The morning of the rehearsal was supposed to feel like excitement. Instead, it felt like dread. I barely slept. My mind swirled in half‑formed nightmares about flowers wilting, guests turning backs, gowns tearing. I woke up early, heart pounding, and forced myself out of bed.
I dressed in something simple—cream silk blouse, black pencil skirt—so I'd look composed but not bridal. Avery came over almost immediately with coffee, her eyes rimmed with concern.
"You've been up all night," she whispered, handing me the cup.
"Couldn't sleep," I said, wrapping my hands around the warm mug. "Too many thoughts."
She sat beside me. "I've been telling you — you need to ask him. Today. Before the rehearsal. Just… look him in the face and ask."
"And if he lies?"
"Then the rehearsal will be the least of your problems." She gave me a gentle squeeze. "I'll have your back, whatever happens."
I nodded, swallowing hard. I wanted to believe everything would be fine. That this was just a bump. That after today, he'd reassure me.
But something in me already suspected otherwise.
We arrived at the ballroom for the rehearsal. Chandeliers shimmered overhead; white roses lined the aisles; velvet chairs were arranged in perfect symmetry. The air smelled of fresh linen and floral arrangements.
Guests and staff milled about, some rehearsing lines, others adjusting floral settings or checking lighting. My heart thudded. Everyone seemed excited. Except me.
Vanessa was already there, talking with one of the wedding planners, wearing a soft blush dress. She looked serene—too serene—as though she belonged. As though she'd already won.
I steeled myself and walked over; Avery trailing behind like a faithful shadow.
"Hey," I said. My voice sounded too loud. "Are we about to start?"
The planner nodded, giving me a reassuring smile. "Yes, in a minute. Just waiting on Mr. Blake."
I swallowed. My eyes flicked to the entrance. I expected to see Ethan come bounding in, suit sharp, apology already on his lips, eyes warm with love.
But instead, the door opened and a hush fell over half the room. I sensed rather than saw that something had shifted.
I turned. Ethan stood there—hands in pockets, expression neutral. But beside him was Vanessa, in a pale dress too similar to mine, hand resting lightly on his arm. The way she moved, the position she chose—it all said claim.
My breath caught.
He glanced at me, then at Vanessa, then back to me. The planner started forward with a clipboard, but Vanessa cut in.
"Oh, perfect. Let's begin," she called, voice smooth, confident, like she was in charge.
I felt every head turn toward us. I felt the weight of all those eyes, waiting for me to move. Waiting for a reaction.
I forced myself to step forward. "Ethan?"
He didn't respond immediately, just watched me as if I were a stranger. The silence stretched.
"Ethan, are you okay?" I asked, voice trembling slightly. I fought to keep it steady.
He cleared his throat. "Yes. Yes, I'm fine," he said, but without enthusiasm. His eyes flicked to Vanessa again.
My heart sank. "Is Vanessa here for the rehearsal?"
She smiled politely. "Of course, dear. I'm part of the wedding."
I blinked. "Part of the wedding?"
Vanessa's eyes glistened with mild surprise. "Yes, I thought—since—"
I felt suddenly lightheaded, like air had been vacuumed out of the room.
"Since you're planning to marry me?" I snapped, more sharply than I intended. My voice echoed.
Ethan's expression flickered. "Scarlett—"
Vanessa cut in, as though anticipating the moment. "I'm so sorry you had to find out this way. But… some things have changed."
"Changed?" My voice was raw. I looked at him. "What do you mean changed?"
He ran a hand through his hair. "I'm not marrying you anymore."
It felt like the floor dropped. My vision blurred. The sea of faces partied through, but I heard nothing but those words: I'm not marrying you.
My voice cracked. "What… what do you mean you're not marrying me?"
The planner coughed awkwardly and began clearing space for the rehearsal to start. People rustled. But I couldn't move. I couldn't think. I couldn't breathe.
Vanessa's hand on Ethan's arm tightened gently, insignificantly. But to me, it felt like iron.
He looked at her, then looked back at me. "I'm marrying Vanessa. We changed the contract."
My head reeled. "That's impossible. We signed everything. The license. Invitations. Deposits."
He shook his head as though battling something inside. "I know what I said. But things—we had to make strategic decisions. For the families. For the future."
My stomach twisted. "This is not my future."
Vanessa spoke then, softly, with that practiced polish. "Scarlett, you'll understand eventually. This was never just about love."
My heart shattered. "Never about love?"
Ethan's features hardened. "Don't make this more dramatic than it needs to be."
I felt tears sting the back of my eyes. I swallowed them back. "Just—tell me why."
He turned away slightly. "You know why."
I swallowed. But I didn't know. Not really. I thought I did, but now I realized how little I understood.
Vanessa stepped forward, placing herself between us, like a lit barrier. "Excuse me. Shall we begin the rehearsal? We've wasted enough time."
The planner nodded again, and the usher motioned for us to take positions. The music started, and I forced myself to walk—slowly, forward, in my heels—down the aisle I'd always imagined walking as his bride.
I felt numb. Each step weighed like stone. Behind me, I heard muffled gasps, whispers, and the click of cameras from a corner—someone capturing this moment even now.
When I reached the front, I stood facing Ethan and Vanessa, heart pounding. Beside me, Avery was pale, lips pressed tight.
Ethan looked at me, face impassive. Vanessa turned her head with an almost practiced grace, as though she were the only one present. The officiant stood behind a podium, throat clearing.
I realized people were watching. Everyone was watching. Me. The bride who wasn't.
The rehearsal proceeded mechanically. Everyone went through their lines. The walkthrough of ceremony. The walk up the aisle. Smiles. Handshakes. Camera angles. Flower girl positions. Everything but the real emotion.
I half-heard Vanessa and Ethan whispering something to the planner—changed vows, new seating, repositioned head table. My mind set on freeze mode.
When the rehearsal ended, I stayed rooted. The others milled around congratulating, checking flowers, congratulating Vanessa and Ethan. I felt a hand on my shoulder.
I turned. It was Avery.
"Come on," she said softly. "Let's get out of here."
I nodded numbly. She guided me away, through corridors, out to the quiet foyer. The doors swung shut behind us.
I leaned against a marble pillar, trembling. My voice came out in a whisper. "They switched it. He switched it."
"I saw it too," Avery said, arms wrapped around me.
I closed my eyes. "I thought I was dreaming up hints. Margot's weird warnings. Ethan's distance. Vanessa's involvement. I thought I was overreacting."
"You weren't," she said firmly. "I'm so sorry, Scarlett."
I wiped my cheeks, catching stray tears. "I can't believe it."
"Do you want me to go with you? To confront him? To demand answers?" Avery asked.
I shook my head. "Not yet. Not like this. I need to process it."
We walked outside into the midday sun. The city felt loud, sharp, cruel. Horns honked. People passed by, oblivious or staring. I hated that they might've taken out phones to capture me. The bride who got betrayed at rehearsal.
Avery hailed a cab. I climbed in, staring out the window at the ballroom receding behind me. The sign above: "The Emerson Grand." It looked like it always did—grand, majestic, perfect. Only I saw it differently now. It was the stage where my life was rewritten. Where my future was re-scripted without my permission.
In the cab, I sank into the seat, pressing my forehead to the glass. My reflection stared back: elegant, pale, eyes hollow. I didn't recognize her.
"Do you want me to drive you home?" Avery asked from the passenger seat.
"No," I said after a moment. "Let's go to my apartment."
She nodded. "Yes. Let's get you somewhere safe."
I sat back, the city blurring past. The bomb had dropped. My world had been shattered in one headline sentence. I didn't know what came next, but I knew this was no longer a mistake. This was a choice—a deliberate one made to me.
And now, I needed to fight back, or I would be lost.