The night before our wedding, on a whim, I opened the jar of paper stars Lucas gave me during college.

Every single one was scribbled with "Drop dead" in red ink.

Yet I clearly remembered watching Lucas fold them for a week back then, supposedly writing "Love you" inside.

In disbelief, I called Lucas.

He paused for a few seconds before answering casually.

"Found that out? I thought you'd discover something else."

Then I heard him tap the desk, and the background noise quieted down.

"Hey, she found the star jar. Pay up if you lost the bet."

Groans of disappointment erupted on the other end.

"Damn it! It's been almost ten years—I was so close to winning!"

These were the same people who'd been calling me "sister-in-law" all this time.

That's when I realized: our entire relationship was just a decade-long bet between Lucas and his friends.

They were betting on how long it would take for me to discover Lucas never loved me.

And those stars supposedly filled with love? They were never meant for me in the first place.

I hung up and began combing through every high school classmate's social media.

Until I saw our college advisor's post—featuring an identical star jar.

All night, I scrolled through every female classmate's social media feed.

Even those friends of Lucas I hadn't added—I borrowed accounts to check theirs too.

Just as I was about to log off, I saw a post from Joanne Whitmore, our college advisor, uploaded that morning.

I didn't see it earlier—why had she blocked me?

Joanne's caption read: "I don't blame you anymore. Wishing you happiness."

The comments section was flooded with consolations.

"Ms. Whitmore got divorced today. Wishing her happiness."

"Out with the old, in with the new. Hope Ms. Whitmore finds someone better."

They all thought Joanne was reminiscing about her ex-husband, freshly divorced.

But I recognized the identical star-shaped jar in the photo—even the yellowed glass matched perfectly.

She was clearly reminiscing about Lucas!

Lucas had liked the post and commented with a hugging emoji.

Seeing the timestamp of his comment, my hands trembled slightly.

After dinner, Lucas idly browsed his phone, then suddenly stood up, a smirk curling his lips.

"Babe, Will and the guys invited me for drinks—a last bachelor party before tomorrow's wedding. I'll be back soon."

He lowered his head and kissed my forehead, his voice tender. "Wait for me, darling."

It seemed reasonable, so I let him go.

Looking back now.

Was Lucas truly happy about going to the gathering?

Or was he happy to see Joanne divorced?

In an instant, I dug out all of Lucas's university belongings.

I never used to go through them—we'd been dating since college, and I thought I knew him inside out.

But atop the pile lay a leather-bound notebook I'd never seen before.

When I opened it, I froze.

It was an entire handwritten love letter.

Lucas, who couldn't even be bothered to copy homework answers, had penned every word with tender devotion.

"To Ms. Whitmore, to Joanne, to the love of my heart..."

At the end of the notebook was a graduation photo.

In the picture, Lucas's gaze was lowered, fixed on something below.

I had always thought he was looking at me in the row beneath.

But in this photo, my face was completely scribbled over in red ink. Not a trace left visible.

Lucas was unmistakably looking at Joanne in the very bottom row.

Tears fell onto the photo, but couldn't smudge the long-dried ink.

I couldn't understand—how had Lucas stayed with me all these years while harboring feelings for Joanne?

He never even bothered to hide the traces, openly waiting for me to discover them.

And I, hopelessly foolish, kept naively dreaming of a future with him.

The door opened. Lucas returned reeking of alcohol.

He usually didn't drink this much.

He must have been overjoyed today.

The moment he saw me, he staggered over and buried his face in my shoulder.

"Baby, we're getting married tomorrow. I'm so happy."

His words felt like pure mockery. I slapped him across the face without hesitation.

Lucas froze, staring at me with drunken, bleary eyes, feigning innocence.

"What's wrong, baby?"

"Lucas, do you remember what you just said?"

He shook his head, eyes closed, and tightened his arms around my waist, mumbling.

"Baby, I was just joking with my friends earlier. Had too much to drink. Don't take it seriously."

They say in vino veritas. I sneered and asked him again.

"You like Joanne Whitmore. Why didn't you ever tell me?"

His eyes cleared instantly.

"Serena, Ms. Whitmore has nothing to do with this. Don't overthink it."

His tone was indifferent.

"Alright, stop making a scene. We have a wedding tomorrow."

He still thought we'd get married.

Of course—ten years of sunk cost.

He smirked. "Picked out your wedding dress? Tomorrow's your big day."

My big day.

I looked at him and suddenly laughed too.

Wedding Eve: My Fiancé Wished Me Dead — Chapter 7

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