone.
Book that flight.
Chapter 3
Vivian's playing with the wedding ring on her finger, smirking.
"Wanna know why Blake begged you to stay?"
My throat closes up.
"Because I needed you to see. Those six years? I let you have him."
I can't breathe.
She laughs. "That love letter he gave you? Got the same one. Word for word."
"Told him dating ruins everything. Friendship lasts. So he picked you."
"Perfect, right? Your bestie—he could spoil me senseless and you'd just… sit there."
My nails dig into my palms. She's right.
Six years of this shit.
Vivian's work bombed? Blake flew her to Paris. For a month.
Vivian got dumped? Blake cleared out Neiman Marcus.
Always: "She's your girl—I'm helping you take care of her."
But me? Job fell through? "Try harder."
Me falling apart? "Stop crying. Toughen up."
Vivian's staring at me like I'm pathetic.
"You were so desperate for him. Felt bad, honestly. But there's a baby now, so—yeah. You needed to know."
I let out this bitter bark of a laugh.
"Fine. He's yours. You two deserve each other."
Footsteps stop dead. Blake appears. Face like murder.
"The hell?! I said I'd—we'd talk!"
Shoves his phone at my face. Video playing.
"I was wasted! I thought she was you! Listen, I kept saying your name the whole time!"
"Nobody planned this! Don't act like I—"
Security cam footage. Them tangled. Him moaning my name. I'm going to be sick. Blake grabs me, desperate now.
"I hid it because of us! The wedding didn't mean anything. I was just making Vivian happy."
"Your mom's waiting! Tomorrow at the courthouse, you're my wife!"
I rip his phone away and slam it against the concrete. The screen shatters.
Vivian screams and crumples, clutching her stomach, sobbing, "Blake! Blake!"
Blake shoves me so hard I stagger, then scoops her up.
My leg slams into the streetlight pole. My blisters burst, and my skin burns like fire.
Blake doesn't look back. His eyes are wild, his voice shaking:
"Enough! You know about the cream, the painkillers! Stop playing the victim. When did you become this person?"
"Vivian—the baby—they didn't—stop taking this out on her!"
He runs.
And I'm standing here remembering six years ago.
That road trip. Sign fell. I shoved him out of the way. He carried me just like that—panicking—crying—
"Never again. Never letting you get hurt again."
That guy's gone.
Drop my stuff at a locker. Cab to the hospital.
Nurse is cleaning my burns. I'm shaking. Sweating through the pain.
She's frowning. "God—burns this bad—where the hell was your family?"
I check my phone. Marcus posted.
Picture: him with flowers, making stupid faces. Vivian laughing.
Blake feeding her soup. Lauren showing her wedding photos on a tablet.
Perfect little family.
I leave the group chat.
Look at the nurse.
"Don't have one."
