I waited eight years for him to say “I do” — until he handed my bouquet to his assistant. The bouquet landed in Ella Morgan’s arms almost by accident. Lana Shaw’s carefully aimed throw sailing perfectly into the crowd — but it bounced off the other fingertips, then tumbled once in the air, and fell into Ella Morgan’s lap like fate correcting a mistake. Every eye in the room turned knowingly toward Nate Sinclair. It was involuntary, collective, the way a room full of people who’d watched a couple orbit each other for eight years would naturally look to the man and think: *now.* The chanting started almost instantly. “Put a ring on it! Put a ring on it!” “Eight years, Quinn! No more excuses!” “Kiss her! Propose! Do *something!*” Someone pushed Nate forward. He stumbled a step, then steadied himself. Ella felt her cheeks flush. Her heart hammered against her ribs. She waited for the words she had been waiting eight years to hear. This was it. The moment they had engineered with surgical precision — every detail coordinated with Lana months in advance. And he was supposed to say *I will marry you.* Nate reached her. The noise swelled around them — whistles, applause, someone banging a fork against a champagne flute. But Nate only reached down and calmly took the bouquet from her hands. He turned with casually and easily, as though the gesture meant nothing, and handed it to the bridesmaid beside him —his assistant, Rain Chambers. “She caught it first,” Nate said. He smiled, easy and familiar, and ruffled Ella’s hair. “Be good, baby. Next time.” The spotlight followed the flowers away. It found Rain Chambers — Nate’s assistant, who had no business being a bridesmaid at this wedding — clutching the flowers with an expression of perfect, rehearsed surprise. Ella stood alone in the center of the floor. The applause had shifted, scattered, refocused on the pretty girl with the bouquet and her shy, delighted smile. Ella’s hands hung empty at her sides. She smiled. It was a quite small Nate didn’t know. There would be no next time. Her wedding was next week.
Lana’s face darkened. She was already striding across the floor, her bridal train gathered in one fist, the other hand rising like she intended to slap someone. Ella caught her wrist before she could raise her hand. “Lana,” Ella said quietly, “the wedding isn’t over.” “That woman did it on purpose!” Lana turned. Her eyes were redder than Ella’s. “I told every bridesmaid that bouquet was for you—” “Lana.” Ella squeezed her hand, her voice was quiet, steady. “Your wedding isn’t over yet.” The crowd had already moved on. The spotlight followed Rain, who clutched the bouquet and glanced at Nate with shining eyes. Nate had already stepped back to the edge of the crowd, at ease. The officiant, a seasoned old family priest, cracked a joke and the warmth returned to the room. Lana bit her lip, turned away, and finished her vows. Through the reception, Ella sat at the bridal table. She felt the stares—the pity, the curiosity. On the other side of the room, Nate laughed with his friends. Rain sat beside him, close enough that their shoulders nearly touched. The distance between them had long since crossed the line of what was appropriate for an assistant. She hadn’t been a bridesmaid originally. But the groom’s side had been short a groomsman at the last minute, and someone suggested Rain. Nate brought her everywhere now. “Experience,” he called it. Even to her girlfriend’s best friend’s wedding. When Lana and her new husband reached their table for toasts, Lana hugged Ella hard. Her voice dropped to a whisper only Ella could hear. “That woman has been circling him for six months. I had someone look into her — she’s calculating, Ella. Every move is deliberate. And Nate, he—” “Lana.” Ella patted her back and cut her off. “You’re the most beautiful bride today. Don’t waste it on this.” Lana huffed but said nothing more. — The night wore on. Guests filtered out in twos and threes. The music softened. The staff began clearing tables. Finally, Nate walked over, calm and unhurried. “Ready to go?” He took her bag from her hands, then reached to put his arm around her shoulder. Ella shifted sideways, just out of reach. “You’ve been drinking. I’ll call a car.” He didn’t seem to notice her evasion. He nodded. “Fine.” The car slipped into the dark city streets. Neon signs blurred past the window. Ella’s own reflection stared back at her—carefully made up, but the exhaustion under her eyes was unmistakable. “Earlier,” Nate said, “Rain got the bouquet first. She’s young. Probably just wanted some wedding luck.” He shrugged. “You can’t blame her. Don’t take it to heart.” Ella said nothing. She watched the city lights bleed into one another. After a moment, he glanced at his phone, then at her. “Are you mad?” He leaned closer. “I said next time, didn’t I? Our wedding will be better than Lana’s. You can have as many bouquets as you want, okay?” His fingers threaded through her hair and rubbed the back of her neck—gentle, soothing, like calming a restless pet. The ache spread through her chest like something dissolving. Every time. It was always the same. Soft words, empty promises of “next time.” And then he assumed the storm had passed. “Nate,” she said, watching his reflection in the glass. “Yeah?” “Lana and I made a vow when we were children.” Her voice was flat. “Whoever got married first — the other one’s wedding had to happen within a week.” “We were going to be each other’s maid of honor. We were going to be the first to witness each other’s happiness.” The car went quiet. His hand stopped moving on her neck. “That was kid stuff,” he said, and laughed. “You can’t be serious. Plans change. Venues, schedules, catering—these things take months, sometimes a year. We’ll plan properly. I’ll give you the perfect wedding. What’s the hurry?” He didn’t explain why he hadn’t been able to make a single public commitment tonight. He just skipped straight to “how to plan a perfect wedding.” Ella thought of a fitting room, one month before tonight. Lana spinning her around in front of a three-way mirror, eyes bright and brimming. “Ella, you look incredible in this. I designed it just for you.” The dress had been champagne-colored silk, with tiny pearls stitched along the waistline. Lana had spent weeks on it. “When it’s your turn,” Lana had said, her voice cracking, “I’m making you the most beautiful wedding gown anyone’s ever seen.” Nate had been there that day. He’d been answering emails on his phone, head down, thumbs flying. At Lana’s declaration, he’d glanced up briefly, smiled. “Looks nice.” Then his eyes had dropped back to the screen. In that moment, surrounded by champagne silk and her best friend’s joy, Ella had felt it clearly for the first time — the quiet, creeping grief of eight years without an answer. The car pulled into the parking garage. The engine cut. Nate unbuckled his seatbelt. He seemed to consider the evening resolved — the small unpleasantness of the bouquet addressed, the apology delivered, normalcy restored. He leaned across the console toward her, angling for a kiss. Ella lifted her hand and pressed it gently against his shoulder. He froze. “I’m tired, Nate,” she said.
He looked at her. Held the silence for a few seconds. Then he patted her shoulder, casual as ever. “Being maid of honor is exhausting. Get some rest.” He paused. “Rain said she can’t find a car. It’s late — not safe for a girl to be out alone. I’ll swing by and drop her off.” “Okay,” Ella said. Her voice was flat. He didn’t move right away. He seemed to be waiting—for her to tell him to be careful, like she always did. Or to complain, with a little hurt in her voice, that it was too late to go out. But Ella just opened the car door and stepped out. The car pulled away behind her. She closed the door and collapsed onto the sofa. She lay there for a long time. Then she got up and walked toward the bedroom. She passed the room they had called “the nursery.” Her steps slowed. They had planned it when they bought this house four years ago. A nursery. But there was no child now. The room had filled, instead, with boxes and clutter. She walked inside. On the dusty crib, she found a stack of old things. Love letters in his handwriting. Movie tickets. Amusement park passes. Instant photos from their trips together. At the bottom was a photo from their college graduation. He was carrying her on his back under a cherry blossom tree. She had her arms around his neck. Her hair and the pink petals flew in the wind. On the back, he had written in bold, careless strokes: *I’ll carry you forever. That’s a promise.* The weak light from the living room fell on those words. Cold. Like a silent mockery. Like a joke that had stopped being funny a long time ago. From downstairs, she heard the faint sound of a car pulling into the garage. She stayed where she was, just listening. The key turned in the lock. Footsteps, deliberately light. After a moment, the door pushed open. He stood in the doorway. “Not asleep yet?” She didn’t turn around. She stayed crouched by the crib. “No.” “What made you dig these out?” His voice was light. “Feeling nostalgic?” She didn’t answer his question. She asked quietly, “Did you get her home?” He paused. Then he explained, “Yeah. She lives far. It really is hard to get a taxi there.” “Oh.” She looked down again and carefully stacked the photos back in place. “It’s late,” he said again. This time he reached out to pull her up. She didn’t take his hand. She pushed herself up on her knees, wincing a little. Her legs had gone numb from crouching so long, and she swayed. “Nate.” “Yeah?” He stopped walking. “Let’s break up.” He stopped moving. He looked at her for two seconds. Then he laughed. He reached up and loosened his tie. “Still thinking about the bouquet? Don’t be so sensitive.” His voice was patient, the way you soothe a child throwing a tantrum. “Fine. I’ll order you a bigger one tomorrow, okay? Now go wash up and get some sleep. I have an early meeting.” He turned and walked toward the bathroom. “One week,” Ella said to his back. Her voice was quiet. “I’m getting married.”
His hand, resting on the bathroom door handle, froze. A few seconds passed. Then he turned around. The indulgent warmth on his face had been stripped away entirely. “Ella. Enough.” He lifted his hand and pressed his fingers against his temple. “Marriage is a major decision. You don’t just throw it together because you’re upset.” “October twenty-eighth,” she added calmly. “The venue is booked. The dress is ready.” He let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “This is Lana, isn’t it? She’s been in your ear again. She rushed into her own wedding, and now she thinks everyone else should do the same?” “Ella, think clearly. Don’t let her drag you into something stupid. We’ve been together for eight years—” “Nate.” She cut him off. “The invitations go to print tomorrow.” A muscle twitched beneath his eye. “You think this is going to work? This will only make me think you’re childish. Irrational.” His voice climbed, each word landing harder than the last. “I’m at a critical point right now — the family is in the middle of a power shift, and this is supposed to be the moment I prove myself. A wedding right now would split my focus and throw off everything I’ve been working toward.” “Are you really that desperate to get married?” The words hit her like stones flung across the room. Once, this tone would have made her flinch. Would have sent her scrambling to explain, to apologize, to retreat. Not anymore. But now she felt nothing in her chest but calm. His attention had always been expensive. There was only so much of it to go around — between the deals that needed closing, the family politics that needed navigating, and the pretty assistant who required late-night check-ins, birthday surprises, and the occasional business trip that conveniently included a spa resort. What was left for the girlfriend was never much. craps. Crumbs swept to the edge of the table. Ella met his gaze and nodded. “Yes. All our friends are married now. I want to be married too.” She turned and walked into the bedroom. On the nightstand, there was still a fashion magazine from six months ago. The cover headline read: *“Every Bride-to-Be Must Read! The Perfect Three-Month Wedding Countdown Guide.”* She had bought it in a rush of excitement, flipped through a few pages, and then set it down when Nate said — as he always said — *no rush.* It had not been opened since. In the darkness, she stared at the blurred outline of the ceiling. Her phone buzzed softly. The screen lit up. A message from Lana. 【Still awake? I can’t stop thinking about that woman’s face. It makes me so angry. What is Nate even thinking?】 What was he thinking? Nothing special. Nothing new. He was exactly who he had always been. The world doesn’t always bloom just because you wait. Another long text came in. 【Remember our vow? No more than a week apart. I meant it.】 【But that idiot of yours stood there with the bouquet in your hands and still didn’t get it. Eight years, not eight months. Forget it. This time, I’m giving you permission to break the promise.】 Ella’s fingers paused for a second. Then she typed back. 【Babe, have I ever broken a promise to you?】
Nate moved out the next day. He packed a bag and moved into the small apartment near the office. The one he used when work ran late. He said her sudden talk about marriage made him feel suffocated. He needed space. Fine. She needed space too. She quietly spent the following days putting things in order. The apartment — the one they had picked out together five years ago, furnished together, built a life in together — she listed it with a real estate agent. The day she handed the keys to the agent, she went home and sorted through the last of her things. In an old magazine, she found a project file. One of Nate’s current deals. She hesitated, then decided to bring it to him. His studio was not far. She could drop it off. When she arrived at his apartment, the door was shut. Muffled laughter came from inside. More than one person. She raised her hand to knock. A familiar voice drifted out, pitched in that particular register of feminine distress — just helpless enough to be charming: “Mr. Sinclair, it’s all my fault. I’ve never caught a bouquet before — I had no idea it would cause such a fuss. Now everyone in the office group chat is talking. Several coworkers asked me privately if you and I are…” She paused. “You really need to clear things up for me in the group. Otherwise, I’ll be too embarrassed to show my face.” Ella’s hand froze in midair. Before Nate could answer, one of his friends cut in, laughing. “Come on, Rain. Do you actually want him to clear it up? Or are you just trying to get him to say something else?” A ripple of knowing laughter. Rain’s voice came back, mock-offended and sweet: “You’re terrible!” Not a trace of genuine annoyance. “Enough,” Nate said. His voice was easy. Indulgent. “Don’t tease her. It’s not important. People will forget about it in a few days.” *People will forget about it in a few days.* The words opened a door in her memory. Early in their relationship, Ella had stopped by the office to help Nate with some paperwork. He had forgotten himself — draped an arm over her shoulder in the hallway. A colleague spotted them. That same afternoon, he had posted a calm message in the company group chat. *Just clearing up a misunderstanding, everyone please stay focused.* She had understood back then. She had stopped going to his office. Now she understood something else. It wasn’t office romance he minded. It was being seen with *her*. A woman who couldn’t help his career. Nothing to his ambition. Nothing but love — and love, apparently, was not a currency that spent well in public. Another friend spoke up, confused. “Wait, Nate. How did you smooth things over with Ella? I actually got a wedding invitation this morning. This is too sudden.” A brief silence. Then Nate laughed — short, cool, hollow. “The small stuff, I can indulge. But this time, she needs to learn on her own that throwing a tantrum doesn’t get results.” “So you’re really not going?” someone asked. Nate didn’t answer. Silence was its own answer. Then another friend spoke, more carefully. “Nate, are you sure you want to let it go this far? We’ve been waiting to drink your wedding toast for years.” He paused. Then he said, half joking, half probing, “Unless… you have other plans? Like, with a certain secretary?” “Mr. Vic~” Rain drew out his name in a teasing voice. “Don’t joke like that. Mr. Sinclair knows what he’s doing.” Those last words — soft, intimate, loaded. Nate did not correct her. A murmur of shared, masculine amusement filled the room. Someone else chimed in, “To be fair, Nate’s already more loyal than most. After all these years, anyone else would have run out of patience.” “What does Ella even do for you? She just gives you trouble. Not like our Rain here. Smart, capable, shows up when it counts…” Rain interrupted, playing coy. “Don’t say that.” The motion-sensor light in the hallway had gone dark again. Ella stood in the blackness, the project file pressed against her chest. After a long moment, she bent down. Slid the envelope beneath the door with the toe of her shoe. Quietly. Precisely. Then she turned and walked away.
Watch👉 https://cps-front.novelix.live/app-api/ext/new/20260701FDhQ7A27Ck 🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “Novelix” app 🔍 search for “ni773359”, and watch the full series ✨! #Novelix
Leave a Reply