"Perfect," I whispered, stepping back to admire my handiwork.
After three sleepless nights, I'd finally finished the last pearl on my wedding dress. Every stitch, every bead—placed by my own hands. The ivory silk cascaded to the floor in gentle waves, catching the morning light streaming through my studio windows.
Six years with Alistair had led to this moment. Six years of loving him, supporting him through his illness, donating my rare blood type that matched his perfectly. Six years of building a life together.
The wedding was only three days away.
My phone buzzed on the workbench. Alistair's face lit up my screen, and I smiled, answering with excitement bubbling in my voice.
"Hey! I was just putting the final touches on my dress. You're going to—"
"Hazel, we need to talk." His voice cut through my happiness like ice water.
My fingers froze on the delicate fabric. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. I'd never heard that tone from him before—distant, exhausted.
"What is it?" I asked, my heart suddenly hammering.
He didn't soften the blow. "The wedding is off."
The room tilted around me. "What? Is this some kind of joke?"
"I'm serious, Hazel. I can't marry you."
My knees weakened, and I collapsed onto my work stool. "Why? What happened? Did I do something wrong?"
A long pause stretched between us before he spoke again. "It's Ivy. She's dying."
Ivy. My stepsister. The thorn in my side since my father married her mother when I was twelve. The girl who had stolen everything from me—my father's attention, my mother's jewelry, my sketches, my friends. Now this?
"What does Ivy have to do with our wedding?" My voice was barely audible.
"She has terminal cancer. Six months, maybe less." His voice cracked with emotion I'd rarely heard. "Her final wish is to marry me."
The absurdity of his words hit me like a physical blow. "And you're going to do it? Just like that? Throw away six years of our relationship?"
"Try to understand, Hazel. She's dying. She's your sister—"
"Step-sister," I corrected automatically, my mind still reeling.
"She's family," he insisted. "Can't you find it in your heart to pity her? To grant her this one wish before she dies?"
Pity. He wanted me to pity the girl who had tormented me since childhood. The girl who had mocked my dreams of becoming a designer. The girl who now wanted my fiancé.
"You can't be serious," I whispered.
"I've already agreed." His tone hardened. "Look, I know this is difficult. That's why I'm offering you fifty percent of Everett Enterprises as compensation."
"Compensation?" The word felt dirty in my mouth. "You think you can buy me off?"
"Don't be like that, Hazel. I'm trying to do the right thing here. Why are you being so selfish? It's just a wedding. She's dying."
Just a wedding. Six years of my life reduced to "just a wedding." The room spun around me as I tried to make sense of this nightmare.
"Where are you now?" I asked, my voice hollow.
"At the hospital. They're preparing a small ceremony for tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?" I echoed, my heart shattering. "That's... that's when we were supposed to have our rehearsal dinner."
Alistair sighed impatiently. "This isn't about you right now, Hazel. Can't you think of someone else for once?"
His words slapped me across the face. I, who had given him my blood countless times when his rare condition required transfusions. I, who had held his hand through every treatment, every setback. I, who had built our company alongside him while he recovered.
"By the way," he continued, "I stopped by your studio yesterday when you were out and took your wedding dress. Ivy loved it. She said it was exactly what she would have chosen."
My breath caught in my throat. "You... took my dress?"
"She's the same size as you. It fits perfectly." He sounded distracted. "Look, I need to go. The doctors are calling me."
The room blurred through my tears. "Alistair, please—"
"I'll have my lawyer contact you about the company shares. I really am sorry, Hazel."
The line went dead.
I stared at the empty mannequin where my dress had stood just yesterday—the dress I'd poured my heart into, every bead and stitch a testament to my love for him. Now it would grace Ivy's body as she took my place beside Alistair.
My phone slipped from my numb fingers and clattered to the floor. Outside, the city continued its morning bustle, oblivious to the fact that my world had just imploded.
Ivy. The scourge of my existence since childhood. I should have known she would find a way to steal this from me too—the one thing I thought was safe from her grasping hands.
How long had this been going on? Had Alistair been visiting her in the hospital while telling me he was working late? Had they laughed together about poor, naive Hazel, slaving away on a wedding dress that would never be hers?
My gaze fell on the small crystal vial on my workbench—Alistair's blood type, rare and precious, that I'd been donating to him since we were teenagers. The same blood that had kept him alive through his illness.
My blood.
My life.
My fiancé.
All stolen in a single phone call.
I closed my eyes, feeling something shift inside me. The pain was still there, white-hot and searing, but alongside it grew something else. Something cold and sharp and unfamiliar.
Three days before my wedding, I stood alone in a studio filled with shattered dreams and a mannequin stripped of its glory. But as the tears dried on my cheeks, I made a silent vow.
This wouldn't be the end of my story. This betrayal would be just the beginning.