The Wedding They'll Never Forget - Chapter 4: Chapter 4
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I knew pulling this off required an Oscar-worthy performance. Step five: transforming into the ideal bride—all sweet compliance and unwavering support through every tedious wedding detail.
The act was flawless. Him? His family? Our so-called friends? None of them suspected a thing. My calculated kindness was the perfect setup—the more understanding I appeared, the more brutal my disappearance would be.
Claire played her part too, oozing fake sympathy during her "casual" check-ins. "Ruby," she'd purr, "I feel awful Paul's stuck in meetings during wedding crunch time. It must be so hard handling everything alone. Don't worry—I'll still get you the best gift even though I left the company." Her saccharine smile made my fingers itch to wipe it off her face. But I played along. I knew exactly where she'd be during that "business trip"—wrapped around Paul.
Wedding dress fittings became my personal theater. Standing motionless as the seamstress fussed with lace and tulle, I might as well have been a mannequin—cold and hollow inside. Meanwhile, Paul watched with dopey admiration, mistaking my icy patience for devotion.
"It's perfect," I'd murmur whenever he asked about adjustments, batting my lashes. "I trust your taste completely." The way his eyes melted, you'd think he'd won the fiancée lottery. Poor fool. My compliance wasn't about love—it was a chess move.
Our pre-wedding photoshoot? Pure cinematic gold. Hand-in-hand through sun-dappled fields, exchanging lovesick gazes—the photographer ate it up. I deliberately made him the star of every shot, feeding his ego while crafting the perfect illusion. Each frame was a ticking time bomb.
I weaponized chill bride energy. Caterer screwed up? "We'll make it work!" Florist late? "No stress!" When he "worked late" or jetted off to "business meetings," I'd just smile: "Go ahead, babe. I've got this." He probably thought he'd scored the world's most easygoing wife. Joke's on him—every indulgent nod pushed him deeper into complacency.
As D-Day approached, I doubled down. Finalizing seating charts. Gushing to his mom about joining the family. "It'll be the happiest day of our lives," I'd sigh, while secretly uninviting my entire guest list (minus his inner circle, of course).
The night before, I packed a single suitcase—only essentials, no traces. Booked a one-way ticket to another continent. New phone. New email. Locked down every shared account. While he snoozed at his parents', dreaming of wedded bliss, I was wide awake, mentally already gone.
Come morning, as he buttoned his tux, I was wheels-up at the airport. His big day? More like a public execution.
The venue was a masterpiece of awkwardness—my side of the aisle, conspicuously empty. His frantic calls to me and my "family"? Radio silence.
But the pièce de résistance arrived via special delivery: a flash drive loaded with his cheating highlights, queued up to play for all his nearest and dearest. Everything was already paid for—why waste a perfectly good audience?
As the video rolled, I'd be sipping champagne at 30,000 feet, watching his life implode from a safe, untouchable distance.
Checkmate.
The act was flawless. Him? His family? Our so-called friends? None of them suspected a thing. My calculated kindness was the perfect setup—the more understanding I appeared, the more brutal my disappearance would be.
Claire played her part too, oozing fake sympathy during her "casual" check-ins. "Ruby," she'd purr, "I feel awful Paul's stuck in meetings during wedding crunch time. It must be so hard handling everything alone. Don't worry—I'll still get you the best gift even though I left the company." Her saccharine smile made my fingers itch to wipe it off her face. But I played along. I knew exactly where she'd be during that "business trip"—wrapped around Paul.
Wedding dress fittings became my personal theater. Standing motionless as the seamstress fussed with lace and tulle, I might as well have been a mannequin—cold and hollow inside. Meanwhile, Paul watched with dopey admiration, mistaking my icy patience for devotion.
"It's perfect," I'd murmur whenever he asked about adjustments, batting my lashes. "I trust your taste completely." The way his eyes melted, you'd think he'd won the fiancée lottery. Poor fool. My compliance wasn't about love—it was a chess move.
Our pre-wedding photoshoot? Pure cinematic gold. Hand-in-hand through sun-dappled fields, exchanging lovesick gazes—the photographer ate it up. I deliberately made him the star of every shot, feeding his ego while crafting the perfect illusion. Each frame was a ticking time bomb.
I weaponized chill bride energy. Caterer screwed up? "We'll make it work!" Florist late? "No stress!" When he "worked late" or jetted off to "business meetings," I'd just smile: "Go ahead, babe. I've got this." He probably thought he'd scored the world's most easygoing wife. Joke's on him—every indulgent nod pushed him deeper into complacency.
As D-Day approached, I doubled down. Finalizing seating charts. Gushing to his mom about joining the family. "It'll be the happiest day of our lives," I'd sigh, while secretly uninviting my entire guest list (minus his inner circle, of course).
The night before, I packed a single suitcase—only essentials, no traces. Booked a one-way ticket to another continent. New phone. New email. Locked down every shared account. While he snoozed at his parents', dreaming of wedded bliss, I was wide awake, mentally already gone.
Come morning, as he buttoned his tux, I was wheels-up at the airport. His big day? More like a public execution.
The venue was a masterpiece of awkwardness—my side of the aisle, conspicuously empty. His frantic calls to me and my "family"? Radio silence.
But the pièce de résistance arrived via special delivery: a flash drive loaded with his cheating highlights, queued up to play for all his nearest and dearest. Everything was already paid for—why waste a perfectly good audience?
As the video rolled, I'd be sipping champagne at 30,000 feet, watching his life implode from a safe, untouchable distance.
Checkmate.
End of The Wedding They'll Never Forget Chapter 4. Continue reading Chapter 5 or return to The Wedding They'll Never Forget book page.