His Ninety-Nine Betrayals, My Freedom

My fiancé, a Navy SEAL Commander, postponed our wedding 99 times for my manipulative sister. For our 100th attempt, I put my foot down. This date, or no date.

He called two weeks before the wedding to cancel again. But this time, he threatened my career to force my compliance.

Then I overheard the truth. He was planning to marry my sister-a "temporary" arrangement to get her into an exclusive therapy program.

After he divorced her, he'd come back to me. I was his "certainty." His backup plan.

My own mother supported it, slapping me when I refused to play along.

"You will be a proper wife," she hissed.

I had spent five years as a placeholder, my life put on hold for their drama. I was done waiting.

I hung up the phone, canceled the wedding permanently, and volunteered for a three-year, off-the-grid assignment. But first, I took my wedding dress and a pair of scissors.

Chapter 1

The email flashed on my screen, its subject line a stark, brutal echo of ninety-nine others: "Wedding Postponement - Urgent." My gaze flickered to the date-our wedding day, now just two weeks away. It wasn't just a delay; it was the final, crushing blow to a life I'd built on borrowed time and someone else's whims.

I squeezed my eyes shut. This wasn't how aerospace engineers planned for launch. There were no redundancies, no backup systems for dreams. There was just a tradition, a "tight-knit unit" rule that had become a chokehold: Bryce's entire Navy SEAL team had to be at every team member's wedding.

It was a point of pride for them, a testament to their brotherhood. For me, it had become a recurring nightmare.

"Amelie? Are you okay?" My colleague, Dr. Aris Thorne, leaned over my cubicle wall, his brow furrowed with concern. He knew the drill. Everyone at the facility knew the drill. My endless, perpetually delayed wedding had become a running joke, a whispered cautionary tale.

I forced a smile that felt like shattered glass in my mouth. "Just another glitch in the system, Aris. Nothing a little re-calibration can't fix."

He didn't look convinced. "Seriously, Riggs. This is... a lot."

It was a lot. It had always been a lot. Ninety-nine times, the wedding had been postponed. Ninety-nine times, the reason had been Kendall. My older sister, Kendall, a master manipulator who wielded her diagnosed anxiety and depression like a weapon, always found a way to hijack my spotlight.

Every time Bryce and I set a new date, every time my heart dared to hope, Kendall would conjure a crisis. A panic attack that required her to be hospitalized just days before the ceremony. A sudden, debilitating bout of depression that made her "unable to cope" with my happiness. A dramatic breakup that sent her spiraling, demanding all our attention.

And Bryce, my fiancé, the charismatic Navy SEAL Commander I was supposed to marry, always fell for it. Every single time. He saw himself as her savior, her protector, a noble knight caught between his duty to his future sister-in-law and his love for me. Or so he claimed.

This last time, I had tried to put my foot down. "Bryce," I'd said, my voice shaking with a resolve I hadn't known I possessed. "We are getting married on the first of next month. No matter what. This is the hundredth date. I can't keep doing this."

He had looked at me, his handsome face etched with that familiar, weary concern that always signaled trouble. "Amelie, you know how Kendall gets. She's fragile."

Fragile. The word was a brand, searing itself into my skin. For years, I had downplayed my own needs, my own hopes, to appease Kendall, to appease my parents, to appease Bryce. I knew this was my breaking point.

"Our relationship, our marriage, cannot be held hostage by Kendall's 'fragility' any longer," I' d stated, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. "This is it. This date, or no date."

He had simply scoffed, a soft, dismissive sound that sliced through my resolve. "Don't be dramatic, Ames. Of course, we're getting married. You're just… stressed."

Stressed. He called nearly a hundred postponements "stressed." I wanted to scream. I wanted to shake him until he understood the years I' d wasted, the dreams deferred, all because he prioritized Kendall' s manufactured crises over my actual life. But I didn't. I just stood there, letting his patronizing tone wash over me, feeling my spirit slowly drain away.

The first date had been set five years ago, a hopeful summer wedding. Then Kendall had a "nervous breakdown" after a bad breakup. Postponed. The next spring, she developed a sudden, severe allergy to the venue's flowers. Postponed. The following fall, her new boyfriend, an aspiring musician, unexpectedly moved to Nashville, sending Kendall into a dark depression. Postponed again. And again. And again. Each time, Bryce was by her side, a picture of chivalry, while I stood by, seething in silence.

Now, the hundredth date loomed, two weeks away. The invitations had long been sent, the caterers confirmed, my dress hanging in the closet, a white shroud of broken promises. I had dared to hope this time. Really hope. Foolish, I knew. But hope, like a stubborn weed, found a way to sprout in the most barren places.

Then came the email.

The reason for this-the hundredth-postponement? Kendall was hospitalized. Not for a physical ailment, not for an accident, but for "emotional distress." Her latest boyfriend, a particularly charming but commitment-phobic lawyer, had dumped her. Again.

My phone buzzed. It was Bryce. I knew what was coming.

"Amelie," his voice was tight, laced with a familiar urgency that always preceded bad news for me, good news for Kendall. "Kendall's in the ER again. She's inconsolable. We can't possibly go through with the wedding right now. It wouldn't be fair to her."

My breath hitched. "Fair to her?" I repeated, the words barely a whisper. "What about fair to me, Bryce? What about all the promises you made? All the times you told me this was different?"

He sighed, a sound heavy with manufactured martyrdom. "Amelie, you know I love you. But Kendall needs me. She's threatening to... to do something drastic if I' m not there."

"And if you're not here for our wedding, what then, Bryce?" The question hung in the air, thick with unspoken accusations.

His voice hardened, a dangerous edge I hadn't heard before. "Amelie, be reasonable. I'm a Commander. My unit expects me to uphold certain values. If you're going to make this difficult, if you're going to put your personal desires above family responsibility, I'm afraid I'll have to consider having your security clearance reviewed. You know how important that is for your work at Project Chimera."

My blood ran cold. My career. My life's work. He was threatening my career to force another delay, to cater to Kendall's latest performance. The air left my lungs in a painful rush. This wasn't just another postponement. This was a direct assault on my identity.

The truth hit me then, a sickening punch to the gut. It wasn't about Kendall's fragility. It wasn't about his duty. It was about control. His control over me. He believed I would always be his safety net, his patient, understanding fiancée waiting in the wings.

But then, a cold, hard ember of a rumor, something I'd dismissed as malicious gossip, began to glow fiercely in my mind. A hushed conversation I'd overheard weeks ago between Bryce and his mother. They were talking about Kendall, and an exclusive psychiatrist-a family friend of the Hunters-who only took on patients who were married to someone within their trusted circle. And then, Bryce's clipped, confident voice: "We'll get her the help she needs. A temporary marriage. Then, when she's stable, we'll divorce quietly. Amelie will understand. She always does. She's a certainty."

A temporary marriage. For Kendall. To gain access to a therapist. And then he would divorce her and come back to me, his "certainty."

The realization was a physical blow. He wasn't just manipulative. He was calculating. He wasn't just delaying our wedding; he was planning to marry my sister to solve her problems, with the full intention of returning to me afterward. I wasn't his fiancée; I was his backup plan, his convenient, ever-present option.

"Amelie?" Bryce's voice cut through my shock, laced with impatience. "Are you still there? What's your decision?"

My decision. The word tasted like freedom, bitter and exhilarating.

"My decision is this, Bryce," I said, my voice calm, steady, devoid of the tremor I expected. "The engagement is off. Permanently. The wedding is canceled."

There was a stunned silence on the other end, followed by a sputtering protest. "Amelie, you can't be serious! This is just a misunderstanding. We can fix this!"

"No, Bryce," I interrupted, my voice unwavering. "There's nothing to fix. We're done."

I hung up, the click of the phone final, definitive. The wedding was canceled. Not postponed. Canceled.

Within the hour, I called my contact at Project Chimera. "I'm volunteering for the three-year assignment," I stated, my voice echoing with an unfamiliar strength. "Effective immediately. When can I leave?"

The next day, as the wedding invitations were being recalled, and the caterers informed, Bryce called again. His voice was frantic, desperate. "Amelie, please. Don't do this. My unit, they're already talking. This looks terrible for me. People will think... people will think you're unstable."

"Let them think what they want, Bryce," I said, my voice flat. My heart felt hollowed out, but strangely light. "What you or your unit thinks no longer concerns me."

"But what about your career, Ames? What about your security clearance? You know I could still-"

"You already tried to use that, Bryce," I cut him off, my voice chillingly calm. "And it didn't work. I'm going. The project is already approved."

He paused, then his tone shifted, becoming softer, more persuasive. "Amelie, darling, listen. I know this is hard for you. But... Kendall really needs me. She's been asking for you too. Says she feels abandoned. You know she looks up to you, Ames. What kind of sister would you be to just abandon her now?"

My stomach twisted. He was using Kendall's supposed needs again, trying to guilt-trip me, to paint me as the villain. My own sister's distress, a carefully orchestrated performance, was still his primary concern. The thought was a familiar ache, but now, it felt distant, numbed by the sheer audacity of his manipulation.

"And what about my name, Bryce?" I asked, my voice dangerously low. "When you parade around with Kendall, supposedly 'helping' her, what will people say about me? That I was too difficult? Too selfish? That you had to marry my sister to 'save' her?"

He hesitated, a fleeting moment of genuine discomfort. "Amelie, no one would think that. I'd make sure... I'd make sure everyone understood the delicate situation. We'd imply you just needed space, time to grow."

Time to grow. The words were a fresh insult, implying I was immature, underdeveloped, a project needing his guidance. My blood boiled, a searing heat that quickly turned to ice. My hands clenched at my sides. I wanted to scream. I wanted to tell him everything I knew, everything I suspected. But what was the point? He wouldn't hear it. He would twist it, deny it, make it my fault.

I felt a profound, aching weariness settle deep in my bones. It was a familiar feeling, one I had worn for years like a second skin. The weight of his expectations, my family's demands, Kendall's endless needs. It was suffocating. I had spent so long trying to make them happy, trying to be the "good daughter," the "understanding fiancée," the "supportive sister." I was so tired. So utterly, completely drained.

I remembered a conversation with my father years ago, when I was fighting for my first research grant. He had dismissed my ambitions, saying, "Why bother, Amelie? Kendall needs more attention. Your work is just a hobby. Focus on being a good wife." The memory was a dull throb, a constant reminder of how little my own aspirations had ever mattered to them.

"So, you want me to quietly disappear, Bryce?" I finally said, my voice devoid of emotion. "Let you play the hero for Kendall, and then, whenever you deem fit, you'll come back and 'save' me too, from the whispers and the rumors?"

"Not save you, Ames," he corrected, his voice attempting a soothing tone. "Protect you. You know I always want to protect you. Just... be patient. Like you always are."

Patient. The word tasted like bile. It was always about my patience, my understanding, my sacrifice. Never his. Never Kendall's. Never my parents'. It was always me. Always me waiting, always me giving, always me putting my own life on hold.

A cold, sarcastic laugh escaped my lips. "Oh, Bryce. You truly are a piece of work." It wasn't a question, it was a statement of fact. I knew then, with absolute certainty, that no matter what happened, I would never, ever be his "certainty" again.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded, his voice sharp with annoyance.

"It means I'll do what I have to do," I replied, my voice a whisper of defiance. "I'll go to the project. And you can do whatever you need to do with Kendall. Just... leave me out of it."

His tone immediately softened. "That's my girl, Ames. Always so sensible. I knew you'd understand. This is for the best. You'll see. We'll get through this, and then, when the time is right, we'll pick up right where we left off."

He sounded so smug, so confident in his manipulation. So certain. My stomach churned. Pick up right where we left off? As if I was a book he could simply put down and pick up at his leisure. The thought made me want to vomit.

"Right," I managed, the word a bitter taste on my tongue. "Of course we will, Bryce." My voice was laced with a venomous sarcasm he was too self-absorbed to detect. He truly believed he had won. He truly believed I would wait.

He truly believed I would still be his.