A video of my boyfriend slow dancing with his secretary at a private charity gala went viral overnight. Not a normal dance—the kind where his hand rested on her waist like it belonged there. The secretary even posted a public confession: “I’ve waited years for the man I love to choose me. Tonight… he finally did.” The comments section exploded: “I’m dying—this chemistry is insane!” “They look like they’ve been secretly in love forever!” I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I simply locked my phone and went to find him. That’s when I overheard him talking to a friend behind the stairwell. “What was I supposed to do? Her family’s pushing her into an arranged marriage. If I don’t step in, she’ll be miserable.” “And Aria? You’ve been dating her for years.” “She won’t leave. Seven years is too long for her to walk away now.” Fast forward to our wedding day. Yes—our wedding day. On the same morning he was marrying his secretary, I was slipping into my own wedding dress for someone else. Our wedding cars passed on the road. As tradition, the brides exchanged bouquets through the open windows. The moment he saw my face behind the veil— saw me in white— his expression collapsed completely.
“Mom, I’ve decided to go through with the arranged marriage.” In the dimly lit living room, my voice sounded distant and numb, like it didn’t even belong to me. Hearing my sudden change of heart, my mom was stunned. “You weren’t willing before. Why the sudden change? Aria, marriage isn’t a joke. It doesn’t matter whether it’s arranged or not—what matters is that you’re happy. You need to think this through. Don’t rush into it.” Her words made my chest tighten, and for a moment, my eyes stung with tears. “Mom, I’ve thought it through. You can start planning the wedding.” Mom must’ve sensed how I felt because she paused for a second before softly reassuring me: “You’ve been with Austin for so long, and he still won’t go public with your relationship. He hasn’t even agreed to meet us. Your dad and I have known for a while that things wouldn’t last between you two.” Her words felt like a knife twisting in my chest. It turns out that everyone on the outside could see the truth so clearly. The only fool here was me. “The Ford boy is someone your dad and I carefully picked for you years ago. We made sure he’s a good match. Not only is he from a solid family, but he’s also a man of great character. Aria, you deserve the best.” I took a deep breath. “Thanks, Mom. I trust you and Dad’s judgment.” Mom continued, “Do you want us to arrange a meeting with him in the next few days?” “There’s no need. Just go ahead and plan the wedding.” After I hung up the phone, I realized Austin had appeared behind me at some point, holding a small cake. He looked confused. “A wedding? Who’s getting married?” I am. I’m the one who’s getting married. I answered him silently in my heart, but the words never left my lips. Instead, I kept my expression calm and shook my head. “No one. Just a friend.” As soon as I said that, I noticed the tension in his shoulders ease. His face relaxed noticeably, and it made my heart ache all over again. Was he nervous because he thought I was going to pressure him into marrying me? Or was it because he thought I’d found out about him and Aria, his perfect secretary, and assumed they were the ones getting married? “I brought you your favorite cake from that bakery you love. Want to eat it now?” he asked. There was a time when Austin would bring me little treats after work—snacks and desserts he thought I’d enjoy. Even if I didn’t always like them, the thoughtfulness of it made me feel like I was floating in a sugary dream. I felt cherished, loved, remembered. But now, as I stared at the cake in his hands, all I felt was bitter irony. Not long ago, I’d stumbled across Aria’s newly public social media posts. I couldn’t bring myself to scroll far because just a few entries in, the truth hit me like a slap in the face. This cake wasn’t for me. It was Aria’s favorite. Not just this cake—those nuts, those snacks, all the little treats he used to bring me? They were all her favorites too. And the worst part? I realized that his habit of bringing me food only started after Aria joined his company. So, Austin… when you handed me those treats, who were you really thinking of? Was it me, Aria, or was it Aria? Swallowing the lump in my throat, I said flatly, “I don’t like sweets anymore. They’re too much. Don’t buy them for me again.” Austin blinked, clearly surprised by my reaction. “What? That’s not true. You’ve never had a problem eating them before.” We’ve been together for years, and yet, if he really cared about me, how could he not know my preferences by now? Sometimes, you repeat yourself so many times that you grow tired. And eventually, you stop correcting them altogether. I didn’t argue. I simply shrugged and said, “My taste has changed recently.”
For days, Austin had been so busy that he didn’t even remember my birthday. Not that it mattered anymore—it wasn’t like I cared. But then, as if the thought suddenly struck him, he tried to make it up to me by buying tickets to my favorite Broadway musical. It was a wildly popular show, nearly impossible to get tickets for. I hadn’t been able to snag one myself, so when Austin said he had two tickets and invited me, I agreed. On the day of the show, I waited for him. And waited. But instead of Austin, I saw a post from Aria on Instagram, flaunting two tickets to the very same musical. Her caption read: “Bored, so I decided to catch a show. It’s the best feeling to have someone who’s always there for you, no matter what. ” The photo didn’t show their faces, but I recognized the hand in the picture immediately. That scar—it was unmistakable. It was Austin’s, from the time he got hurt saving me years ago. Suddenly, I felt like a complete fool. While I stood outside in the rain, worried something had happened to him, Austin was inside, sitting in VIP seats with his secretary. Ice-cold raindrops pelted my face, soaking through my clothes. The chill worked its way into my bones, but my heart felt even colder than my body. My phone buzzed with a message from my mom. She told me the wedding was set for two weeks from now. If I thought it was too rushed, we could push it back. I shook my head, even though she couldn’t see me, and replied, “No need. Let’s keep it as planned.” The heavy rain had brought the city to a standstill. Traffic was a mess, and I couldn’t get a cab no matter how long I waited. Finally, Austin called me. His voice was casual, like nothing was wrong. “Why aren’t you at home?” I kept my tone calm, completely devoid of emotion. “I’m at the Broadway Theater.” There was a pause, as though he’d just remembered something. Then he said, “I’m sorry. Something came up this afternoon, and I couldn’t make it. Stay where you are—I’ll come get you.” I didn’t argue, but I knew he wouldn’t show up. And I was right. A moment later, Aria updated her Instagram again: “He didn’t want me catching a cold in the rain, so he made ginger tea just for me. A man who cooks is the most attractive. �� Can’t wait to marry him!” The photo showed Austin’s back as he stood at the stove, cooking. I stared at the post for a second, then calmly exited the app. The rain left me with a fever and a nasty cold. I used it as an excuse to move out of the master bedroom, claiming I didn’t want to infect Austin. I moved into the guest room instead. For once, he actually stayed home from work to take care of me. But I couldn’t stand it. “It’s just a cold,” I said, keeping my tone neutral. “I’m an adult. I can take care of myself. You should go back to work.” He frowned and looked at me for a long moment. “You used to want me around the most when you were sick. What’s with the sudden change?” I lowered my head, hiding all the emotions in my eyes, and forced a small smile. “I was immature back then. I’m not like that anymore.” Austin’s brows furrowed with concern. “Aria, are you okay?” “I’m fine. Go on, really.” He didn’t seem convinced, but after staring at me for a while, he finally sighed. “Alright. Call me if you need anything.” As soon as he left, I let out a long breath and fell into a deep sleep. When I woke up, I found another message from my mom. This time, it was the finalized wedding plans. She’d also sent me photos of over a dozen wedding dresses, asking me to pick one. I scrolled through the pictures absentmindedly, enlarging them to get a better look. I was so absorbed in the task that I didn’t even notice Austin walk in until he snatched my phone out of my hand and tossed it aside. “What are you doing looking at wedding dresses?” he demanded, his face dark with irritation. For a moment, I thought he’d figured it out—that I was planning my own wedding. I was just about to come clean when his next words stopped me cold. “Aria, is this your way of pressuring me to marry you? I told you I’d marry you eventually. You don’t have to resort to tricks like this—it’s pathetic.”
“You’ve got it all wrong, I’m not—” Before I could finish, Austin waved me off, cutting me short. “I’m busy. I’ll be going now. A word of advice—stop pulling these stunts to wear down what’s left of my feelings for you.” The door slammed shut behind him, leaving the house in complete silence. For a long time, I stood there, unmoving, and then let out a bitter laugh. Austin, how much of your so-called feelings for me are even left? What’s there to wear down anymore? In the past, a misunderstanding like this would have left me devastated, unable to eat or sleep. But now, I quickly pulled myself together. I went back to reviewing the wedding details my mom had sent over. Before closing my messages, I instinctively clicked on the notification dot in my social media app. That’s when I saw it—a rare update from Austin. “When someone this amazing comes into your life, you marry them and keep them close.” The photo was a solo shot of Aria, along with an image of their wedding invitation. Within minutes, one of our mutual friends commented: “Bro, so you’ve already swapped out the bride? That was fast.” Not long after, Austin’s post disappeared. But it reappeared almost immediately on Aria’s Instagram feed instead. Then my phone rang. If this had been the past, I would’ve immediately screenshot the post, called him up, and demanded answers. No argument would have ended without a screaming match. But this time, I let the call ring out. And then ring again. I didn’t answer, not even once. What surprised me the most was that I didn’t feel particularly upset by what I’d just seen. Maybe I’d grown numb. My first thought wasn’t anger or heartbreak—it was mild amusement at the coincidence. Their wedding was scheduled for the same day as mine. When Austin finally came home that night, I was already in bed, pretending to sleep. He tiptoed into the room and stopped by my bedside. “Aria? Are you awake? I tried calling you—why didn’t you answer?” I kept my back to him, my voice muffled and indifferent. “I must’ve fallen asleep. Didn’t hear it.” He sighed in relief and leaned down, reaching out to feel my forehead. “Is your fever gone?” But as he got closer, the cloying scent of women’s perfume—sweet and heavy—hit me like a punch. My stomach churned, and I had to fight the urge to gag. Without thinking, I shifted away from him, dodging his hand. He froze, his hand suspended awkwardly in mid-air. “Aria,” he asked cautiously, “Did you see something?” I buried myself deeper into the blankets, muffling my voice. “No. I’m just not feeling well. I want to sleep.” I slept through the night and woke up feeling lighter, like a weight had been lifted. With a clear head, I started packing up my things, systematically erasing every trace of myself from this house. That’s when I realized how many little “couple’s” items I’d bought over the years. At first, Austin would use them with me. But at some point, without me noticing, he’d stopped. Most of those things had been shoved into some corner, collecting dust. I packed them all into a box and dumped it in the trash. Then I found something else—an old scrapbook. It was filled with photos of our trips together, postcards we’d collected, train tickets from when we were long-distance, and letters he’d written to me. The entire scrapbook was a record of our years together. But after Aria came into the picture, the pages had stopped being filled. There were no more photos, no new memories to add. By the time Austin came home, I was tossing the scrapbook into the fireplace. He rushed in like a madman, pulling the burning book out of the flames with his bare hands. Ignoring the burns on his fingers, he turned to me, furious. “Are you insane? Do you have any idea how important this scrapbook is to us? Why would you burn it!?” Austin rarely ever raised his voice at me. This was the first time he’d spoken to me like this. His anger looked genuine, but so was the fact that he was planning to marry someone else behind my back. I didn’t want to argue with him, so I casually replied, “The scrapbook had gotten moldy and infested with bugs. Don’t worry—I’ve backed up all the photos and mementos. I’ll make a new one eventually.” Hearing this, his anger finally subsided. Later, as I applied ointment to his burn, Austin stared at me with an intensity I couldn’t quite place. “Aria,” he said suddenly, “You’ve seemed off lately. Is work stressing you out? I’ve booked you a personalized vacation package. Take some time off to relax.”
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