The night before the wedding, my fiancé Ryan brought his sick first love, Chloe, home. "Evelyn, I'm only staying with her for three days. Three days, and then I'll be your groom—yours and no one else's." He told me it was a "farewell tradition" where he was from—that before a man got married, he had to live with his first love for three days. And I was expected to accept it. I let out a short, derisive laugh. No screaming, no tears. Just one calm word. "Fine." Over those three days, I watched every intimate moment play out on Chloe's social media. When the three days were up and the wedding was about to begin, Ryan showed up with Chloe on his arm. "You've already put up with these three days—so just let Chloe have the ceremony. It's only a formality." "After it's over, you'll still be my wife." Then came the wedding night. Ryan strode into the bridal suite surrounded by his friends, only to find a stranger lying on the marriage bed. As every jaw in the room hit the floor, I settled myself in the man's arms and smiled faintly. "Oh, I forgot to mention—my family has a tradition too. On the wedding night, the bride sleeps with her first love right in front of her husband." . . . . . . Eight years ago, I'd turned my back on my family for Ryan. I'd made him my entire world. We'd been together eight years, and we were finally talking about marriage. The day we traveled to his hometown to discuss the wedding details, his mother brought a woman to meet me. She wore a champagne-colored gown, red hair spilling over her shoulders, and when she smiled, she looked like a rose cultivated with painstaking care in a greenhouse. Ryan's mother held the woman's hand, her tone as warm and familiar as if she were introducing her own daughter. "Evelyn, this is Chloe Bennett. She and Ryan were inseparable growing up. She was his first love." I froze. Then his mother continued: "We have an old tradition here. Before a man gets married, he spends three days alone with his first love. A proper farewell to the past." I thought I'd misheard. "I'm sorry—what?" Ryan's mother's smile didn't waver. "Don't be nervous. It's just tradition. After three days, Ryan will come back to you with a clean slate." It was so absurd it was almost funny. I looked at Ryan, waiting for him to object. But all he did was frown slightly, as though I were being difficult. "Evelyn, we're just living under the same roof for three days. Don't make it into something dirty. Chloe came back from overseas specifically to see me get married. She's not well. I don't want her to leave with regrets." "So?" I asked. Ryan stepped closer and lowered his voice. "You're always telling me you love me. Then respect my family. Respect how things are done here." On cue, Chloe let out a delicate cough, her eyes reddening at the corners. "Evelyn, if it bothers you, I can leave right now. I probably shouldn't have come back anyway." Ryan's head snapped toward her instantly. "Don't be ridiculous. This will always be your home." Then he turned back to me. The tenderness he'd shown Chloe vanished in an instant, replaced by impatience and warning. "Evelyn, you've been with me for eight years. This is a small thing. You can handle it, right?" A small thing. He called this a small thing. I stood in that living room draped with white tulle and floral garlands, my gaze sweeping over the engagement photo on the mantelpiece and the wedding invitations scattered across the coffee table, and suddenly the whole thing felt like a fever dream. In that moment, I understood. This wasn't tradition. This was a humiliation they'd designed just for me. Everyone was watching. Ryan's relatives, his friends—and Chloe. She tilted her head slightly, studying me with something close to pity, a faint smile playing at the corner of her lips. They were all waiting for me to break down. Waiting for the tears, the hysterics, waiting for me to lose my mind and demand answers like some unhinged woman. But I just smiled. "Fine." Ryan looked genuinely stunned. "You're agreeing to this?" "You said it's tradition." I held his gaze. "Of course I should respect that." Ryan let out a breath of relief. He even reached up and stroked my hair. "I knew you'd be the reasonable one." Reasonable. For eight years, that word had been a collar around my neck. Because I was reasonable, I'd cut ties with my family for him. I'd stood by him through the worst days of building his company. Because I was reasonable, he'd pushed me to give ground again and again. And now he wanted me to hand my fiancé over to another woman's bed with my own two hands. That night, Ryan didn't come back to the hotel with me. He took his luggage and went to Chloe's villa. Before he left, he kissed my forehead. "I'll be there on time for the wedding. Don't overthink things." I nodded, still smiling. "Okay." What he didn't know was that I had a phone call to make too. When the line connected, a low, deep voice came through the receiver. "Evelyn?" I gazed at the darkening sky in the distance. "Sebastian, you once told me that if I ever needed you, you'd be there." Two seconds of silence on the other end. Then he said: "I always have been." I closed my eyes. "Then come to my wedding." Over the next three days, Ryan didn't call once. Didn't send a single text. Not one. We'd been together eight years—more than two thousand nine hundred days and nights. There was a time when even a single day on a business trip meant three phone calls home, terrified I wasn't eating well or sleeping enough. Now he was living in another woman's house, and he couldn't spare me so much as a goodnight. For three full days, I didn't exist. The night before the wedding, I tracked them down at a private bar. Before I even pushed open the door to the private room, the noise spilled through the cracks. "Ryan, you've really got it made, don't you? Reliving the glory days with your first love before the wedding, then going home to the wife afterward—best of both worlds!" "Chloe's been back three days and Ryan looks ten years younger!"
I pushed the door open. The laughter cut off like someone had flipped a switch. Ryan was half-reclined on a leather banquette, Chloe nestled in his arms, her finger hooked around his tie—the easy intimacy of lovers drunk on each other. When she saw me appear, Chloe didn't so much as flinch. She just lifted her eyelids lazily. Ryan sat up a little straighter, though his expression held less alarm than annoyance—the look of a man whose evening had been interrupted. "Evelyn? What are you doing here?" His brow creased almost imperceptibly. I stood in the doorway, my voice flat. "Did I kill the mood?" Chloe immediately straightened up, her eyes reddening with perfect precision. "Evelyn, I'm sorry—are we making you uncomfortable?" One of Ryan's friends jumped in to smooth things over. "Evelyn, don't get the wrong idea. Ryan and Chloe are just catching up—it's the tradition here. A formal goodbye to the past so he can fully commit to the new marriage." Another one chimed in with a grin. "Besides, this pre-wedding farewell thing is actually pretty romantic. Once you're married, Ryan's all yours!" I looked at Ryan. "Is that how you see it too?" Ryan took a sip of his drink. "Evelyn, don't embarrass me here." I smiled. So the one who'd humiliated me was afraid I'd embarrass him. Chloe spoke up softly. "Ryan, is tonight the last time we'll get to relax like this?" Someone immediately started egging them on. "Last night together—come on, one kiss! When you two broke up eight years ago, we all thought it was such a shame." The whole room erupted. Ryan glanced at me. I stood there, expressionless, making no move to stop anything. So he smiled, turned his head. Chloe leaned in and wrapped her arms around his neck. The two of them kissed right in front of me. Tongues intertwining, breath mingling, as if I simply didn't exist. The room exploded with whistles and cheers. I cut through the spectacle. "Ryan, I came to remind you—the wedding is tomorrow. Be there on time." I turned and walked toward the door. Behind me, one of Ryan's friends shouted loud enough for the whole building to hear: "Ryan, Evelyn's got to be the most easygoing woman alive! She watched you kiss another girl and didn't even make a scene?" Then I heard Ryan's voice—dripping with the kind of smug, careless satisfaction that turned my stomach. "Well, obviously. Evelyn's been with me all these years. She was even willing to go through a sterilization procedure for me. A little scene like this? She can handle it." I stopped in the doorway, my spine rigid. The deepest, most painful scar of my life—reduced to a boast over drinks. In eight years, I'd lost too much for Ryan. I was once the only daughter of the Carter family. My father had already chosen the most suitable match for me. But I'd torn my family apart for Ryan. Back then, he'd held me and said: "Evelyn, I'll make sure you never regret choosing me." Later, I got pregnant three times. The first time, we were still in college. Ryan said the timing was wrong. I gritted my teeth through the pain and went to the clinic. The second time, his company was on the verge of bankruptcy. I spent every waking hour helping him court investors, and the baby slipped away during my most exhausted days. The third time, it was ectopic. Massive hemorrhaging. I was rushed to the ER and lost a fallopian tube permanently. The doctor said my chances of conceiving again were slim. Ryan had wept by my hospital bed, nearly inconsolable. He'd said: "Evelyn, I just need you to be alive." But now, he was using my scars as proof of how devoted I was. A woman who could no longer bear children—what choice did she have but to stay by his side? What other man would want her? He was certain of this. His friends' laughter still echoed behind me as I walked out of the bar. Back at the hotel, I got a call from Ryan. "You're not actually mad about what happened at the bar, are you?" His tone was breezy, almost teasing. "No." "Evelyn, this sudden obedience of yours—I'm almost not used to it." He laughed, then shifted gears. "Relax. Chloe is the past for me—" His words were cut short by a breathy moan. "Ryan—" It was Chloe's voice, the final syllable stretching out, soft and lingering. "You promised tonight was the last indulgence. Don't get distracted." Ryan quickly lowered his voice. "All right, Evelyn, I have to go. Be a good girl and wait for me tomorrow. I promise I'll be on time." The line went dead. I didn't cry that night. I didn't even lose sleep. When I picked up my phone the next morning, I saw that Chloe had posted a Story. "Eight years apart, and he says my body still drives him crazy. We didn't stop all night." The photos left nothing to the imagination—tangled legs, sheets twisted into a thousand wrinkles. I looked at it, then calmly locked the screen. Then I got up, did my makeup, and put on my wedding dress. As I was about to leave for the venue, my phone lit up again. A text message. [I'm here.] I replied: [See you in the bridal suite.]
On the day of the wedding, Ryan didn't show up until twenty minutes before the ceremony. And when he arrived, Chloe was right behind him. My maid of honor, Mia, stood beside me, trembling with rage. "Evelyn, has he lost his mind? He brought that woman to your wedding?" I said nothing. His pack of friends immediately swarmed him—hugs, backslaps, catcalls. "Ryan, word is you went all night… Think you've got any energy left for Evelyn tonight?" The knowing looks and suggestive tones of men speaking in code sent a flush across Chloe's face, and she ducked behind Ryan. Ryan laughed right away. "All right, that's enough." The group erupted again, loud enough to shake the rafters. Ryan and Chloe exchanged a smile, and only then did his gaze drift past the crowd to find me. He paused, just slightly. "Evelyn, you look beautiful today." He walked toward me and reached up to brush a stray hair from my temple. I stepped back half a pace. His hand hung in the air for a moment, then dropped naturally to his side, as though nothing had happened. "Ignore them—nothing happened last night." He lowered his voice. "Chloe had a stomach thing this morning, it took a while to sort out. That's why I'm late." I didn't respond. Chloe followed him over. Only then did I see that she'd done herself up with meticulous makeup and a tailored white dress—she looked more like the bride than I did. She came toward me smiling, looping her arm through Ryan's, her tone so familiar she might as well have been the star of the show. "Congratulations, you two! I came specially to witness your happy moment." When I said nothing, Ryan stepped in to explain. "Chloe insisted on coming to see the venue this morning. Don't worry—the three days are done. From now on, we'll keep our distance." Keep our distance. He actually had the nerve to use those words. That was when Chloe turned her attention to my wedding dress. "That gown really suits you. Very… simple." She paused, as if the thought had only just occurred to her. "Although… I remember Ryan used to say that if he ever got married, he'd give his bride the most extravagant wedding the whole city had ever seen." She looked at Ryan with a smile. "I guess people really do change." The air around us went quiet. Ryan cleared his throat awkwardly. "That was just talk. We were young." I didn't call him out. This entire wedding had been arranged by Ryan's family. They said the budget was tight. They said there was no need for extravagance. They said if I really loved Ryan, I shouldn't care about appearances. But I knew money wasn't the problem. They just didn't want to spend it on me. Before the ceremony, a slideshow began playing on the big screen—photos of Ryan and me. From college to now, eight years laid out like a long-overdue reckoning. Chloe watched the screen for a while, then her eyes reddened right on schedule, her voice trembling with practiced precision. "Ryan, I'm so envious of Evelyn." She wasn't looking at him. Her voice was barely above a whisper, but pitched just loud enough for everyone nearby to hear. "The doctors say I have lupus. I might not have much time left. The biggest regret of my life is that I never got to wear a wedding dress. Never got to marry the man I loved most." Ryan whipped around to look at her, his eyes overflowing with heartache. "Chloe…" She shook her head. "I'm fine. Today belongs to you and Evelyn. I shouldn't have said anything." Ryan was silent for a few seconds. Then he turned to me abruptly. "Evelyn." He gripped my hand, his voice edging toward a plea. "Chloe might never get the chance to be married. Why don't we… let her take your place for the ceremony today?" Mia couldn't hold back any longer. She shot to her feet. "Ryan, are you out of your mind? This is your wedding to Evelyn! You can't just hand it to someone else! Are you marrying Chloe or are you marrying Evelyn?" Ryan frowned. "It's just the ceremony. Legally, the woman I'm marrying is still Evelyn." He looked at me with the certainty of a man who'd never been told no. "Evelyn, Chloe is seriously ill. I just want to help her fulfill a wish." I held his gaze, and in that moment I wanted so badly to ask him— What about my wish? I wanted to marry a man who respected me. A man who loved me. Had he fulfilled that wish? Ryan grew more and more uneasy under my stare. Then Chloe spoke up. "Forget it, Ryan." She hung her head, showing only the tear-streaked curve of her profile. "Don't make Evelyn upset because of me." "After all… I'm dying anyway…" Ryan caved instantly. He squeezed my hand, practically swearing an oath. "She'll just walk through the motions, but I promise—tonight, on our wedding night, it'll be you. Evelyn, you made it through these three days. What's one more hour?" Ryan's voice was coaxing, but in those eyes I saw no remorse, no unease—only certainty. He was certain I'd say yes, just as I had every single time over the past eight years. The guests were already murmuring among themselves, watching me with a mix of pity and amusement. I looked down and smoothed my skirt. Then I smiled. "Fine." Ryan exhaled with relief, and something that might have been genuine guilt flickered in his eyes. "Good girl. Thank you. You're the best wife I could ask for." "Go wait in the room for me. I'll come find you as soon as the ceremony's over." He leaned in to embrace me. I kept my smile and pushed him away. "Don't mention it." Because from this moment on, this wedding had nothing to do with me. If he wanted so badly to complete the ceremony with Chloe, then I'd give them the whole stage. I turned and walked into the bridal suite, the train of my gown trailing behind me, and shut the door. I picked up my phone and sent one message: "You can come now."
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