Her Unwilling I Do

Evelyn POV

"Hold still, or I'll poke you."

Priya says it with a pin between her teeth as she kneels at my feet, fixing the hem of my dress.

"You've been threatening my life for twenty minutes."

"And you've been moving for twenty minutes, Evelyn."

I laugh and force myself to stay still. The bridal shop is bright, with mirrors covering almost every wall and rows of white dresses hanging behind me. I look at my reflection, hardly believing the woman staring back at me is actually me. The dress is white, with lace sleeves and a fitted waist. I spent months planning today because I wanted everything to feel right.

Mom stands a few steps away, watching me with a smile that keeps threatening to turn into tears. She holds a tissue she hasn't used yet, twisting it between her fingers.

"You look beautiful, sweetheart," Diane Cole says, her voice catching on the last word.

"Mom, if you start, I'll start." I smile at her through the mirror. "Then Priya will have to repin this whole dress."

"I made no such promise," Priya says, glaring at me.

Mom laughs softly, but her eyes stay shiny, and she dabs at them with the tissue she's been holding onto all morning like it might be needed any second.

"Your father would have loved seeing you like this," she says quietly.

My throat tightens. "I know, Mom."

"He would have walked you down that aisle himself."

I nod, not trusting myself to say much else. I don't want grief taking over today. There will be time for that later.

My phone sits on the table beside the mirror. I glance at it before picking it up. Still nothing from Marcus.

I call him. It rings several times before going to voicemail.

"He's probably busy getting ready," Priya says. "You said he was already on his way."

"He did."

"Then stop worrying. It's your wedding day."

I nod, wanting to believe her.

The drive to the church passes in a blur. Mom talks about the flowers, Priya checks her phone, and I stare out the window, thinking about the husband, home, and future waiting for me.

We met eight months ago after I accidentally spilled coffee on his shirt at a café near my office. I apologized so many times that he laughed and told me he would survive. One conversation became two hours, two hours became dinner, and somehow he became part of my life. Steady. Safe. Certain. That was what Marcus made me feel.

The church comes into view, and my stomach fills with nervous excitement. White stone rises behind a row of trees, and the tall doors are already open. About three hundred guests are seated inside, dressed for the occasion, their voices blending into a murmur.

The priest is standing at the altar, waiting for the ceremony to begin. The wedding coordinator is near the entrance, checking the time and looking toward the doors every few seconds.

I step out of the car, gather my dress, and walk toward the church with Mom and Priya behind me. The guests are waiting, the priest is ready, and the flowers are in place.

Then I notice the empty space beside the altar.

Marcus is not there.

I slow down, looking toward the entrance. Maybe he is running late or about to walk through those doors with an apology.

But he doesn't.

The wedding coordinator hurries toward me. Her face is pale, and her hands are twisted together.

"Evelyn."

"Where is Marcus?" I ask.

She hesitates. "There's been a delay."

"A delay?" I look past her toward the altar. "The priest is already waiting. Everyone is here. Why is he not here?"

"We've tried calling him."

I call Marcus. The call goes straight to voicemail. His phone is off.

"He told me he was on his way," I say.

The coordinator gives me an uneasy look. "We thought he might be caught in traffic."

"He would have called."

"I know."

I look inside the church again. People are beginning to notice. Some guests turn toward the entrance while others whisper. The priest remains at the altar, waiting, and the longer he stands there, the more nervous I become.

Five minutes pass, then another five. I call Marcus again, but nothing changes. I open our messages and type.

Where are you? Everyone's waiting.

I send it and stare at the screen. Then the typing dots appear beneath his name. My heart lifts with relief.

"He's replying," Priya says quietly.

The dots disappear. They appear again, then disappear once more. My fingers tighten around the phone as I wait.

The dots appear for the third time.

Then his message arrives.

I can't do this, Evelyn. I'm sorry. Please don't make this bigger than it needs to be. I do hope you understand, but I can't marry you anymore.

I read it twice.

The church suddenly feels too quiet, even with three hundred people around me. The priest, coordinator, Mom, and Priya all watch my face.

I call Marcus again. His phone is still off. I type another message.

What is going on? Call me right now.

I immediately call Ryan, Marcus's best friend and best man. He answers after several rings.

"Evelyn?"

"Where is Marcus?"

"I thought he was with you."

"He just sent me a message saying he can't marry me. What is happening?"

Ryan is silent for a moment. "I don't know what to tell you."

"Tell me the truth."

"He said he couldn't go through with it. That's all I know."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one I have."

The call ends.

Mom steps closer. "What did he say?"

"He's not coming."

Her hand flies to her mouth. She immediately calls Kate, Marcus's mother, but the call goes unanswered. She tries again.

"She always answers me," Mom whispers.

I look at her. "She already knows."

Her voice breaks and eyes fill with tears. "Evelyn, sweetheart..."

I shake my head. "Please don't."

My chest feels tight, and for one terrible second, I think my legs might give way. Three hundred people are waiting, and I am standing there without a groom.

Priya takes my hand. "We can leave. You don't have to explain anything to anyone."

I look toward the altar. The priest is still waiting, and everyone is still waiting.

"No," I say quietly. "I need to tell them."

I walk to the altar. Every step feels heavier than the last. Conversations fade as people notice me, and the room becomes painfully quiet. I go to speak to the priest. He looks disappointed but does not ask questions. He simply steps aside and gives me space to address the guests.

I turn to face them. Three hundred faces look back at me, and I refuse to let my breaking heart show.

"Thank you all for coming," I say, forcing my voice to stay steady. "There isn't going to be a wedding today. I'm sorry for the short notice."

A gasp comes from somewhere near the middle of the church, but I don't look toward it. I turn around and walk back down the aisle.

I keep my head high until I reach the car. The moment the door closes, tears slide down my cheeks. Priya takes my hand without saying anything.

I reach my apartment with Priya, while my mom goes to the family house to explain the situation to the relatives. I change out of the dress and weakly toss it on the sofa. A few hours ago, it felt like the beginning of my new life. Now I can barely look at it.

I sit on my bed and stare at my phone. Marcus still hasn't called, to at least explain.

I keep thinking about his message, trying to find an explanation that might make this feel less cruel. There is nothing, only a few cold sentences from the man I trusted with my future.

I lie down and close my eyes, but sleep refuses to come. My mind keeps returning to the same question.

Why would he do this without even facing me?

I don't have an answer. All I have is an empty aisle, a silent phone, and a future that disappeared before it began.

Tomorrow, I will have to face everyone, and I have no idea what they will believe happened.

Evelyn POV

I open my eyes to the smell of coffee drifting through the apartment. My body feels heavy, as if the night never really ended. For one merciful second I forget everything. Then it all comes back in a rush: the church, the empty aisle, Marcus's betrayal message, and the fact that his mom still wasn't reachable, with no reasonable explanation.

The memory settles over me again like it is brand new, and I have to sit there on the edge of the bed and breathe through it.

When I finally step out of my room, Priya is already in the kitchen. She looks over as soon as she hears my footsteps.

"You're up."

"Barely." My voice comes out rough.

"I slept on the couch," she says, handing me a mug once I shuffle closer. "Figured you shouldn't wake up alone."

"You didn't have to do that."

"I know." She shrugs like it was never a question. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I got hit by a truck and then had to give a press conference about it."

She almost smiles, but the expression never quite reaches her eyes. I glance at my phone in my hand. I do not want to look.

I look anyway. Forty new notifications are waiting for me. Some are kind, coming from my cousin, an old coworker and a few friends checking in, but most of them are not. I open one before I can stop myself. It is a screenshot someone has forwarded, and my stomach drops.

Marcus is already talking. Somewhere online, in posts I will never fully see, he is calling the whole thing a mutual decision, claiming he tried to be honest as early as he could, casting himself as the brave one in a story where he is the person who simply never showed up.

"He's lying," I say, mostly to myself.

"I saw." Priya's jaw tightens. "I already reported it. Not that it will do anything."

I set the phone down before I read anything else. My hands are steadier than they were yesterday, but not by much. Still, the words keep circling. A few minutes later a message from someone who used to be close to both of us arrives. I open it against my better judgment.

According to him, the real reason Marcus walked away may have nothing to do with honesty or second thoughts. He claims Marcus has already grown close to a new girl he recently met, and that this other relationship is the quiet force behind everything that happened at the church.

The idea lands harder than the public posts. Mutual decision. Honesty. All of it starts to look like cover for something simpler and uglier.

My mom calls a few minutes after that. Her voice is quieter than I expect, nothing like the tight, rushed tone from yesterday at the church.

"Hi, sweetheart." A small pause. "I just wanted to check on you. I've been up since six worrying."

"I'm okay. As okay as I can be."

"I told everyone at the house what happened. Your aunts, your uncles, your grandmother. I kept it simple, like you said." Another pause. "Everyone's shocked, but they're not asking questions anymore. I made sure of that."

"Thank you for handling it, Mom."

"Of course I handled it. You shouldn't have to." Her voice catches slightly. "Your grandmother wants you to come by when you're ready. No pressure. She just wants to see your face."

"I will. Just not today."

"I understand." A beat of quiet passes between us, softer than the tension from the night before. "How are you really doing, Evelyn?"

"I don't know yet," I admit. "I think I'm still waiting to feel something that makes sense."

"That's allowed." Her voice is gentle now, free of the reputation worry that filled the church. "Take whatever time you need. We're all here."

"I know, Mom. Thank you."

I hang up feeling steadier than I expected, grateful that at least she led with checking on me instead of managing everyone else's reactions. Priya watches me from across the kitchen, arms crossed.

"What are you going to do today?"

"Go to work."

She blinks. "Evelyn."

"If I stay here, I'm going to keep reading what people are saying about me. I'm going to sit in this apartment and watch him explain himself to strangers all day while I do nothing." I set my mug down harder than I mean to.

"At least at work I know who I am. Nobody there gets to rewrite that."

She studies me for a second, then nods slowly. "Okay. Then I'm taking you there."

"You don't have to."

"I know." She's already reaching for her shoes.

The office feels different the moment I walk through the doors, even though nothing about it has actually changed. Same glass walls, same hum of keyboards, same smell of coffee drifting from the break room.

Yet I catch the way a few heads turn as I pass, the way conversations dip lower, the way someone's eyes flick to their phone screen right after they see me. They know. Of course they know.

I keep my chin up and walk to my desk like nothing is wrong, because this is the one place I still know how to be strong. Numbers do not leave you standing at the altar. Deadlines do not lie to your face.

I sit down, open my laptop, and force myself to focus on the documents I never touched yesterday, grateful for something that makes sense.

The work is ordinary and demanding in the best way. Columns balance. Emails require clear replies. For almost forty minutes the rest of the world stays outside the screen.

Then my assistant appears at the edge of my desk, looking oddly nervous.

"Evelyn." She hesitates. "You've been asked to come upstairs."

"Upstairs?" I glance at my calendar. Nothing is scheduled. "For what?"

"Mr. Harper's office." She says it carefully, as if the words themselves might be dangerous. "He wants to see you. Personally."

I stare at her for a second, waiting for the rest of the sentence, the part where this makes sense. It does not come.

"The CEO wants to see me?"

She nods, already stepping back like she does not want to be part of whatever this is.

I glance down at my desk, at the documents I was just trying to lose myself in, and then back up toward the executive floor I have never once been personally summoned to.

Nathan Harper does not call people into his office without a reason, and I have never had a reason to meet with him without knowing what the meeting is about first.

He is the CEO of Harper Industries, and I am one of the executives who reports through the company's senior structure. Our conversations are usually brief, professional, and focused on work.

The rumors about Marcus and the new girl, the careful silence of my family, the way the entire office seems to know my private disaster, all of it suddenly feels small next to this single request.

I have no idea why the CEO of this entire company would want to see me the morning after the worst day of my life.

Nathan POV

"The vote is in one week," Lucas says as he closes the door behind him. He is my personal assistant and one of the few people I actually trust. "The board isn't going to move it again."

"I'm aware."

I don't look away from the window. The city looks calm, as if this company isn't days away from a leadership vote that could hand control to my cousin.

Damon has been working toward this for months. He is family, but he has never wanted to wait his turn. Quiet dinners with board members. Careful comments about needing steadier hands at the top. He never says he wants my father's company. He doesn't have to. Everyone already understands.

If the vote goes his way, I lose more than a title. I will lose the company my father spent thirty years building.

I have looked at every option, and I keep landing in the same place. The board has made its position clear. They want a man who looks stable. More than one of them has said it outright. A wife would help. A wife can do that faster than any report I can put in front of them.

The problem is simple. I have never been in a serious relationship. I don't date. I don't make promises I can't keep. Finding a real partner in seven days is impossible. An arrangement is the only option that works on this timeline.

I need someone who won't ask for more than the arrangement offers. Someone who can survive the scrutiny. Someone who already knows how to stay standing when everything falls apart.

I think of Evelyn Cole.

Eight months ago, she told me I was wrong about the Whitmore account. Most people agree with me because it is easier. She didn't. She made her case calmly, and I backed down. I still remember the look on the faces around that table.

I also think of yesterday. A wedding that ended before it started. A woman walking back down the aisle alone, her spine straight.

This morning should have kept her home. I did not expect her to come in. The fact that she did is the reason I am calling her now. If she can face this building after being left in front of a full church, she can handle what I am about to ask.

"Send for Evelyn Cole," I say.

Lucas hesitates. "The one from yesterday? Nathan, if this is about optics, there are easier candidates."

"I don't want it to be easy."

I turn from the window.

"I want someone who can survive being looked at. She already showed me she can."

He nods and steps out to make the call. I straighten my jacket and tell myself this is only business.

Evelyn POV

I stand up from my desk and smooth my blazer. I have been asked to go to Mr. Harper's office, and the executive floor does not wait for people who need more time.

I walk toward the elevators with my chin level. The doors open, and two women from the accounting department step in just after me. They stop talking the second they see me, then start again in voices they think are low enough.

"Can you believe she came in today?"

"After a failed wedding like that? Bold."

"Or desperate."

I keep my eyes on the numbers above the door. I do not turn. I do not answer. If I open my mouth, I am not sure what will come out, and I refuse to give them that.

The elevator rises in silence after that. The summons still makes no sense. I have spoken to Nathan Harper twice in two years. Once in an elevator like this one, where we only exchanged a brief good morning. Once in a meeting, when I pushed back on the Whitmore account and he actually listened. He looked surprised more than angry. Then he said I made a fair point.

That is the most personal exchange we have ever had. None of it explains why the CEO of Harper Industries wants me in his office this morning.

The elevator stops on the executive floor. The two women step aside without looking at me again. I walk out and keep my shoulders straight. The hallway is quieter here, with thicker carpet and softer lighting. His assistant is already waiting near the dark wood doors. He waves me through without a word.

Nathan is standing by the window when I walk in, his hands in his pockets, looking out over the city like it belongs to him. Maybe it does.

"Ms. Cole." He turns. His expression gives away nothing. "Thank you for coming up."

"Wasn't really an option, was it?"

The words come out sharper than I mean them to. I don't take them back.

Something flickers behind his eyes. Not anger. Almost respect.

"No. I suppose it wasn't."

He gestures to the chair across from his desk. I sit, mostly because standing suddenly feels like giving him too much control over the room.

"I heard about yesterday," he says.

My spine goes rigid. "If this is about..."

"It's not pity, Ms. Cole. I don't do pity." He sits across from me and folds his hands on the desk. "It's an opportunity. For both of us."

"An opportunity."

I repeat the word. It does not make more sense the second time.

"I have a proposal for you," he says. "One I think you'll want to hear before you say no."

He studies me the way he did in that meeting months ago, like he is already three steps ahead of whatever I am about to say.

I open my mouth to ask what kind of proposal a man like him could possibly have for me today.

He doesn't answer yet. He only watches me, waiting, like the next words out of his mouth are going to change everything.