At my joint bachelor-bachelorette party, right when the Truth or Dare game was reaching its messy, drunken peak, the tequila bottle spun across the table and stopped, pointing directly at my fiancé’s best friend. She locked eyes with me, a slow, sharp smile spreading across her face. “I’ll confess,” she said, her voice cutting through the bass of the music. “I’m pregnant. And it’s Garrett’s.” A collective gasp sucked the air out of the room. The chatter died instantly. Only my face remained frozen. As the whispers started rising around us, Garrett reached over, casually running his fingers through my hair with a sigh. “It was just an accident, Isla. Don’t overthink it. We both got blackout drunk that night. We were trying to save some cash, so we shared a cheap motel room, and things just…” “But I promise you, you’re the one who’s going to be Mrs. Mercer. I could never actually be with a tomboy like Gigi anyway.” Gigi scoffed, playfully pinching his side and cursing him for throwing his “bro” under the bus. I sat there, watching them laugh and flirt, before I finally spoke. “It’s fine.” He let out a visible breath of relief. The bottle spun again, its green glass blurring under the neon lights. This time, it stopped, pointing its neck directly at me. The room fell quiet, waiting for my truth. I looked around, my voice flat and entirely steady. “I have a confession, too. At our wedding in three days, the groom will be Callum Peterson.” … There was a beat of absolute silence, followed by a single laugh, and then a wave of mockery crashed over me. “Isla, stop acting crazy. Everyone knows how desperately you chased Garrett.” “Seriously. You spent three years sucking up to his mother just to get her blessing. Don’t ruin your only shot at getting married over a little temper tantrum.” “And Callum Peterson? He’s the crown prince of Seattle’s tech money. Why would a billionaire want Garrett’s discarded leftovers?” Garrett squeezed my hand lightly, his tone dismissive. “Babe, don’t be ridiculous.” “You know everyone here knows you’re obsessed with me. If you call off the wedding now, no one else is going to want you.” The engagement ring on my finger suddenly felt like a brand, tightening around my skin until my throat burned. He was right. Everyone in Seattle knew I was Garrett’s devoted shadow. I had done too many humiliating things for him over the years. Like the Valentine’s Day I had nine thousand roses flown in just to confess to him. Or the month I rented a fleet of drones to spell out “ISLA LOVES GARRETT” across the downtown skyline. Even now, the digital billboards on the commercial towers downtown were looping our engagement photos. I had played the part of the desperate girl for so long that he simply assumed I was his permanent property. Tears stung my eyes, but no one in the room cared about my humiliation. The bottle spun again, and this time it landed on Garrett. The atmosphere heated up instantly, and Gigi gave him a suggestive wink. “Garrett, we’ve played Truth for too many rounds. A real man chooses Dare. Do you have the guts to do something interesting?” Garrett raised an eyebrow, asking her what she had in mind. Gigi’s eyes gleamed. “Since it’s a bachelor party, how about a French kiss with someone in the room? After all, you won’t get a chance once you’re tied down.” She caught my tight expression, quickly covering her mouth with a fake display of apology. “You don’t mind, do you, Isla? I mean, we’ve known each other since we were kids. Back when we took lifesaving classes, we did mouth-to-mouth resuscitation all the time.” The crowd cheered in agreement. Garrett laughed, swatting Gigi’s hip playfully. “Kissing my bro? You’re sick.” “But fine, I’ll play.” He grabbed Gigi by the waist, pulling her into a deep, lingering kiss. The sight of them, framed by the flashing strobes of the lounge, made my stomach turn. A sudden wave of nausea hit me. I bolted for the bathroom and dry-heaved over the sink, waiting for the sickness in my throat to pass. After the party, Garrett pulled me aside by the car, looking slightly conflicted. “Isla, Gigi has been an orphan her whole life. This baby might have been an accident, but it’s her only real family now. She wants to keep it.” I closed my eyes, exhausted. “And?” “I’m thinking we should postpone the wedding. Just until she has the baby. It’s not like we haven’t pushed the date back before. You know the drill.” A familiar ache settled deep in my chest. Ever since my mother got sick a year ago, I had begged Garrett to marry me. Her only dying wish was to see me walk down the aisle. But Garrett always had a reason to say no. Gigi’s cat was sick, so he had to stay with her. Or his family counselor said the date was a bad omen for his business. The wedding had been delayed over and over, and now, I was just tired. I looked into his eyes and said quietly, “Garrett, let’s break up.” The hand he had raised to wipe a tear from my cheek froze in midair. His face darkened. He sat down on the hood of his car, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. “Gigi was right,” he said, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke. “You women are so high-maintenance.” He looked at me with a condescending pity. “Look, if you’re going to throw a fit about the wedding, we can still do it. But Gigi is pregnant with my child, and I have a responsibility to take care of her.” “For the first year of our marriage, I’ll stay at our place on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday, I’ll be with Gigi. Sundays we can split. Think of it as your way of making up for being so difficult about her situation.” I stared at him, unable to process the sheer audacity of his words. Before I could even find my voice, his phone rang. Gigi’s voice drifted through the speaker. Without another look at me, Garrett answered, turned, and walked away. Watching his retreating back, I remembered that our relationship hadn’t always been so one-sided. Back in college, when I tripped during a track meet, he had looked just as panicked as he did now. When did it change? Probably the night of Gigi’s welcome-home dinner, when I slipped and sprained my ankle. As Garrett bent down to check on me, Gigi had laughed. “Isla, do you have to do this now? I get that you want Garrett’s attention, but throwing a scene at your boyfriend’s best friend’s welcome dinner… yikes.” She had slung an arm around Garrett’s shoulder, acting magnanimous. “Go ahead and take her to the ER, Garrett. I won’t hold it against you. Some of us are tough, but your girl is fragile.” That exact dynamic repeated itself dozens of times over the next few years. Every injury, every moment of pain I experienced, was labeled by Gigi as “attention-seeking” and “manipulative.” Eventually, everyone around us accepted that narrative, using it to justify treating me like an afterthought. I squeezed the metal ring on my finger until it bent out of shape. I pulled out my phone and texted my old college friend. “Does your proposal still stand?” He replied almost instantly. “The courthouse opens at eight tomorrow morning. I’ll be waiting.” I wiped my face, typed a single word—”Yes”—and called a cab to go back to the townhouse to pack my things. But when I unlocked the front door, the first thing I heard was Gigi’s voice. “Garrett, let me borrow a shirt. I realized I forgot to pack clean clothes after my shower.” Garrett walked straight into the master bathroom with a fresh shirt. Through the cracked door, I heard their laughter. “You’re built like a boy anyway, there’s nothing to hide. You look ridiculous compared to my girl.” “Yeah, yeah! Your girl is the absolute best. I’m texting the group chat right now to tell everyone how whipped you are.” A few minutes later, Gigi stepped out of the bathroom wearing Garrett’s oversized white button-down. She paused when she saw me standing in the hallway, but her smile returned instantly. “Don’t get the wrong idea, Isla. We’ve been friends for so long that we could sleep naked in the same bed and feel absolutely nothing but brotherly love.” “Garrett only came in to help me because it’s second nature. Don’t go turning this into a whole drama, okay?” I stared at the fresh bite mark on her collarbone. I didn’t say a word. I walked past her into the bedroom to pack. As I pulled open my dresser drawer, a pair of black lace thongs fell out onto the floor. Before I could even look at them, Gigi snatched them up. “Oh, sorry! I didn’t have any clean underwear when I came over, so I just grabbed whatever Garrett had in his drawer. We don’t really care about boundaries like that. You get it, right?” She twirled the lace around her finger, looking at me with pure provocation. My chest tightened so hard I could barely breathe. I took a deep breath, forcing down the sickness in my stomach, and let out a cold laugh. “I get it. After all these years, you’re still just the ‘bro.’ I admire how hard you’re working to climb into my fiancé’s bed as his mistress.” Gigi’s eyes flared with venom. She raised her hand to slap me, and I instinctively blocked her arm. But with a sharp gasp, Gigi lost her balance and tumbled backward onto the floor. At that exact moment, the front door slammed open, and Garrett rushed into the room. He lunged forward to pull Gigi up, turning to glare at me with pure fury. “Isla! What the hell are you doing?” Gigi clung to his neck, giving me a smug, victorious look before putting on a weak voice. “It’s fine, Garrett. She’s just mad at me. She barely pushed me. Don’t be so mean to her.” “Girls are just fragile and jealous. It’s normal. We shouldn’t hold it against her.” Garrett grabbed my wrist, his eyes bloodshot. “Isla, when did you become so malicious? She just wanted to be a mother, so she asked me to help her have a baby.” “She didn’t mean to come between us. Can’t you just be the bigger person?” So there was no drunken mistake. No blackout night. It was entirely intentional. The last thread of my sanity snapped. I swung my free hand and slapped him across the face. “She’s wearing your clothes in my house, pregnant with your child, and you’re asking me to be the bigger person? Are you insane?” Garrett stared at me, shocked into silence. He touched his cheek, wiping a trace of blood from his lip. Slowly, his expression turned cold, and he looked at me with a quiet, cutting cruelty. “Isla, you got pregnant and had an abortion for me when you were eighteen. You did far worse just to keep me around. You don’t have some high-and-mighty dignity left to protect.” Gigi gasped, covering her mouth. “Oh my god, Isla. I thought you were one of those quiet, sweet girls. I didn’t realize you were that wild.” My body went completely numb. I stared at the man I had loved for a decade, unable to believe those words had come out of his mouth. Garrett watched me crumble, continuing with a calm indifference. “If I remember correctly, you were terrified your parents would find out, and I didn’t want the hassle of a kid. You went to that shady clinic all by yourself, didn’t you? You weren’t so dramatic back then.” I raised a trembling hand to cover his mouth. “Please… stop.” That lost pregnancy was the deepest wound of my life. We were young, foolish, and I had taken his sweet whispers to heart. “Have my baby, Isla, and I’ll get my mom to propose to your family.” Because of that lie, I had believed him. And in the end, it was just a lonely, painful afternoon in a cold room with a doctor who didn’t care. Tears fell onto Garrett’s hand. He finally softened slightly, letting go of my wrist and pulling me close. “Just be good. Apologize to Gigi, and we can pretend none of this happened. We can still get married tomorrow.” Maybe I had been hurt so many times that the pain had finally gone numb. I didn’t argue. Gigi watched us, her eyes darting between us before she patted Garrett’s shoulder. “Garrett, if she doesn’t want to apologize, let it go. You know how stubborn girls can be.” “But take it from me—don’t spoil her too much. A little attitude is cute, but this is just exhausting.” Garrett sighed, looking at me with deep irritation. “Isla, starting tomorrow, don’t bother coming to the office anymore. Gigi is right, you’ve gotten too reckless. You need to learn some humility.” “You can stay home and help Gigi out while she recovers from the birth. It’ll do you some good. As for the wedding, we’ll push it to next month.” I looked at his face, so calm, so entitled, and I nodded. “Okay.” I didn’t tell him that by tomorrow, I would be married to someone else. The next morning, Garrett left early to take Gigi to her ultrasound. He left a note on the counter: “Gigi wants those homemade cinnamon rolls you make. She’s my best friend and she’s pregnant, so try to show some grace as her sister-in-law.” I crumpled the note, tossed it into the trash, picked up my suitcase, and walked out of the house. Callum was waiting for me outside in his car. The moment he saw me, a genuine, warm smile lit up his face. Our wedding at the courthouse was small, quiet, and beautiful. Afterward, we rode around the city, the car window rolled down. Callum wanted everyone to know. Under the quiet warmth of the afternoon light, we exchanged rings and promised ourselves to each other. By afternoon, the city’s local lifestyle outlets were already buzzing with the news of the Peterson family’s sudden, quiet marriage. At that moment, Garrett was driving Gigi back from her appointment, passing through the city center. Seeing the massive digital billboards displaying wedding announcements, Gigi laughed. “Garrett, look at that. When are you going to grow up and throw me a massive wedding like that?” Garrett looked at her, and an involuntary feeling of distaste rose in his chest. She had short, boyish hair, wore a tank top with jeans, and even with her slight baby bump, she looked entirely unrefined. A sudden thought popped into his head: “If I’m going to marry someone, it has to be Isla. She’s elegant, soft, and when she looks at me, I can’t help but soften.” “Gigi is great as a friend, but as a wife… only if the lights are off.” He shrugged, dismissive. “Forget it. If I marry anyone, it’s Isla. If you’re that interested, you can be my best man.” Gigi glared at him, turning to look out the window. Suddenly, she gasped. “Garrett… the bride on that screen. It looks exactly like Isla.” Garrett didn’t even hesitate to scoff. “Impossible. Isla told me she’d never marry anyone but me. If she stopped chasing me, the sun would rise in the west.” “It’s probably just a lookalike.” But he still leaned forward, looking up at the massive display. And there, high above the city, he watched me press my lips against Callum Peterson’s.
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