He Chose His Mistress Over Our Wedding Vows

“What did you just say?” Sylas’s eyes flickered with surprise.

I plucked the flower from my wedding gown and tossed it on the floor. “Do you need me to say it again?”

His expression darkened. “Fine, Nellie, you’ll regret this and come crawling back to me.”

“Don’t worry, that day will never come.”

I lifted my bridal gown and turned to head upstairs.

“Nellie, Nellie!”

Sylas's parents tried to stop me, but the security guard behind me blocked their way.

Upstairs, my parents were waiting for me.

Dad asked, “Did you take care of everything?”

I nodded.

“Then go entertain the guests; they came here for you.”

I took a deep breath and rubbed my temples. I had embarrassed them and made them uncomfortable, yet they didn’t blame me. And to think I used to argue with them about Sylas.

I must have been daydreaming.

My parents never approved of this wedding. They always thought Sylas wasn’t the type to settle down. But I was hopelessly in love and insisted I’d marry no one but him.

They had no choice but to relent, agreeing to the wedding and handling everything for it.

Ever since we started dating, I had always put Sylas first, even when it came to his “close friend” Autumn. Although I felt jealous and unhappy, I gave him enough space and the freedom to socialize.

I believed my love would be reciprocated. But Sylas never cared about me.

Or maybe he did, just never enough. He even had the audacity to kiss another woman in front of everyone at our wedding and then turn back to me like nothing happened, saying, "Let's carry on."

I’m human. I hurt too. I gave him my all, and even more. I had skipped meeting important clients to accompany him to a Formula One race in Monaco, resulting in losing millions.

Despite my fear of heights, I went skydiving with him, just to be by his side. But that charming smile of his was always meant for someone else.

Looking back, I was pitiful.

My best friend Holland pulled me aside.

“Girl, you were amazing today. I’ve told you before to dump him, but you were like a freight train with no brakes. You’ve got money, looks — and look at him, what is he? I want to shake some sense into that ocean you call a brain.”

Seeing she was about to continue, I quickly interrupted.

“Okay, okay, Miss Talk-Show Host! I’ve learned my lesson. It’s over. We’re done.”

Holland eyed me skeptically. “Really?”

I nodded vigorously. “Really, truly.”

She gave me a thumbs-up. “That’s more like it. Now let’s pretend today’s our wedding!”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Alright, my groom, let’s go.”

It seemed everyone else could see Sylas didn’t love me, except me, who was drowning in the delusion.

As the guests started leaving, I changed out of the wedding dress, and Holland showed up with a box of wine.

“Here, drink up!”

I drank a lot that day. Seven years of effort, day in and day out, I poured it all into glass after glass.

When you’re hurting, only family and friends stick by your side. Holland and I stayed at the hotel until closing, then we each took a bottle and left.

While sipping, she reminded me, “Don’t you dare go running back to that jerk. Or I’ll have to unfriend you.”

I won’t. Isn’t once in a lifetime enough for such an ordeal?

As we left the hotel, we unexpectedly ran into Sylas and Autumn. They were arm in arm, laughing.

Sylas spotted me and swaggered over, chin high.

“Drowning your sorrows? Regret it, do you?”

“If you get down on your knees and beg, maybe I’d soften up and take you back,” he sneered.