My Groom Chose to Marry my Bestfriend

I made an appointment to select the wedding photos the next morning. As the woman assisting me in the studio noticed Hudson's absence, she asked, "Why didn’t Hudson come with you for such an important occasion?"

I responded blankly, "He’s dead, and his body is torn apart."

Her face fell in shock, eyes widening with horror. "I’m so sorry, Miss Aubrey. This is so sudden. Please accept my condolences."

I smiled, a cold twist of irony creeping into my expression. "It’s okay. He deserved it."

Flustered and unsure how to respond, she quickly led me to the VIP room.

When it came time to select the photos, I made only one request: delete every group shot and keep only my individual portraits. I chose just two photos of Hudson—a full-body shot and a headshot. Both were printed in black and white, framed, and prepared to be sent to the banquet hall on the second floor of the Royal No. 1 Hotel in four days—for a funeral.

The wedding photos I had taken turned out beautifully, and I decided to repurpose them as my personal portraits.

Later, I reached out to a few small influencers online, hinting that there would be explosive drama at the wedding—something reminiscent of a "catfishing bride" scandal. I encouraged them to seize the opportunity for the traffic it would generate.

These would be the wedding gifts I had prepared for Hudson and Harper. If everything went as planned, an even bigger surprise awaited them on the day of the ceremony.

I returned to the wedding suite that I had shared with Hudson and began packing all my belongings, including the carefully selected wedding items that now felt meaningless. I moved out that same day.

Hudson was right about one thing: the houses in our hometown were uncomfortably close to the Harpers’. It made my stomach churn to see them everywhere. After discussing it with my mother, we decided to hire a local agent to help us sell the property.

Before leaving, my mother and I visited my father’s grave, where I placed a bottle of his favorite whiskey. This trip abroad was meant to help manage my mother’s condition, but upon my return, I planned to take her traveling across the country, allowing us to enjoy wherever the road led us.

Once everything was settled, I checked into a hotel near the hospital.

Three days later, in the early morning, Hudson called me. "Aubrey, why aren’t you home this late?"

"I just got back from a business trip, and I’m starving. I want some of those shredded pork noodles you make," he said.

I replied groggily, "I’m staying at a hotel. The wedding is soon, and it’s tradition for the bride and groom not to see each other before the ceremony. An old rule, you know."

“Check the fridge and make something for yourself,” I replied coolly.

“If that’s all, I’m hanging up,” Hudson said.

He murmured something else, but I hung up before he could finish. In the past, no matter how late he returned, if he said he was hungry, I would drag myself out of bed to prepare him a hot bowl of noodles. Too bad for him—he wouldn’t be getting that anymore.

The next morning, I picked up my phone and saw another Weibo update from Harper. It turned out Hudson had brought her back to our wedding suite the previous night. Harper had made him a bowl of crayfish noodles, and they shared noodles until their lips met in a kiss.

It was his way of showing me just how little I meant to him.

Hudson hadn’t called or messaged me in the last couple of days. He’d been too busy picking out wedding dresses for Harper and preparing souvenirs for the entire town, as well as writing invitations for her family.

It wasn’t until the night before the wedding that he finally sent me a message: “Wife, rest well tonight. Your husband will pick you up tomorrow.”

I simply replied, “OK.”

The next morning, my mother, accompanied by a medical team, and I boarded a plane to a foreign country. Throughout the journey, my phone buzzed non-stop.

Hudson had probably received the "gift" I sent him by then—and he was livid.

Just before I turned my phone off, a Facebook message popped up: “Aubrey, no matter where you hide, I will find you. Just wait.”