The night before the wedding, I was trying on my wedding dress when my fiancé spoke up, his tone completely casual: “I helped make your mom’s dying wish come true, so I need you to do something for me — just deal with this clingy girl for a bit.” When he saw me freeze, he added, “I’m marrying her tomorrow. I want you there as the wedding artist.” “She knows we’ve been together five years and she’s not taking it well. She wants her moment, and I can’t talk her out of it.” I stared at him blankly, forcing a stiff smile onto my face: “What are you talking about… didn’t we already get our marriage license?” “The license was fake,” Mason André said without a trace of shame. “My identity was fake too.” “I’m actually the heir to the André family. The André family and the Carter family have arranged a union — my wife can only be Chris Carter.” “But Fiona, I do still like you. All that glamour gets boring after a while. Being with you is the best escape I have.” “As long as you behave, I can give you everything except the title of wife. We can keep things exactly the way they’ve been.” He gently wiped the tears from the corner of my eye, smiling with a cruelty that chilled me to the bone. “Fiona, choose wisely.” “I’ve got a wedding tomorrow, so I’m heading out now. She’ll throw a fit if I’m late.” So five years of love had been nothing more than a pastime to cure his boredom. Mason was right. I should choose wisely. Him and his child — I wanted no part of either. ……
I stood frozen before the full-length mirror. The dress on my body was supposed to symbolize happiness. In this moment, it felt like a sharp slap across the face — silently mocking my foolish heart. Before all of this, I had always believed Mason was someone who never wanted to get married. So for five years, I had been the understanding girlfriend who never once pressured him. Then, a month ago, my mother — the only family I had — fell gravely ill. Her one dying wish was to see me marry Mason before she passed. When Mason found out, he took me to get a marriage license without hesitation. He even got down on one knee and proposed to me in front of my mother. I thought he loved me. But it turned out this was just the leverage he needed to keep me in line — all for the sake of appeasing another girl. Lost in my thoughts, the shop attendant walked in with a warm smile: “Miss Fiona, your fiancé said these two dresses would look lovely on you. He asked me to bring them for you to try.” I slowly lifted my eyes and smiled, though it came out hollow. “That won’t be necessary.” “The wedding — it’s been called off.” I don’t know how I made it home. I thought I could handle this calmly. But the moment I stepped through the door — I saw Mason’s jacket still hanging on the balcony, and the half-finished puzzle we’d been working on together the night before, still spread out on the table. The ache hit me slowly, then all at once — a dull, suffocating pain I couldn’t hold back. I sank to the floor, and finally broke down completely. I cried until I had nothing left. Then my mother called. I wiped my face with the back of my hand and pulled myself together before picking up. Her voice was fragile on the other end, but full of warmth and anticipation. “Fiona, how did the dress fitting go? Show me — I just know my daughter is going to be the most beautiful bride.” “I’m fine, I’m just so happy. Getting to see you two get married before I go… it makes everything worth it.” I swallowed the sob rising in my throat and kept my voice steady: “Don’t worry, Mom. The dress fitting went great. Everything’s almost ready for the wedding.” After I hung up, every last bit of strength left me. I collapsed onto the cold floor. Mason had calculated this perfectly. For my mother’s sake, I surrendered.
The next day, I packed up my art supplies and showed up at Mason’s wedding. Mason looked at me with a satisfied smile on his face. “Fiona, you’ve always been such an understanding girlfriend.” My heart clenched sharply. Those words — understanding girlfriend — cut into me like a blade, leaving a wound I couldn’t close. Five years together, but we were apart far more than we were close. The time we’d actually spent in the same place barely added up to a year. Mason always said he was swamped with work — ten months out of the year, he was supposedly away on business trips. I never once complained. When he vented about his boss docking his pay and bonuses, I quietly transferred half my own income into his account. Once, I was hospitalized and needed surgery. I kept it from him the whole time so he wouldn’t worry. When he found out afterward, it was the first time I ever saw his eyes go red. “Fiona, you don’t have to be so strong all the time. You still have me.” I never forgot those words. But the person who said them seemed to have forgotten them completely. Mason reached out of habit and ruffled my hair. I kept my head down and stepped back without making a sound. He noticed the distance. I saw his chest rise and fall sharply. I didn’t have the energy to care. I quietly followed his assistant toward the wedding venue. The ceremony was held at Mason’s private estate. Under crystal chandeliers that blazed like daylight, a sea of flowers stretched in every direction. The reception hall was filled with nearly five hundred tables. The scale of it was breathtaking. And I suddenly felt like a joke. When we were planning our own wedding, Mason had said: “It’s just a formality. Let’s keep it simple.” “You know how I feel about marriage.” I understood. I gave in, over and over again. No flowers. Scaled-back everything. A small venue on the outskirts of the city. Five tables. But now I could see — his “anti-marriage” stance had been nothing but an excuse. The truth was simple: he never wanted to marry me. The deeper I walked into the venue, the larger the crowd grew, and the louder the whispers became. “Isn’t that the woman Mason keeps on the side? And she actually had the nerve to show up here?” “Shameless. She looked decent enough from the outside — never would’ve guessed.” “She’s the wedding artist? Some broke little painter. Like she’d ever step foot in a place like this if she hadn’t latched onto Mason.” My feet stopped moving. The air felt like it had been sucked out of the room. The murmurs slithered through the crowd and gnawed at my already shredded heart. I wanted to say something — to tell them I wasn’t the other woman, that Mason and I had been together for five years. But I opened my mouth, then pressed it shut again. Who would believe me? The bride today wasn’t me. That said everything. I endured the stares and the pointed fingers, quietly set up my easel and art supplies, and gripped my paintbrush tight, pretending I couldn’t hear a single word. Then the wedding march drowned out everything else. Every pair of eyes turned to the radiant couple at the altar. In front of everyone, Chris looked at Mason and said the words: “I do.” I steadied my trembling hand and painted the moment they kissed. Even though I had braced myself for this, a deep, helpless ache still bloomed in my chest, spreading through me like cracks in glass. Then came the toast. As I expected, Chris walked over on Mason’s arm. She raised her glass with a practiced smile. “You must be the artist. Thank you so much for capturing our happiness today.” I pulled together a faint smile. “I can’t drink.” Chris bit her lip, and tears welled in her eyes almost instantly: “Mason, I guess I’m just not important enough to her.” Mason pulled her close. “It’s your day, baby. Whatever you say goes.” He turned to look at me, his gaze heavy with pressure. I held his stare without flinching. The pregnancy test tucked in my pocket felt like a brand pressed against my skin. “Mason, do you really need to make me drink this?” His brow creased with impatience. “It’s just one drink.” I let out a quiet, bitter laugh and said nothing more. I took the glass and drained it. The liquor burned a trail from my throat straight down to my stomach, and a sharp cramp twisted through my lower abdomen. By the time I swallowed the last drop, the final ember inside me went cold.
The rest of the time, I got through it one agonizing second at a time. By the time the reception ended, I was drenched in cold sweat. I was about to leave when Mason’s assistant appeared and steered me into a dressing room without giving me a choice. Chris had already changed out of her wedding dress. She sat there with her legs crossed, watching me. I pressed through the cramping pain in my stomach and held out the painting. “This is yours.” She curved her lips into a slow smile, reached out, and tore it clean in half. “Fiona, right? I know who you are. My husband’s mistress.” “I’m not a mistress,” I said, forcing down the surge rising in my chest. “And you know that.” Chris’s expression shifted instantly, her face twisting with vicious jealousy. “Mason married me. You’re still clinging to him — what would you call that if not being a mistress?” “You saw it yourself today. Mason loves me. He married me. What does five years with you even matter now?” “I have no interest in fighting over anything,” I said, looking at her with complete calm. “Once I’ve handled the last thing he promised me, I’ll be gone.” I was exhausted. I had no fight left in me. I turned to leave. Chris lunged after me and dug her nails into my arm. I cried out in pain and pushed her away without thinking. But before I even used any real force, she went sprawling to the floor. At that exact moment, Mason shoved the door open, his face a picture of panic. I stood there, frozen. “I didn’t —” The rest of my sentence was obliterated by what came next. “Chris, are you okay?” Mason rushed in and pulled her up from the floor. “Mason, you’re finally here!” She flung herself into his arms. Then she tilted her tearful eyes toward me. “Fiona came to drop off the painting — and then she just ripped it apart herself.” “She said I’m a homewrecker. That I don’t deserve to marry you, and I don’t deserve to have our painting.” “That’s a lie!” The fury hit my chest so hard I could barely breathe. Mason snapped his head up, his gaze dark and heavy as it locked onto me. “Why would Chris make something like that up when she’s carrying my child?” “Fiona, if anything happens to her or the baby, don’t think for a second you’ll walk away from this.” They had a baby on the way too… The world went silent. A long, hollow ringing filled my ears. Chris leaned into Mason’s arms, the corner of her mouth curling into a quiet, triumphant smile. “Mason, my stomach hurts.” “I noticed the gemstone pendant Fiona’s wearing. It matches yours — they’re a pair.” “As an apology, why not let her give it to us? For the baby’s blessing.” My chest seized. That gemstone pendant set was my mother’s wedding jewelry — the gift she’d given me and Mason for our engagement. I reached up and clutched the pendant at my throat, then looked at Mason, silently pleading. But he only glanced at me, his tone carrying a quiet edge of warning. “It’s just a pendant. We’ll give it back when we’re done with it.” “Fiona, learn to pick your battles.” I swayed on my feet. The nausea twisting my stomach didn’t come close to the pain tearing through me right now. Mason stared at my pale face, momentarily distracted. Chris caught it. A flash of spite crossed her eyes. She shook his hand. “Come on, Mason, we still have our after-party tonight. We need to go.” As she brushed past me, she dropped her voice to just barely above a whisper: “Thanks for the pendant. And don’t worry — I left you a little gift too.” The next second, my phone rang. I nearly dropped it. “Miss Fiona, your mother’s condition has taken a turn. Please come to the hospital immediately.”
My mind went completely blank. The blood drained from my entire body. There was only one thought left in my head: I had to get to my mother. I bolted out of the room like a person possessed and threw myself in front of Mason’s car just as it was pulling away. “Mason, my mom’s condition suddenly got worse. Please — please take me to the hospital.” Mason hesitated. In all the time he’d known me, I had always been the strong one. The one who kept everything together and never let anyone see her fall apart. Seeing me now — sobbing outside his window, begging — something tightened in his chest in a way he couldn’t quite explain. He was about to tell the driver to unlock the door. Then Chris’s voice cracked through the moment like a whip: “Fiona, are you seriously doing this to me on purpose?!” “Mason has spent five years with you. The least you can do is let him be completely mine today. Why do you have to take him from me right now?” “If you want to ruin our plans, just say so. You don’t have to make up some excuse.” With each word from Chris, the warmth drained from Mason’s eyes. What was left was cold and flat. “I already checked with her doctors. Your mom has been stable lately.” “Fiona, using something like this to try to keep me here just makes me tired of you.” He ignored my cries. The car pulled away and disappeared into the dark. In complete desperation, I bit through the pain and walked. Three hours. It took me three full hours to reach the hospital on foot. When I finally got there, I understood what Chris had meant by her “gift.” She had posted about me online — spreading the story that I was Mason’s mistress. A headline was already trending: [André Family and Carter Family Unite in Matrimony — Mistress Fiona Causes Scene at Wedding!] My mother had seen it. The shock and distress sent her into a collapse. By some miracle, the doctors had been able to stabilize her. In the hospital room, my mother stroked my hair gently, her voice thin and tired: “Fiona, I believe you. I’m not falling for those rumors.” “But… did you and Mason actually break up? Did he do something to hurt you?” I blinked back the tide rising behind my eyes and smiled for her. “Those articles are all lies. The wedding is still happening.” “Everything’s fine between us, Mom. I promise. So you need to focus on getting better.” She nodded with relief and, as though the effort had used up everything she had left, drifted back into sleep. I walked out of her room and slid down the cold wall until I was sitting on the floor. In the quiet of the hallway, the only sounds were my tears hitting the tile and the muffled sobs I pressed behind my hands. The next morning, I sent Mason a message. I asked him, for the sake of everything we had shared, to help me one last time. I never got a reply from him. Instead, Chris showed up — furious and spoiling for a fight. She stood outside my mother’s hospital room, arms crossed, staring down at me with contempt. “You pathetic little thing. I knew you’d go crawling back to Mason behind my back.” “Let me ask your mother how she managed to raise a daughter like you.” I threw myself in front of the door, but her bodyguards seized me before I could stop her. My mother heard the commotion and forced herself up to open the door. “Let go of her! You have no right to treat my daughter like this!” Seeing me being held back, she rushed toward us with everything she had left. But a single sentence from Chris stopped her cold. “Your daughter broke up my marriage. Are you saying she doesn’t deserve what she gets?” My mother stumbled backward. Her lips moved, but no sound came out. Then she fell. “No!” The scream tore out of me. I wrenched free and threw myself to her side. The medical team came running. After everything they tried, the doctor turned to me and shook his head. The strength went out of my legs. I crumpled to the ground. Then the doctor’s face went pale and he rushed toward me. That was when I felt it — a crushing weight low in my abdomen, and the warmth of blood spreading beneath me. That day, I lost the two most important people in my life at the same time. My mother, who had loved me more than anyone. And my baby — two months along. I was lying in the recovery bed after surgery when Mason’s message finally came through: “Fiona, what is wrong with you? Chris told me she went out of her way to bring a specialist to see your mother today, and you wouldn’t let her in — and then you hit her? You actually broke the skin on her hand.” “Look, she’s pregnant and she doesn’t need this kind of stress. I’m going to take her somewhere to decompress. I’ll be at the wedding on Saturday as agreed.” I didn’t reply. I blocked him on everything. Before I left, I arranged a simple funeral for my mother. Then I went home and packed. I picked up my phone and dialed a number I hadn’t touched in over a year. The next day, I boarded a flight to England. Toward the future I had once given up for him. Mason — this is my choice. We will not meet again.
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