I stood outside our wedding chamber, clutching the limited-edition cufflinks I'd brought back from Milan,

They were from Mark's favorite brand,

the ones he'd begged for like an excited child during our video calls.

The fingerprint lock clicked open with a soft beep.

The mirror in the entryway reflected my travel-worn figure; twenty hours of flying had left me bone-tired,

But thinking about becoming Mark's bride next week still brought a smile to my lips.

I'd deliberately kept my early arrival a secret, wanting to surprise him.

Then,

I saw them.

My wedding dress—the one I'd personally designed, had altered three times in Paris, crafted from Italian lace and French fine gauze into a pure white masterpiece—was now draped over Vivian's body.

She sat with her back to me, perched on a man's lap on our sofa.

It was Mark.

My fiancé. The man I was about to pledge my life to in front of everyone we knew.

Vivian had her arms wrapped around his neck, her cheek pressed against his temple, her body swaying gently to the jazz music floating through the room.

Her voice was soft and alluring, carrying a flirtatious tone I'd never heard from her before—the voice a woman reserves only for her lover:

"Mark, how do I look in this? Doesn't it suit me better than June?"

Mark's hand—the same one that had held mine countless times and tenderly brushed through my hair—

now rested firmly on Vivian's waist,

and hearing her words, he even stroked that patch of expensive lace,

responding with a deep, intimate chuckle:

"You little temptress, don't be ridiculous."

"Who's being ridiculous?"

Vivian twisted playfully in his lap, making my wedding dress billow out like ocean waves,

"Anyway, June always said what's hers is mine. She shared her snacks with me as kids and we swapped dresses. So sharing a man with me should be fine too, right?"

"But do you think June would still marry you if she knew about us?"

"The three of us living together could be fun too!"

Mark seemed amused by this, his laughter filled with undisguised indulgence:

"Don't be silly. The invitations went out weeks ago. Everyone's coming tomorrow. You think she'd run away at the last minute? She's trapped. Don't worry about it."

My fingers froze on the doorknob, the cold metal burning against my palm.

The air was thick with Vivian's gardenia perfume mingling with Mark's cedar aftershave,

scents that once brought me comfort,

now twisted into something sickly sweet and nauseating.

I bit down hard on my lower lip until I tasted blood.

My nails dug crescents into my palm, yet I felt nothing at all.