Left at the Altar with His Triplets: The Billionaire Begs for Forgiveness - Chapter 4: Chapter 4
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"You heard me."
I looked at him, no longer avoiding his gaze. "I've given too much and endured too long. I don't need a husband in name only. I don't need an 'old friend' who only protects Victoria."
He stepped forward, trying to take my hand: "Paisley, calm down—"
I stepped back, dodging his touch. "I don't need to calm down. You're the one who should think carefully."
After that day, I began preparing for our wedding.
I had originally thought Arnold would make excuses, remain cold, or even use "too busy" as an excuse to avoid all wedding arrangements.
Unexpectedly, Arnold actually agreed.
From that day on, he began cooperating with me.
When I selected the wedding venue, he rarely arrived on time, sitting with the wedding team and seriously listening to proposals.
When I tried on wedding dresses, he even sat quietly on a bench, watching me try on one after another.
Those usually cold eyes occasionally flickered with an elusive softness.
"This one's nice," he said quietly, as if seriously evaluating rather than being perfunctory.
I stood in front of the mirror wearing that snow-white wedding dress, listening to his calm yet specific comment, momentarily unsure what expression I should wear.
"Do you... really want to hold this wedding?"
I tried to catch something from his face—not just respect for my mother's wishes, but for me, for our marriage, even just a little bit of cherishing.
Arnold lowered his eyes and adjusted his cuffs, his tone light as wind over paper: "We've been married for three years. You should indeed have a proper ceremony."
He said "give you," not "give us."
My heart twitched, but I didn't show it, only nodding gently: "Thank you."
I still hadn't told him about my pregnancy.
Not because I was hesitant, but because I didn't know if he truly cared about this family, or if he simply didn't want a divorce.
Perhaps my harsh words about "divorce if no wedding" had scared him.
Or maybe he just didn't want to be laughed at by outsiders, to be called someone who wouldn't even give his wife a proper ceremony.
How I wished he cared about me as a person.
Half a month later, the wedding ceremony was about to begin.
I stood in front of the mirror in the back hall, wearing the wedding dress Arnold had personally called "nice," my makeup exquisite, hair elegantly upswept—I almost didn't recognize myself in the mirror.
The door slowly opened—it was my mother.
She walked in leaning on a cane, thinner than before, but still dignified and elegant.
When she saw me, her eyes instantly filled with tears.
"You look... so beautiful today," she said softly, her voice choked with emotion. "Just like in my childhood dreams—you in white lace getting married."
I held her hand, smiling while holding back tears: "Mom, you said you would definitely see this day with your own eyes."
She nodded, her palm gently stroking my face: "Yes. Now I've seen it—my daughter has grown up and will be happy."
"I will be," I nodded firmly, but avoided her gaze.
The ceremony was scheduled to start at two o'clock. But by 2:20, Arnold still hadn't appeared.
Guests were murmuring in low voices, some offering forced comfort: "Maybe something came up?"
My hands holding the bouquet gradually grew cold.
The host quietly approached asking if we should delay, but I shook my head with a forced smile: "He'll come."
But an hour passed, and the chapel doors remained unopened.
Mother looked at me, wanting to say something, but ultimately just sighed softly. She sat back in her chair, struggling to maintain dignity.
When the ceremony was officially canceled, my body gradually filled with despair.
Guests slowly dispersed, and I stood in the empty chapel, still wearing that wedding dress, standing alone among the flowers like an absurd joke.
Mother struggled to stand, wanting to support me: "It's okay, darling... you're still young..."
Before she could finish, she suddenly turned pale and swayed violently.
"Mom!" I rushed to catch her.
She collapsed into my arms, her lips blue, breathing faint.
In the chaos, someone called for an ambulance.
I knelt on the white carpet, holding my mother's frail body, tears finally streaming uncontrollably, soaking the wedding dress that never made it down the aisle.
A few days later, my mother's portrait sat beside the urn at the center of the church, surrounded by white flowers.
She didn't live to see a real wedding, nor did she see me truly happy.
I stood at the front in a black dress, my expression calm to the point of numbness.
People whispered around me.
"I heard the groom never showed up."
"Sigh, the old lady must have been so disappointed..."
"Hey, look, is that person the groom?"
I looked at him, no longer avoiding his gaze. "I've given too much and endured too long. I don't need a husband in name only. I don't need an 'old friend' who only protects Victoria."
He stepped forward, trying to take my hand: "Paisley, calm down—"
I stepped back, dodging his touch. "I don't need to calm down. You're the one who should think carefully."
After that day, I began preparing for our wedding.
I had originally thought Arnold would make excuses, remain cold, or even use "too busy" as an excuse to avoid all wedding arrangements.
Unexpectedly, Arnold actually agreed.
From that day on, he began cooperating with me.
When I selected the wedding venue, he rarely arrived on time, sitting with the wedding team and seriously listening to proposals.
When I tried on wedding dresses, he even sat quietly on a bench, watching me try on one after another.
Those usually cold eyes occasionally flickered with an elusive softness.
"This one's nice," he said quietly, as if seriously evaluating rather than being perfunctory.
I stood in front of the mirror wearing that snow-white wedding dress, listening to his calm yet specific comment, momentarily unsure what expression I should wear.
"Do you... really want to hold this wedding?"
I tried to catch something from his face—not just respect for my mother's wishes, but for me, for our marriage, even just a little bit of cherishing.
Arnold lowered his eyes and adjusted his cuffs, his tone light as wind over paper: "We've been married for three years. You should indeed have a proper ceremony."
He said "give you," not "give us."
My heart twitched, but I didn't show it, only nodding gently: "Thank you."
I still hadn't told him about my pregnancy.
Not because I was hesitant, but because I didn't know if he truly cared about this family, or if he simply didn't want a divorce.
Perhaps my harsh words about "divorce if no wedding" had scared him.
Or maybe he just didn't want to be laughed at by outsiders, to be called someone who wouldn't even give his wife a proper ceremony.
How I wished he cared about me as a person.
Half a month later, the wedding ceremony was about to begin.
I stood in front of the mirror in the back hall, wearing the wedding dress Arnold had personally called "nice," my makeup exquisite, hair elegantly upswept—I almost didn't recognize myself in the mirror.
The door slowly opened—it was my mother.
She walked in leaning on a cane, thinner than before, but still dignified and elegant.
When she saw me, her eyes instantly filled with tears.
"You look... so beautiful today," she said softly, her voice choked with emotion. "Just like in my childhood dreams—you in white lace getting married."
I held her hand, smiling while holding back tears: "Mom, you said you would definitely see this day with your own eyes."
She nodded, her palm gently stroking my face: "Yes. Now I've seen it—my daughter has grown up and will be happy."
"I will be," I nodded firmly, but avoided her gaze.
The ceremony was scheduled to start at two o'clock. But by 2:20, Arnold still hadn't appeared.
Guests were murmuring in low voices, some offering forced comfort: "Maybe something came up?"
My hands holding the bouquet gradually grew cold.
The host quietly approached asking if we should delay, but I shook my head with a forced smile: "He'll come."
But an hour passed, and the chapel doors remained unopened.
Mother looked at me, wanting to say something, but ultimately just sighed softly. She sat back in her chair, struggling to maintain dignity.
When the ceremony was officially canceled, my body gradually filled with despair.
Guests slowly dispersed, and I stood in the empty chapel, still wearing that wedding dress, standing alone among the flowers like an absurd joke.
Mother struggled to stand, wanting to support me: "It's okay, darling... you're still young..."
Before she could finish, she suddenly turned pale and swayed violently.
"Mom!" I rushed to catch her.
She collapsed into my arms, her lips blue, breathing faint.
In the chaos, someone called for an ambulance.
I knelt on the white carpet, holding my mother's frail body, tears finally streaming uncontrollably, soaking the wedding dress that never made it down the aisle.
A few days later, my mother's portrait sat beside the urn at the center of the church, surrounded by white flowers.
She didn't live to see a real wedding, nor did she see me truly happy.
I stood at the front in a black dress, my expression calm to the point of numbness.
People whispered around me.
"I heard the groom never showed up."
"Sigh, the old lady must have been so disappointed..."
"Hey, look, is that person the groom?"
End of Left at the Altar with His Triplets: The Billionaire Begs for Forgiveness Chapter 4. Continue reading Chapter 5 or return to Left at the Altar with His Triplets: The Billionaire Begs for Forgiveness book page.