Chapter 1

"I think we should go with the ivory cardstock, not the pure white," Ashley said, holding two wedding invitation samples under the warm light of our living room lamp. "It feels more classic, you know?"

For six years, moments like this were what I lived for. Ethan Miller, the indie filmmaker who never quite made it big, planning a future with Ashley Davies, the charismatic social media influencer whose star was always rising. We were building a life together, and these invitations felt like the blueprints.

"Ivory sounds good," I agreed, leaning over to kiss her shoulder. "Whatever you want."

She smiled, a perfect, practiced smile that lit up her whole face, the one that had her followers hitting 'like' thousands of times a minute. She placed the samples on the coffee table, right next to a pile of bridal magazines. Then she turned to me, her expression shifting. The bright smile faded, replaced by a look of deep, theatrical sorrow.

"Ethan, honey," she began, her voice suddenly soft and heavy. "We need to talk."

I felt a knot tighten in my stomach. "Okay. What's wrong?"

"I need to postpone the wedding."

The words hung in the air, cold and sharp. "Postpone? Why? Everything is booked. The venue, the caterer..."

"I know, and I'm so, so sorry," she said, her eyes welling up with tears. It was a performance I' d seen before, usually reserved for a sponsored post about some charity. "It's Liam's mother. Mrs. O'Connell."

Liam O'Connell. Her childhood friend. A quiet, unassuming guy I never thought much about.

"What about her?" I asked, confused.

"She's dying, Ethan. The doctors said she doesn't have much time. And... her dying wish is to see me and Liam get married."

I stared at her, certain I had misheard. "What did you just say?"

"It's her last wish," Ashley repeated, the tears now streaming down her cheeks. "She always saw me as the daughter she never had. She wants to see Liam settled and happy before she goes. How can I say no to a dying woman? I can't. I just can't."

She was actually crying, her shoulders shaking. She even told me, with a voice full of fake emotion, that she had tearfully promised Mrs. O' Connell a "home" with Liam. The whole thing felt like a scene from a bad soap opera.

A cold wave washed over me. "A home? What are you talking about, Ashley? What about our home? What about my mother?"

I'd told her a hundred times. My mom had a serious heart condition. She' d been dreaming of my wedding for years, talking about it constantly, marking the days on her calendar. The joy was the best medicine for her, and the stress of a delay... it could be dangerous.

"What about you?" Ashley sniffled, pulling away from me. Her grief suddenly evaporated, replaced by a flash of irritation. She looked at me as if I were a child throwing a tantrum.

"Can't you have some empathy? It's just for a little while. Two months, maybe. I promise. Then we can have our wedding."

Her words were so dismissive, so utterly devoid of concern for me or my family.

She then delivered the final blow, her voice dripping with contempt. "Are you really that desperate to get married, like some woman?"

The insult landed, sucking the air from my lungs. Six years. Six years of supporting her, celebrating her victories, comforting her during her struggles. And it all came down to this. Me, being mocked for wanting to marry her.

"My mother, Ashley," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "Her heart. The doctor said any major stress could..."

"Oh, please," she scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. She picked up her phone, her thumbs flying across the screen. She didn't even look at me. In front of my very eyes, she was booking an appointment.

"Look," she said, her tone final. "Liam has to be the groom this time. We're registering our marriage next week. It has to be done. Even if your mom can't wait and actually dies," she added, her voice chillingly casual, "she'll just have to wait in line for me to marry you."

I watched her, my fiancée, as she stood up. The woman I loved, the woman I was supposed to spend my life with, had just told me that my mother's life was less important than her bizarre, manipulative stage play.

She walked towards the bedroom, resolute, without a single glance back.

The silence she left behind was deafening. I looked at the ivory wedding invitation on the table. It seemed like a relic from another lifetime.

My hand was shaking as I pulled out my own phone. I didn't think. I just acted. I scrolled to my sister's name, Sarah, and pressed call.

She picked up on the second ring. "Ethan? What's up? Finalizing the guest list?"

"Hey, sis," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. "Change of plans."

"What kind of change of plans?"

"For the wedding. The one in ten days."

"Yeah?"

I took a deep breath, the decision solidifying in my chest, hard and clear.

"Can you find me a new bride?"

There was a stunned silence on the other end of the line. Then Sarah's voice came back, sharp and serious. "What did she do?"

I didn't need to explain. Sarah had never liked Ashley. She saw the ambition, the self-absorption, that I had always mistaken for drive.

"She's marrying someone else first," I said flatly.

"You're kidding me."

"I wish I were."

Another pause. Then, "You remember Chloe Peterson, right? From next door, when we were kids?"

Chloe. The name brought a faint, distant image to mind. A quiet girl with kind eyes. An architect now, a successful one. She' d come to a few of our family dinners over the years. She was always polite, always respectful, but kept her distance, especially when Ashley was around.

"Yeah, I remember her," I said.

"Well," Sarah said, a hint of something I couldn't quite decipher in her voice. "Mom and Dad always loved her. And for what it's worth... I think she's been waiting for you to be single for about fifteen years."

Before I could process that, the bedroom door opened. Ashley came out, dressed to go out. She saw me on the phone and her eyes narrowed.

"Who are you talking to?" she demanded.

"My sister," I said, not looking at her.

"Tell her to mind her own business," she snapped. "And you, Ethan. Don't you dare do anything stupid. This wedding with Liam is happening. It's for his mother. After it's done, we will get married. You belong to me, got it?"

I looked up at her then. The woman I thought I knew was gone. In her place was a stranger, a cold, manipulative performer.

I remembered all the times she'd put off setting a date. "I'm not ready." "My career is just taking off." "Let's just enjoy being engaged for a while." All of it, lies. All of it was just stalling. For six years, she had kept me on a leash, and now she was telling me to heel while she went and played house with someone else.

"Okay, Ashley," I said into the phone, my eyes locked on hers. "Sarah, I'll call you back."

I hung up.

Ashley smirked, thinking she had won. "Good. For a second there, I thought you were going to be dramatic."

"No drama," I said, my voice hollow. I felt a profound sense of clarity. The heartbreak was there, a deep, aching void, but above it was a cold, sharp anger.

"Enjoy your fake wedding, Ashley," I said, standing up and walking towards the door.

"Where are you going?"

"To get a new bride," I said, and a bitter laugh escaped my lips. "You know, like some desperate woman."

I walked out, leaving her standing there in stunned silence, the ivory wedding invitation sitting on the table between us.

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