Freya's POV
I stared at the handkerchief in my hands, the stranger's words echoing in my mind. His misfortune and short life. There was something oddly comforting about this man's blunt assessment.
"Thank you," I murmured again, not looking up.
"Don't mention it."
When I finally raised my eyes, he was already facing forward, watching the newlyweds with an expression of mild amusement. As if this entire spectacle was entertainment.
Maybe it was.
The reception hall doors opened, and guests began filtering toward the cocktail area. I remained seated, dreading what came next.
"Freya!" Cecilia's shrill voice cut through the chatter. "Come along. Lila needs you for photos."
Of course she did.
I followed reluctantly, acutely aware of the whispers trailing behind me. The mysterious man from the pew had disappeared into the crowd.
The photographer arranged us in various configurations. Lila clinging to Jasper's arm. The happy couple with both sets of parents. Then the inevitable shot - Lila flanked by her "loving family."
"Big smile, Freya," the photographer instructed. "This is a celebration!"
I managed something resembling a smile. Lila beamed beside me, practically glowing with satisfaction.
"Perfect," she whispered during a brief pause. "Just perfect."
The reception officially began with the sound of clinking glasses. Guests found their seats at elegantly appointed tables. I noticed my place card relegated me to a table near the back, far from the head table where the happy couple held court.
But before I could escape to my assigned exile, the emcee's voice boomed through the sound system.
"Ladies and gentlemen, before we begin dinner, the bride has requested that her sister Freya Colby come to the stage for a special moment."
My blood turned to ice.
Every head in the room swiveled toward me. The spotlight found me instantly, bathing me in harsh white light.
"Go on, dear," Cecilia hissed, practically shoving me toward the stage.
My legs felt leaden as I climbed the steps. Lila waited at the microphone, radiant in her stolen dress.
"Thank you all for being here today," she began, her voice soft and trembling. "As many of you know, I haven't been well. The doctors say I don't have much time left."
A collective intake of breath from the audience. Several women pressed tissues to their eyes.
"When I realized I was dying, I knew I had to tell Jasper how I felt. How I'd always felt. It wasn't fair to keep it secret any longer." She paused dramatically, one hand pressed to her chest. "But I also knew it would hurt my sister. My wonderful, generous sister who had already given Jasper so much of her life."
The crowd murmured appreciatively. What a noble, self-sacrificing bride.
"Freya could have been bitter. She could have refused to let me marry the man she loved. But instead..." Lila's voice broke beautifully. "Instead, she gave us her blessing. She even gave me her wedding dress. Because that's the kind of person my sister is."
Applause erupted. Warm, grateful applause for my supposed magnanimity.
Lila turned to me, tears streaming down her face.
"I know this hasn't been easy for you, Freya. But having your support means everything to me. Everything." She held out the microphone. "Would you say a few words? A toast to the happy couple?"
The crowd waited expectantly. Hundreds of faces turned toward me with anticipation.
I looked out at them. These people who believed they were witnessing a beautiful act of sisterly love. Who saw Lila as the tragic heroine and me as the gracious older sister making the ultimate sacrifice.
My eyes found the mystery man from the church. He sat at a prominent table near the front, watching me with those same amused eyes. As if he knew exactly what was about to happen.
I took the microphone.
"Thank you, Lila. That was... illuminating." My voice carried clearly through the speakers. "You're absolutely right. This hasn't been easy for me."
Scattered nods of sympathy from the audience.
"Watching my fiancé of six years decide to marry someone else. Having my wedding dress worn by another woman. Being asked to witness the ceremony that should have been mine." I paused, letting that sink in. "No, it hasn't been easy at all."
The mood in the room began to shift. Confused whispers rippled through the crowd.
"But you know what they say about love, don't you? It's about letting go. And I'm certainly letting go today." I smiled brightly. "I'm letting go of my expired ex-boyfriend and all the years I wasted on him."
The whispers grew louder. Lila's face had gone pale.
"I'm letting go of the delusion that loyalty means anything in this family. That blood is thicker than water. That doing the right thing actually matters to anyone but me."
"Freya," Lila whispered urgently, reaching for the microphone.
I stepped back, keeping it firmly in my grasp.
"So let me raise a proper toast to the happy couple." I lifted an imaginary glass. "To Jasper and Lila. A perfect match, really. After all, what goes better together than a whore and a dog?"
The room erupted.
Gasps of shock. Scandalized exclamations. The sound of chairs scraping as people rose to their feet.
"How dare you!" Waylon Colby's voice boomed as he stormed toward the stage.
But I wasn't finished.
"Oh, and Jasper? That lovely navy suit you're wearing?" I called out sweetly. "I originally had it tailored for my dog. But don't worry - I'm sure it fits you just as well."
That's when my father reached me.
The slap echoed through the sound system, amplified by the microphone I still clutched. The force of it sent me stumbling sideways.
"You shameless little bitch!" he snarled. "How dare you embarrass this family!"
The crowd was in chaos now. Some guests were fleeing toward the exits. Others pressed closer, phones out, recording every moment of the spectacular meltdown.
"Dad, please!" Jasper finally found his voice, rushing toward the stage. "Don't—"
"Stay out of this!" Waylon whirled on him. "This is your fault for indulging her tantrum!"
He turned back to me, his face twisted with rage. "You will apologize to your sister. Now."
I straightened, tasting blood from where my teeth had cut my lip. The sting of his slap was already fading, replaced by something much more powerful.
Pure, crystalline fury.
"Apologize?" I laughed, the sound harsh and bitter. "For what? For telling the truth? For finally saying what everyone in this room is thinking?"
"You ungrateful—" He raised his hand again.
This time, I was ready.
When he swung at me, I grabbed his wrist. When he tried to overpower me, I fought back with every ounce of strength I had.
We grappled on the stage, his superior size warring against my desperate fury. The microphone clattered to the floor, creating feedback that shrieked through the speakers.
"Get off me!" I screamed, clawing at him as he tried to pin my arms.
He grabbed a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back. The pain was blinding, but it only made me fight harder.
I drove my elbow into his ribs. Stomped on his foot with my heel. Anything to break free from his grip.
That's when I saw his fist coming toward my face.