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The Girl I Could Never Measure Up To Novel Cover

The Girl I Could Never Measure Up To

As I suffered a sudden, suffocating heart attack while trying on my wedding gown, my fiancé did the unthinkable. Instead of helping me as I lay in agony on the floor, he ignored my pain to dote on another woman, coaxing her to try on my dress and kneeling to adjust her skirt. The ultimate betrayal was sealed when she posted a wedding photo on her way home, featuring my own fiancé as the groom.
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Chapter 1

My heart decided to betray me the moment the wedding photographer said, "Smile for the camera, lovebirds."

A sharp, familiar pain clenched my chest, stealing my breath. The world blurred at the edges. I staggered, my hand flying to the expensive lace over my heart. "Ethan…" I gasped, my voice a thin thread.

But Ethan wasn’t looking at me. He was ten feet away, kneeling on the studio floor, his back to my suffering. His focus was entirely on Chloe, his childhood best friend, who was spinning in *my* wedding gown, the one I’d spent six months designing in my head.

"It fits you like a dream, Chlo," he said, his voice soft, a gentle smile on his face as he carefully arranged the train around her feet. "You look perfect."

The photographer cleared his throat awkwardly. "Sir, your fiancée…"

Ethan didn’t even glance over. "She’s fine. Just needs a minute. Hold still, sweetheart, this lace is caught on your heel."

I collapsed. The cold hardwood floor met my cheek. Spots danced in my vision, and a crushing weight sat on my lungs. *I can’t breathe. Oh God, I can’t breathe.*

Through the roaring in my ears, I heard Chloe’s giggle. "Stop it, Ethan, you’re tickling me!"

My world narrowed to the grain of the wood and the seizing pain in my chest. When the paramedics finally arrived, Ethan was still with her, helping her out of the dress, his face a mask of tender concern—for her.

On the way home, slumped in the backseat of Ethan’s Tesla while he drove, a notification popped up on my phone. A social media update from Chloe.

My thumb trembled as I tapped it. It was a photo. Not from today, but a mock-up, expertly edited. Chloe, in a different but equally gorgeous gown, beaming up at Ethan in a tux. The caption read: "When your person feels like home. #Blessed #FutureMrsWinters"

For a second, the old fire ignited—the jealousy, the hurt, the desperate need to scream. Then, it fizzled out, leaving behind a cold, hollow calm. I opened our banking app and sent a $9.99 Venmo request to Ethan with the note: *"Wedding gift. Congrats."*

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