There was a time Ethan answered my calls before the second ring.
Now, it went straight to voicemail.
I stared at my phone, thumb hovering over the screen as the call dropped again. No text. No missed call. Nothing. Just the same generic voicemail message I'd heard three times this morning.
"Hey, it's Ethan. You know what to do."
I didn't want to leave another message. I'd already said I'd call back. I'd already asked him to confirm our final menu tasting this afternoon—the one he insisted we schedule after changing the caterer for the third time.
And now he was MIA.
"You're calling again, aren't you?" Avery asked, her voice dry as she leaned over my shoulder. "You're turning into that girl."
"I'm not that girl," I muttered defensively. "I'm his fiancée. I'm allowed to call him."
"Three times in one morning?"
"It's a big week!"
She raised an eyebrow. "Scarlett, this isn't a big week. It's the week. You're getting married in forty-eight hours. If he's not picking up now, that's not a schedule problem. That's a red flag wrapped in gold-embossed invitations."
I closed my eyes, exhaling slowly. "Please don't make me panic today."
"I'm not trying to make you panic," she said gently. "But you have to admit—something's off with him lately."
I didn't want to admit it. Because that would mean I had to do more than notice it. I'd have to face it.
"Maybe he's just overwhelmed," I said. "His mom's been stressing him out. The merger stuff with the family company. The press."
Avery gave me a look.
"What?"
"Scarlett, I say this with love: you're bending so far backward, you're about to snap your own spine."
I looked down at my phone again. No new messages.
Maybe he really was just busy. Maybe he'd call in an hour with that warm, slightly apologetic tone he always used when work pulled him away. Maybe I was imagining the distance. Maybe the coldness was just wedding stress.
And maybe I was lying to myself.
The menu tasting went ahead without him.
Vanessa showed up in his place.
I was halfway through staring at the empty seat next to me, trying not to feel stupid for waiting, when she swept in like she owned the place—perfect curls bouncing, designer sunglasses perched on her head, and that confident little smirk that made people either love her or hate her on sight.
"Scar!" she sang, air-kissing both my cheeks like we hadn't grown up eating mac and cheese out of the same pot. "Sorry I'm late. Traffic on Fifth is hell."
I blinked. "I thought Ethan was coming."
She waved a hand, sliding into the chair beside me and dropping her purse with a thud. "He asked me to stand in. Emergency meeting with his father. Something about projections for next quarter. You know how it is."
I didn't know how it was. Because he hadn't told me anything.
Vanessa didn't seem to notice the slight pause in my reaction—or maybe she didn't care.
"I figured I'd help out," she went on breezily, flipping through the sample menus like she was co-hosting the wedding. "Someone's gotta keep things running."
I sat back, trying to keep my tone neutral. "You didn't have to do that. I could've rescheduled."
"Don't be silly." She reached for a mini quiche the caterer had just set out. "It's crunch time. The last thing you need is to rearrange appointments. Besides, I know exactly what Ethan likes."
Something about the way she said it made my stomach twist.
It wasn't the words. It was the tone. Familiar. Possessive.
Too much.
"You know," she added, chewing delicately, "he's been so stressed. I've been helping where I can. Calming him down. Being a buffer between him and the family. You know how intense they get before an event."
I did know. The Blakes were high-society royalty—old money, old rules, and no patience for weakness. But Ethan had always said he didn't want to be like them. That I made him different.
So why was Vanessa the one "calming him down"?
I reached for my water glass, masking the frown that crept across my face. "That's kind of you."
She grinned. "Well, I am the maid of honor. My job is to support the bride and the groom."
Support the groom. Right.
We went through the menu, but I barely tasted anything. Vanessa made suggestions like it was her wedding. Swapped the truffle risotto for her "signature" salmon. Picked a wine Ethan liked without even checking with me. At one point, she even took a call from his assistant—right there, at the table—and walked away to talk in private.
By the time she came back, I'd lost my appetite.
"Oh!" she said as she sat back down, like she'd just remembered something vital. "Ethan wants to switch the cake design. He saw this new one on Pinterest—three tiers, minimalistic, no flowers. I told the bakery to mock up a sample."
My voice came out flatter than I intended. "You told the bakery?"
"Well, yeah." She smiled innocently. "You've got enough to think about. Just trying to make things easier."
But I didn't feel like things were easier. I felt like I was being erased, one small decision at a time.
And Ethan? He still hadn't called.
That night, I sat alone in the penthouse Ethan and I were supposed to move into after the wedding. The walls echoed, half-furnished and full of unopened boxes labeled with my name in his handwriting. I should've felt excited. Giddy. Hopeful.
Instead, I felt cold.
I tried calling again.
Straight to voicemail.
I texted him:
"Hey, just wanted to hear your voice. Call me when you can. Love you."
I stared at the message for a long time before hitting send.
Avery FaceTimed me an hour later, holding a wine glass the size of her face.
"Tell me you're not still at the tasting."
"No, I'm home. Sort of."
She tilted her head. "Penthouse?"
I nodded.
"And?"
"Vanessa stood in for him."
Avery didn't even blink. "Of course she did."
"She knew everything," I said quietly. "What he likes. What he wants. What calls he's on. She even changed the cake."
"She changed the cake? Oh hell no. That's blood-worthy."
I laughed, but it was short-lived.
"You think I'm overreacting," I said, "or you think I'm blind?"
"I think," Avery said carefully, "you've been trying so hard to hold everything together that you stopped noticing who's chipping away at it."
The silence hung between us.
"I love him, Avery," I said finally. "I chose this. I chose him."
"I know."
"But I feel like he's… slipping away. Like he's already gone, and no one told me."
Avery's voice softened. "Then you need to ask him. Look him in the eye and ask if he's still in this. Because if he isn't? You deserve to know before you walk down that aisle."
My phone buzzed.
Not a call.
A text.
Ethan: Crazy day. Sorry I missed the tasting. Everything okay?
I stared at the message for a full minute.
No apology. No explanation. Just a vague excuse and a question that sounded like a formality.
I typed back:
"Vanessa said you wanted to change the cake. Anything else I should know?"
The dots blinked for a moment… then stopped.
No reply.
I didn't know what was worse—being ignored, or being half-answered.
The next morning, I woke up to a forwarded email.
From Vanessa.
Subject line: Updated seating chart. Let me know what you think!
Attached was a revised plan for the reception. She'd moved my college roommates to the back near the restrooms. Bumped her work friends to the front near the dance floor. Added two new names I didn't recognize.
And made herself the point of contact for all "last-minute details."
I stared at it, heart pounding. This wasn't helping. This wasn't assisting. This was taking over.
I dialed Ethan's number, hands trembling slightly.
Voicemail. Again.
I ended the call before the beep and sat down hard on the edge of the bed.
Something was wrong. And if I didn't face it soon, I was going to be the last person to find out just how wrong things had become.