A Bride's Brilliant Arrangement

The cloud storage for the car's smart speaker held several gigabytes of files—mostly audio clips from inside the car.

My assistant, Harper, spoke cautiously. "Scarlett, the oldest files are from two years ago."

I knew what she was implying.

From the very first recording I heard, their rhythm was already practiced and fluid.

They had been doing this for much longer than I had imagined.

I clicked on an audio file.

Of course. The timestamp matched my weekly equestrian therapy session.

The day my mother killed herself began with an unheard-of gesture: she brought me a home-cooked meal. It was my senior year of college.

I had never eaten a meal she'd cooked. Her life revolved around placating my father, especially after his string of affairs.

A home-cooked meal from my mother—something I thought I no longer needed.

But when it was right in front of me, I realized I was still that little girl, desperate for a sliver of her mother's attention.

I let my guard down so easily. After all, the only person who ever cooked for me was Troy.

Then, right in front of me, she swallowed the entire bottle of pills.

Thank God Troy arrived in time.

By the time the paramedics loaded me into the ambulance, my mother wasn't breathing.

Her last words, spat at me with a contorted face, were: "If I had never had you, I would never have become this woman your father despises."

Since then, I had to go to the stables twice a week for therapy.

Troy drove me every time.

And in that one-hour window, he and Chloe carried on their affair in his car.

The latest recording was from the week before the wedding.

I heard Chloe light a cigarette, her voice a lazy drawl.

"We should probably stop after the wedding."

Troy chuckled. "What, doubting my stamina? You think I can't handle both of you?"

Chloe sighed. "I just... I feel like it's not fair to Scarlett."

Troy scoffed. "You didn't seem too worried about 'fair' when you were drunk and unbuckling my belt, or all those other times you threw yourself at me. And you definitely weren't whispering 'unfair' when you were screaming my name."

I heard the sound of a hand moving, the rustle of fabric, followed by her short, sharp gasp.

"Admit it. No one can make you feel like I do."

"If we stop, you'll never feel this again."

Chloe's voice came out in fractured pieces.

"But—but I don't want Scarlett to get hurt."

"We both know how much she hates cheaters. Her father is proof enough."

Troy let out a low, soft laugh.

"I love Scarlett more than you do. The last thing I want is for her to be hurt."

"That's why I can't be rough with her, not like I am with you."

"If you leave, and I lose control and find someone else... what if she's not as careful as you? What if she doesn't know how to keep her mouth shut, how to make sure Scarlett never finds out?"

"Chloe, us being together is how we protect Scarlett. Don't you get it?"

A long silence followed. Finally, she whispered.

"Yes. We're doing this for Scarlett."

The computer screen went black.

Harper looked at my face, her expression grave.

"Scarlett, do you need me to cancel the wedding?"

I touched the faint mark on my wrist where the bracelet used to be and shook my head.

"No. We've been preparing for too long. It would be a shame to cancel."

"But do me a favor. Book Chloe the best stylist in Hollywood."