My Husband Called Me Paranoid While Begging His Mistress

I woke at five-thirty, twenty minutes before my alarm. The hotel room was still dark, but I could hear the ocean outside the window, a steady rhythm that had nothing to do with the chaos I was about to create. I showered in water that smelled faintly of salt and iron, scrubbed my skin until it was pink and raw, and stood in front of the mirror with a towel around my hair. For the first time in months, I didn't look away from my own reflection. I met my eyes and said, 'Today, you finish it.'

The Gilbert estate was a fifteen-minute cab ride from the hotel, a sprawling white mansion set back from the beach like something from a magazine. I had the driver drop me at the service entrance. A small white van was already parked there, marked with the logo of a local AV company. I walked up to the young man loading equipment and smiled.

'Hi, I'm Sarah from White Peony Productions,' I said, the name of the wedding planning firm I'd memorized from the venue's website. 'I'm running late for the ceremony. Can I borrow your access badge to grab something from the AV station? I left my phone charger in the equipment room.'

He looked at me for a second, then shrugged and handed me his spare badge. 'Don't lose it. And be quick. They're doing the final sound check in ten minutes.'

The AV room was small and dark, tucked behind the kitchen. Three screens showed different camera feeds of the garden, the guest seating, the empty altar. A man in a polo shirt was adjusting sliders on a soundboard.

'Last-minute addition to the slideshow,' I said, walking directly to the laptop connected to the main display. 'The bride wants to add a few more photos from the engagement party.'

He barely looked up. 'Password?'

I pulled out the folder I'd prepared. 'I have everything here. Already formatted for the system.'

He typed something into the keyboard, and I watched his fingers move. Then I leaned down and said, 'Actually, I think there's an issue with the file format. Let me just—'

I opened the folder, clicked 'replace slideshow,' and watched the new files upload. Seventeen letters. Two hotel receipts. Forty-one phone call logs. All set to play after slide twenty-three of the original engagement photos.

'There,' I said, stepping back. 'Perfect.'

He nodded and turned back to the soundboard. 'Tell them to start the music when the bride hits the halfway point on the aisle.'

I walked out through the kitchen, past the caterers plating canapés, and found my way to the garden. The ceremony was set to begin in twenty minutes. Three hundred white chairs arranged in perfect rows. A string quartet playing something classical and gentle. White peonies cascading from every surface, their heavy scent thick in the morning air.

I took a seat in the back row, next to an elderly woman who smiled at me politely. 'Friend of the bride or groom?' she asked.

'Neither,' I said. 'I'm here for the show.'

At eleven o'clock, the music shifted. The guests stood. And Amoura appeared at the garden entrance, radiant in a gown that cost more than most people's cars. She glided down the aisle like she was floating, her smile practiced and perfect, her eyes fixed on Kian Gilbert waiting at the altar.

I scanned the crowd and found Jared three rows back, half-hidden behind a marble column. He was watching her with that same tortured expression I'd seen in the letters—the look of a man who believed his pain made him noble. He didn't see me.

The officiant began the ceremony. 'We are gathered here today to celebrate the union of Kian and Amoura...'

Amoura stepped forward to begin her vows. Her voice trembled just enough to seem genuine. 'Kian, from the moment we met, I knew you were the one I was meant to—'

And then I stood up.

The movement was small, but it caught the attention of the people around me. A few heads turned. Someone whispered. I began walking, not fast, not slow, down the side aisle toward the front.

More heads turned. The whispering spread. The string quartet faltered, then kept playing, confused.

Amoura's voice stopped mid-sentence. She saw me coming, and her perfectly made-up face went white.

Jared saw me then. His mouth fell open. He started to stand, but his legs seemed to fail him.

I kept walking. The manila envelope felt heavy in my hands, but my steps were light. I felt the sun on my back, the breeze off the ocean, the weight of three hundred pairs of eyes.

The officiant said, 'Excuse me, ma'am—'

I reached the front. I looked at Amoura. I looked at Kian. I looked at Jared.

And I smiled.