Now I’m Someone Else’s Bride

Our wedding was supposed to be in Napa Valley. Instead, my fiancé, Liam Parker, ditched me at the altar to fly to a wellness retreat in Big Sur with his childhood friend.

While I was left standing alone in a hall full of guests, my phone buzzed with a notification: they had just blown through our entire honeymoon fund.

As pitying and questioning gazes burned into me, Liam’s voice came through the phone, cold and distant. "A wedding is just a formality. You can handle it."

The sheer nerve of it all sent my father into cardiac arrest. He was rushed to the hospital, needing emergency surgery—surgery we couldn't afford because Liam had spent the money on a "healing trip" with Scarlett.

The moment my father woke up, I looked into his heartbroken eyes and told him I would marry the man he’d chosen for me.

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1

My father’s brush with death was all the convincing I needed. When my parents suggested I marry a prominent tech CEO, I agreed without a second thought.

My future husband, Caleb Prescott, accepted my friend request instantly. After a brief exchange, we quickly settled on a wedding date.

Only then did my parents let out a collective sigh of relief. Mom clutched my hand, her eyes welling with tears. "You and Liam... it's been almost ten years."

"But to pull something like this on your wedding day? It proves he never took you seriously. Your father and I don't want to force you, but given the circumstances—"

"I understand, Mom."

"Good. Let's arrange the wedding as quickly as possible, before Liam gets back and causes more trouble."

So, Caleb and I set the date for that Sunday, planning to sign the papers and make it official right after the ceremony.

My parents gave me four days to sort through a decade's worth of Liam and move out of the apartment we shared.

…

When I got back from the hospital, a pile of packages was waiting at my door. They were all from Big Sur—local specialties, handicrafts, and other cheap souvenirs.

My calls to Liam still went straight to voicemail, but his Instagram was a flurry of activity.

The last time we'd spoken, I’d been frantic, asking where he was when our wedding was about to start. He’d just sent me his live location, a pin dropped on the Big Sur coastline.

I methodically archived every pinned photo of us on my Instagram profile, then changed the matching couple's profile picture we had used for ten years.

It didn't take long for a single question mark to appear in my DMs from Liam. When I didn't respond, a voice message followed.

"What's this about? You archived the photos just to get my attention? Fine. I'm changing mine too. I was sick of those matching profile pics anyway."

True to his word, Liam's profile picture changed.

A moment later, his childhood friend, Scarlett Vaughn, changed hers as well. Her new picture was a moody silhouette of her and a man against a sunset.

I was done playing his twisted games. I just replied, "Okay," and deleted the wedding planning board we'd shared on Pinterest.

Just as I was about to close the app, Liam’s newest story popped up. It was a video of him and Scarlett at a cliffside café, watching the ocean. Scarlett, in a flowing dress, rested her head on his shoulder.

The romantic tension between them practically radiated from the screen. And yet, Liam always insisted they were just "soulmates."

Right. Liam and Scarlett, the "forever soulmates." He was just being a "good friend," the kind who ditches his fiancée of ten years on their wedding day to rush to the side of someone having a conveniently timed "mental health crisis."