1 I was in the middle of a case review, deep in discussion with my team in the conference room, when my phone buzzed on the table. A notification from my college alumni group chat. I glanced at it. “Huge congrats to Nick Blackwood and Aria Thorne on their wedding!” I dismissed it, assuming it was just the usual alumni banter. But less than a minute later, my phone started vibrating nonstop. The chat had blown up, notifications rocketing past 99+. With a frown, I unlocked my phone. The screen was a flood of congratulations for a man named Brandon and an elite lawyer named Aria Thorne, celebrating their marriage. My heart seized in my chest, and the air soured in my lungs. Aria Thorne. My wife of five years. And Brandon… he was the new intern at our firm. My hand trembled as I prepared to call her. But before I could, a link popped up in a direct message. It was a digital wedding invitation. For her and the intern. The caption read: We cordially invite you to celebrate our union on August 10th. I stared at the invitation, at the image of Aria, radiant in a white gown, her smile a perfect, joyful bloom. My mind went blank. I knew that dress. I knew it intimately. Just last month, after coming home late from the office, I’d found her staring, mesmerized, at a design sketch on her phone. I had wrapped my arms around her waist, teasing her with a soft laugh. “Thinking of walking down the aisle a second time, Mrs. Blackwood?” She turned in my arms, playfully swatting my chest. Her wedding ring pressed hard against my skin. "You know it." I had thought she was joking. I never, in my wildest nightmares, imagined she was planning to marry someone else. Before clicking that link, a desperate sliver of hope remained. Maybe it was a mistake. A cruel prank, a case of mistaken identity… But the familiar face in the wedding photos, smiling up at another man, was undeniable. And the $500,000 transfer record on my banking app was the final, brutal confirmation. Two slaps to the face, one after the other, forcing a single, horrific truth upon me: This was real. The venue was the most exclusive five-star hotel in Havencrest. The irony was a bitter pill. Just yesterday, Aria had been curled up in my arms, helping me pick this very hotel. When I’d asked why she was suddenly so interested in venues, she’d blushed and said she was helping her cousin plan her wedding. As she spoke, the faint red marks my fingers had left on her waist were still fresh. Even this morning, before I left for my business trip, she had clung to me, her eyes filled with what I thought was devotion. She made me swear I’d love her forever. The moment I left, she began sending me a stream of updates, her location, her schedule—a performance of meticulous care. She loved me so much, she said. How could she be marrying someone else? My breath came in ragged gasps as I forced myself to scroll through the alumni chat. “Wow, eight years and finally tying the knot! So happy for you both! #couplegoals” “From college sweethearts to husband and wife—the ultimate romance. Wishing you a lifetime of happiness!” Aria was responding to every message with effusive warmth. “Thank you all so much! You have to come and celebrate with us on the 10th!” I mechanically scrolled through the photos she’d shared from the ceremony. The shots were backlit, their faces obscured, but I could see the silhouette of a couple kissing on a stage. Even as a shadow, I recognized her instantly. At the small of her back, where her gown was cut low, a tattoo was starkly visible: the letter ‘B’. She’d gotten it right after we were legally married. She had kissed my lips, her voice a husky promise. "This way, I'll have Blackwood's 'B' etched on me forever." It was my favorite place to trace with my fingers after we made love. But now, seeing her beside Brandon, a primal fear I had never known gripped me. Without hesitation, I started a video call. Her hair was swept up, her eyes smiling. “Honey,” she cooed, “it’s only been half a day and you miss me already?” She was wearing that same strapless wedding gown. The background was a cacophony of celebratory noise. I stared at her bare shoulders, forcing my voice to remain steady. “All dressed up. Where are you? Sounds like a party.” Her expression didn’t flicker. Her smile was as sweet as ever. “Just landed. It’s my cousin’s wedding rehearsal. I’m giving a speech for our side of the family.” She winked. “Everyone is raving about the hotel you picked, by the way!” She leaned closer to the camera, her voice dropping to an intimate whisper. “I know you miss me. I miss you like crazy, too. As soon as this is over, I’ll rush right back to you, okay?” Suddenly, a voice shouted in the background, sharp and clear. “Bride and groom, we need you over here for a lighting check!” Aria’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second, but her voice became even sweeter. “Gotta go help out. I’ll talk to you later, honey!” Before I could reply, the screen went black. I stared at our photo on my lock screen, a raw, tearing sensation ripping through my chest. That dress she was wearing—a custom-designed, half-a-million-dollar gown. The order confirmation was still in my email. When we first got married, I was fighting with my family, too proud to ask them for money. To save us the expense, she had chosen the cheapest dress in the shop. It broke my heart. I wanted to buy her the one she truly loved, but she had just snuggled into my arms and whispered, “Nick, I don’t want you to bend over backward for me. A simple life with you is all I need.” The more she sacrificed, the more I felt I owed her. All these years, I’d carried the weight of that debt, planning to one day give her the perfect, lavish wedding she deserved. And now, it seemed she finally had it. Her dream wedding. The only problem was, the groom wasn’t me. It wasn't that she didn't want a grand wedding. She just didn't want it with me. A bitter laugh escaped my lips as my screen lit up again. A message from Aria. It was a picture of two exquisite brooches. “Look what I found at the duty-free shop! They’re limited edition, matching pins.” “We can wear them to the firm’s gala at the end of the year, what do you think?” The pins were a chic, bamboo-link design—my favorite style, understated yet luxurious. Reading her excited words felt like a physical blow, knocking the air from my lungs. For five years, she had been this person. The soul of thoughtfulness and care. A thermos of hot coffee was always waiting when I worked late nights. A bowl of warm soup was always on the stove when I came home from the rain. She remembered I hated onions and garlic. She remembered my favorite color was black. She knew about my migraines and always carried my medication in her purse. She would even remember a dress I had casually complimented and wear it on every date night that followed. Five years of memories flooded in, a tidal wave of tenderness now poisoned by betrayal, threatening to drown me. I collapsed onto the sofa, my eyes squeezed shut. But my fingers, moving with a will of their own, were already booking a flight to the next city. I had to ask her. To her face. Were these five years of love and devotion all just an elaborate, perfectly executed lie? … The next morning, I sat in the airport lounge, silent, the boarding pass crumpled in my white-knuckled fist. I craved the truth, yet I was terrified of what I would find. Just as they called my flight, my phone rang. “Honey, the wedding’s over!” Aria’s voice was bright and bubbly. “I bought a ticket for this afternoon. I’m bringing you back so many wedding favors!” “Can you come pick me up at the airport? I want you to be the first person I see!” Her voice was laced with that familiar, sweet coaxing. For the first time, it sounded cloying, almost sickening. I stared at my boarding pass and replied in a monotone, “Alright. I’ll be in the parking garage.” Sitting in my car, I stared at the small photo charm hanging from the rearview mirror. In the picture, she was wearing that cheap wedding dress, her smile so genuine it hurt to look at. Maybe… maybe it really is all a misunderstanding, I told myself, a desperate, pathetic lie. And then, a notification popped up on my phone, a push alert that shattered my last illusion. The social media account “OurInfinity” had a new post. It was a video. In it, Brandon was kissing Aria’s hand with profound reverence. “Aria,” he said, his voice thick with emotion, “thank you for choosing me. I swear I will spend the rest of my life loving only you.” Aria, wearing the very gown I had chosen for her, was weeping with joy. “I do!” she sobbed. The guests erupted. “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” The camera held steady as they embraced and kissed, a long, passionate kiss that seemed to last an eternity. The caption read: 【Eight years in the making. Our forever starts now.】 It was Brandon’s account. And pinned right below the video was a single, devastating comment. “My forever.” The video was going viral, a torrent of strangers weeping over their “beautiful love story.” My finger, shaking, tapped on the familiar profile picture of the commenter. In the next second, I was on Aria’s social media page.
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