My Best Friend Stole My Husband, So I Rewrote My Fate

"She's probably been the jealous wife for so long she thinks every woman is after her husband. Tsk, tsk, tsk. How embarrassing..."

My protests had grown feeble against the tide of sneering and mockery from the guests, and under Clay's weary gaze.

He sighed, resigned, and walked over to wrap me in a gentle embrace.

"It's okay. If you don't like her, we'll fire her. How about that?"

"But you should've just told me directly, instead of making up rumors about the poor girl..."

I'd thought he was simply like the rest of the guests, fooled by Roberta's lies and her act.

It wasn't until the moment I died that I finally understood.

His heart had already shifted toward Roberta.

...

This time, I watched expressionlessly as Roberta threw herself into Clay's arms.

I didn't miss the flicker of desire that passed through his eyes.

But a second later, he shot a quick glance my way.

He pushed the woman in his arms back, his face turning cold. "That joke wasn't funny. Apologize to my wife right now, and take that stain off so you can redo her makeup."

"No need."

My voice was calm.

I picked up a makeup wipe and began cleaning the marks from my face.

Clay let out a breath of relief and patted Roberta gently on the head. "Hurry up and thank my wife. If she weren't so kind and forgiving, you'd be in real trouble—"

I cut him off.

"Clay, there's no need to redo the makeup. The wedding is off."

He stared at me in disbelief. After a long pause, he let out a short laugh. "That's not funny."

"It's not a joke."

I reached back and unzipped the wedding dress—the one Clay had pulled God knows how many strings to have flown in from overseas. I stripped it off and tossed it aside like it was garbage.

"The wedding is canceled. We're done."

I pulled on my coat and headed for the door.

"Lydia!"

Only then did Clay realize I was serious. He grabbed my wrist, veins bulging at his temples from the effort of keeping his composure.

"You're calling off the wedding over a makeup artist's prank?"

He looked at me, those handsome eyes brimming with hurt and confusion. "Lydia, stop this!"

"This wedding—do you have any idea how much we put into it? Our friends and family are all here. You can't just—"

I wrenched my wrist free. I ignored the whispers and pointed fingers around me and fixed him with a cold, mocking stare.

"Clay, you know exactly why I won't marry you."

"I'm giving you a chance to be with the person you actually love. Isn't that a good thing?"

I expected to see panic flash across his face.

Instead, his expression didn't waver. He looked at me with that same wounded confusion. "Lydia, what are you talking about? Everyone knows you're the only one I love."

He pointed at Roberta. "Is this about her?"

His tone turned helpless. "I had no idea she was going to pull that stunt."

"Besides, didn't I already say I'd make her apologize? If that's still not enough, I'll fire her on the spot."

Roberta burst into tears, sobs wracking her shoulders, and turned to run.

Clay didn't spare her a single glance. His dark eyes locked onto mine, deep and unwavering. "Are we good now?"

I looked back at him, my gaze flat. I said nothing.

Clay's parents walked in, their voices already laced with reproach.

"He's already apologized, Lydia. Playing hard to get at this point is just petty."

"Do you have any idea how good Clay has been to you? Have you forgotten who performed your mother's surgery? Who arranged her follow-up care? A person shouldn't bite the hand that feeds them."