The day of our engagement party, the bride’s entire family failed to show up. I stood in the lobby of the crowded restaurant, sweat pooling at my collar, dialing my fiancée’s number over and over. When she finally answered, her voice was light, airy, and completely devoid of warmth. “Sorry, babe,” she said, sounding as though she were discussing a change in dinner plans. “Your bride just got hijacked.” I froze, the noise of the banquet hall fading into a low hum. “What are you talking about, Tiffany?” She actually chuckled. “It means someone else is throwing me an engagement party right now.” I couldn’t breathe. “The other guy put down three hundred and eighty-eight thousand dollars cash,” she continued, her voice sharpening. “One hundred grand more than your family’s pathetic offer. What did you expect me to do? Your cheap family was holding me back. Honestly, stop embarrassing yourself. I have three words for you: lose my number.” The line went dead. That afternoon, my family was utterly humiliated, transformed into the local laughingstock. But I didn’t stay down. Later, I came back with eight hundred and eighty-eight thousand dollars to play her own game. I was going to hijack her back. I’d make her fall for me all over again, and then I’d drop her on her face. Some people believe in taking the high road. I don’t. 01 The banquet hall was dead silent. Even though Tiffany had hung up, her final words seemed to vibrate in the air. When the phone had rung, I’d put it on speaker, naive enough to believe she’d have a logical explanation for being late. I wanted my parents and the relatives to hear that everything was fine. Instead, she had taken my dignity, thrown it on the floor, and stomped on it. My face burned with a toxic mix of shame and rage. My father’s face went entirely white. He was a man who lived and died by his reputation, and Tiffany’s words were the equivalent of a public slapping. Beside him, my mother looked even worse. She collapsed back into her chair, her eyes wide and blank. She was a simple woman who spent her life cooking, playing neighborhood cards, and bragging about her family. To her, Tiffany had been an angel sent from heaven. The whiplash of this betrayal was so violent I thought she might faint. Then, the silence broke, and the room erupted. “This is disgusting!” my aunt shouted, slamming her napkin onto the table. “I’ve lived sixty years and I’ve never seen such shameless trash! Planning a wedding with us while secretly taking bids from another man?” “If she wanted out, she should have said so,” my cousin chimed in, red-faced. “This was designed to humiliate us.” My uncle walked over and placed a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Wyatt, look at me. A girl who can be bought for an extra hundred grand is a curse, not a wife. You’d have been miserable. This isn’t an engagement party anymore. We’re celebrating your narrow escape.” “He’s right, Wyatt. You’re better off.” “Forget her, man.” But their kind words did nothing to clear the fog in my head. Tiffany and I had met through a mutual acquaintance. During our three months of dating, she had been the epitome of sweet, gentle, and understanding. Once we decided to get serious, her family—who lived in a small, traditional town upstate—presented us with an endless list of financial demands. There were engagement tributes, maternal compensation fees, luxury jewelry gifts, and a massive cash down payment on a house in her parents’ name. It totaled nearly seven hundred thousand dollars. My father had sat in silence for a long time when he saw the list, but eventually, he nodded. If she’s the one you want, we’ll make it work, he’d said. My mother had quietly expressed her worries to me, but she still emptied her life savings to help cover it, all while continuing to paint Tiffany as the perfect future daughter-in-law to our neighbors. And what did I think back then? I believed Tiffany when she told me she hated all these transactional traditions, but that her family’s social standing in their hometown depended on them. I didn’t want to make things hard for her, so I agreed. I had a good degree and a corporate salary of fifteen thousand a month; I figured I could earn the money back. But the voice on the phone today belonged to a stranger. I looked around the room. A few relatives looked genuinely concerned, but many of them were biting their lips, struggling to hide their amusement. The embarrassment was a physical weight. After today, our family would be the subject of hushed whispers and mocking smiles for years. I couldn’t take it. I bolted from the hall, ignoring the voices calling after me. “Wyatt, wait!” “Don’t do anything stupid!” “Wyatt!” 02 It only took a two-hundred-dollar Venmo transfer to get the address of Tiffany’s other engagement party from one of her bridesmaids, Courtney. The ultimate insult? The venue was a luxury hotel just a block away from where my family sat waiting. I marched into the lobby, and through the glass doors of the grand ballroom, I saw her immediately. She was wearing a stunning crimson cocktail dress, her arm looped tightly around a man in his early thirties. He had a prominent beer belly and a thick gold chain hanging over his collar. I pushed past the double doors. Tiffany noticed me first. Her smile vanished, replaced by an icy, dismissive glare. “What are you doing here, Wyatt?” “What do you think I’m doing?” I demanded, my chest heaving. “Is this how your family operates? Standing us up without a single word of warning? I came for an explanation.” The beer-bellied man looked me up and down, a smug smirk spreading across his face. “Babe, who’s the kid?” Tiffany let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Just some guy who couldn’t afford me but keeps calling.” “Couldn’t afford you?” I laughed, the sound dry and bitter. “We agreed to every single one of your demands. The cash was sitting in our banquet hall today. And instead of showing up, you and your family sneaked over here to sell you to the highest bidder. If you wanted out, you could have told me. But treating my parents like garbage? I won’t let you get away with this. I’ll ruin this party before I let you walk out of here.” By the end of my rant, I was shouting. Guests began to turn, whispers rippling through the crowd. “You broke loser, shut your mouth!” A loud, shrill voice cut through the room. It was Glenda, Tiffany’s mother. Caked in heavy makeup and dripping in cheap rhinestones, she stepped between us, her eyes flashing with pure malice. “Let me tell you something, Wyatt. We didn’t tell you because we wanted to spare your feelings. You couldn’t afford our Tiffany, and any real man would have taken the hint and slunk away. Do we really need to spell it out for you? You’re too poor for my daughter.” She pulled Tiffany close, patting her shoulder like she was showing off a prize heifer. “Look at her. She’s a masterpiece. You thought you could have her for peanuts? Don’t make me laugh.” She pointed proudly at the man beside Tiffany. “This is Trent. He runs a massive logistics firm. When we asked for three hundred and eighty-eight thousand, he didn’t even blink. He’s got real money. Who would you choose in our shoes?” Trent puffed out his chest, sliding a possessive hand onto Tiffany’s waist. She didn’t flinch; she leaned into him. “Just go, Wyatt,” Tiffany said, her eyes filled with mock pity. “Don’t embarrass your parents any more than you already have. You and Trent are in different leagues. Standing here is just sad.” Trent shook his head, looking bored. “Look, buddy, her mom laid it out for you. It’s a free market. You didn’t have the capital, I did, and she came with me. Cry about it somewhere else. Security! Get this clown out of my venue.” Two burly guards appeared, grabbing my arms and dragging me toward the exit. I thrashed against them, but it was useless. Behind me, the jeers of their guests followed me out. “If you don’t have the cash, don’t play the game…” “Our Tiffany is the prettiest girl from our town, did he really think he could get her on a discount?” “Good riddance.” When they threw me out the front doors, I saw my parents standing by our car, having followed me there. I tried to push back inside, but my mother caught my arm. Her eyes were red, her face wet with tears. “Wyatt, please, just let it go. For me. Please,” she whispered, her voice breaking. The fight drained out of me. Looking at her, I finally stopped. I squeezed her hand tightly. “Okay, Mom. Let’s go home.” 03 In the weeks that followed, our house was suffocatingly quiet. The lively sound of my mother chatting with her friends on the phone disappeared. She stopped going to her weekly card games, claiming her back was acting up, and skipped her community dance classes because of her knees. Instead, she spent hours in the kitchen, washing the same vegetables over and over, staring blankly out the window. Her pride—the joy she took in showing off her family—had been completely shattered. She only left the house for groceries, terrified of running into neighbors who might ask about the wedding. My father’s quiet retreat was even harder to watch. He was a senior manager at his firm, a man who used to stand tall and speak proudly of his son’s future. Now, he came home, went straight to his study, and barely ate. At my own office, the whispers followed me everywhere. The story of the groom who got replaced on his wedding day had circulated online locally, turning us into a joke. I went through cycles of rage, numbness, and profound regret. But eventually, a single, sharp focus emerged from the depression. I wanted revenge. The thought took hold of me, growing stronger every time I saw my parents’ defeated faces. Tiffany, you and your family love money more than life itself, I thought. If you can be bought once, you can be bought again. And I am going to destroy you. 04 Three days later, I met Courtney at a quiet diner. “One thousand dollars,” I said, sliding a envelope across the table. “I need your help with Tiffany.” Courtney didn’t even hesitate. “Two thousand. I’m not risking my neck for cheap.” I smiled. “Fifteen hundred. Your friendship with her isn’t worth a cent more.” She snapped her fingers. “Deal.” That night, Courtney managed to lure Tiffany out to a high-end restaurant under the pretense of a girls’ night. When Tiffany saw me sitting at the table, her face hardened immediately. “Wyatt? What is this? Courtney, what’s going on?” She stood up to leave. Courtney smiled warmly and pulled her back down. “Sit down, babe. Don’t worry. Wyatt has a surprise for you.” Out of courtesy for Courtney, Tiffany reluctantly sat back, crossing her arms and legs, looking thoroughly annoyed. “Make it quick.” I stared at her, putting on my best performance of a broken, desperate lover. “Tiffany, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have caused a scene at your wedding. I was hurt, but I understand now. You had to make the best choice for your future. What girl wouldn’t want financial security?” Tiffany’s posture relaxed, a smug, self-satisfied look settling onto her face. I reached out to touch her hand, but she pulled away. I offered a sheepish, vulnerable smile. “I haven’t slept since that day, Tiffany. I keep dreaming about you. I… I still love you. I can’t let you go.” She let out a harsh laugh. “Love me? With what, Wyatt? Your middle-class salary? Trent has over five million in liquid assets. You can’t compete with that.” This was the exact opening I needed. I unlocked my phone, opened my banking app, and turned the screen toward her. The balance showed exactly $888,000. “I have the money now, Tiffany,” I whispered, my voice trembling with practiced emotion. “Eight hundred and eighty-eight thousand. That’s my new offer. I was stupid before, but I’ve corrected my mistake. Please, just give me one more chance.” Tiffany stared at the screen, her eyes widening slightly before she let out another scoff. “Are you joking, Wyatt? You put your parents’ entire retirement on one debit card to impress me? Or did you take out a massive predatory loan? You’re ridiculous.” She was sharp when it came to money. She had guessed the truth; the funds had indeed been pulled together from every resource my family had. I kept quiet, giving Courtney the cue. Courtney wrapped her arm around Tiffany’s shoulders, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Tiffany, you’ve got it all wrong. Wyatt’s not telling you everything.” Tiffany frowned. “What?” “You didn’t hear?” Courtney murmured, loud enough for me to hear but quiet enough to sound like a secret. “His family owned those two commercial lots in the South District. They just got rezoned for a massive retail development. My aunt works at the city planning office, and she saw the acquisition list. They’re getting a payout of over ten million dollars.” Tiffany froze. Courtney pressed on. “Ten million, Tiffany. Wyatt’s actually wealthy now. He’s not lying to you.” If this information had come from my mouth, Tiffany would have laughed in my face. But coming from her closest confidante, it was gospel. When Tiffany looked back at me, the coldness in her eyes was gone, replaced by a warm, familiar hunger. “Wyatt…” she murmured, her voice turning sweet. “Is Courtney telling the truth?”
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