My fiancé and I are at the County Clerk's office to sign our marriage license — and he rips the application out of my hands and shoves my best friend up to the counter in my place. "Chloe goes first. She's pregnant — the baby needs his father's name on the birth certificate. A Sinclair heir doesn't come into this world without that." "Besides, you two are best friends, right? What difference does it make who I marry?" Chloe leans into his chest, blushing. He hands the clerk a new application — her name already printed where mine should be. They show their IDs. They sign. The clerk processes it without blinking. Done. Just like that. Nate finally remembers I exist. Reaches over and ruffles my hair like I'm a dog that behaved well. "Relax. You're still Mrs. Sinclair to everyone who matters. Once she has the baby, we'll tell people it's yours. Saves you the trouble of getting pregnant yourself." "I'd never embarrass you in front of people. You know that." He thinks I'll crumble like I always do. Cry. Beg him not to leave. But I just smile, turn around, and grab his older brother by the arm. "Hayden. Our turn." I slap my ID down on the counter. "You two are brothers, right? Same last name. So what's the difference who I marry?" The entire office goes dead silent. "Wren, have you lost your fucking mind?" Nate's laughing so hard his eyes are watering. "Do you even know who he is? That's Hayden. My brother. You think he'd actually marry you?" Chloe peeks out from his chest, voice dripping with fake concern. "Wren, sweetie, I know you're hurting, but don't throw yourself at someone like that. Hayden is the Sinclair heir. You're embarrassing yourself." People in the waiting area start whispering. Someone mutters — "Couldn't lock down the little brother so she's going after the big one. The Carter girl has no shame." I tune all of it out. I look at Hayden. His eyes are so dark I can't see the bottom. Three years ago, the first time I went to the Sinclair house, I crashed into him in the hallway. I looked up, flustered, and the way he looked at me — it wasn't innocent. But his lashes dropped and it was gone. After that, Hayden helped me a few times without being asked. Once I blacked out drinking alone at a bar and woke up in his guest room. When I was drowning in a deal that wouldn't close, he stepped in and handled it. Quietly. Never said a word. I force it out. "Would you?" "I hold eighty percent of Carter Industries. Plus every joint venture between our families. Marry me, and it's all yours." Nate's voice goes tight. "Hayden — don't. She's lost it." Hayden looks away from me. "Too rushed." Then he turns and walks out. Doesn't look back. Leaves me standing there like an idiot. Nate strides over and ruffles my hair again — rough this time, like he's handling a misbehaving pet. "That was a polite rejection, babe. You really thought he'd want you?" "Wren, you've been my pathetic little simp for years. Everyone in this city knows you can't function without me." His words crack something open. I think about right after college. He told me — behind his family's back — he wanted to start a company. I sold my condo on Park Avenue. Wired him every penny. No contract. No equity stake. No IOU. Just blind, stupid love. He took that money and built himself a name. When his Series B fell apart and the key investor wouldn't sign, I set up a dinner under the Carter Industries name. Drank until I was vomiting blood in the bathroom. The guy finally came around. The night Nate closed the round, he'd had a few drinks. He pinned me against the wall and kissed me until my mouth went numb. His chin dug into my shoulder, voice low and ragged — "Wren, why are you so good to me?" I was just grateful I could help. Everyone knew. People in our circle smiled to my face — Wren Carter, so loyal, so devoted — then called me a fool the second I turned around. My mom screamed at me about it a hundred times. Cried and said, "Your father's reputation — everything he's built — you're dragging it through the mud." I told her love wasn't something to be ashamed of. But hearing him call me his simp — I realize I've been the punchline this whole time. Nate watches my face crumble. He sighs, almost fond, like he can see every pathetic memory flickering behind my eyes. His thumb brushes my cheek. That's when I realize I'm crying. "Don't cry. People are gonna think I'm some kind of monster." He exhales. Those pretty-boy eyes go almost sincere. "Wren, you've been so good to me. I genuinely don't want to hurt you." "So be smart about this. I don't want to embarrass you, and I don't want your parents to lose face. You get what I'm saying, right?" Nate is like cheap whiskey. The first sip burns so bad you cry. But you keep drinking, and you keep drinking, until you're so wasted you don't even know you're dying. He pulls out a wedding band and presses it into my palm. Then a printed photo — me and him, photoshopped in wedding attire. Names, date, a fake official seal in the corner. It looks almost real. "Show this to your parents. Tell them we eloped. Clean. Simple. No drama."
But I spot it the second I look down. In the photo, just below the bride's collarbone — a small mole. That's Chloe. He grabbed some random picture of himself and Chloe, slapped my face on it, and didn't even bother getting the details right. Couldn't even be bothered to fake it properly. Chloe nestles into his chest, putting on her generous-saint act. "Nate was worried you'd feel embarrassed, so he had this made for you. Show it to your parents — they'll never know. And don't worry, sweetie — the wedding in three days is still all yours. I would never steal your spotlight." I grip the photo so hard my fingertips go white. "Nate. You don't think my dad will notice?" His tone is breezy. Certain. "You've always been great at performing for your father. Twenty-something years of playing the perfect daughter — what's one more time?" I bite down on my lip. The words pile up in my throat. Every lie I've ever told my family was to cover for him. But before I can get any of it out — A cough behind me. Chloe clutches her stomach, looking fragile and pained. "I'll come see you tonight." Nate tosses the words over his shoulder. He's already scooping Chloe up in his arms, carrying her out the door. I don't know how long I stand there. My phone buzzes. A video. I open it without thinking. The frame jolts violently. Nate's voice pours out of the speaker — satisfied, lazy, breathless. "Chloe, stop it… you're gonna drain me dry." Then rhythmic thudding. Over and over. The camera pans slowly. Two silhouettes reflected in a fogged-up car window, tangled together like they've melted into one. I press my phone face-down against the floor. Tears hit the marble. I think about four years ago. The day Chloe moved into our dorm, she stood in the doorway clutching a canvas bag, too scared to come inside. I laughed and pulled her in. Gave her half my bed. The first time she had lobster, I cracked it open and put it in her bowl. I took her shopping. The first time she bought anything over a hundred dollars, she spun around the dorm room squealing — "Wren, you're my best friend in the whole world!" Later she asked if I had a crush on anyone. I said yes. Since I was sixteen. She tilted her head and grinned. "Let me see him! I wanna know what kind of guy is good enough for my Wren." When I introduced them, I said, "This is my best friend." Nate looked at her a beat too long. "Your friend's cute." Chloe ducked her head, blushing all the way to her ears. And I stood there thinking it was a good thing. That he approved of my friend. I handed them the knife myself. And now they've buried it in my back. "Stop crying." Hayden. I don't know when he showed up. My voice comes out wrecked. "Don't worry. I won't bother you again." "When I said 'too rushed,' I meant a sloppy, last-minute thing like that isn't good enough for you." I look up. There's a single red rose in his hand. He drops to one knee. "Wren — I've wanted to marry you for a long time." "But I'm not letting you hand yourself over in a place like this." He slides a ring onto my finger. Slowly. Deliberately. "Keep the ring. I'll give you a real wedding. A real proposal. I'll do all of it over again — the right way." "But we're filing the paperwork today."
When the ring is on my finger and the paperwork is filed, I post a photo on Instagram — my left hand resting on Hayden's chest, the diamond catching the light. Nate likes it instantly. He probably didn't even look at it. He never does. He's never once paid real attention to anything I post. Chloe's message arrives first. "Nate told me you posted something. Sweetie, you're not actually showing off that fake photo he made for you, are you? Delete it before someone notices — so embarrassing!!" Half an hour later, Nate's text finally crawls in. "Good girl. Knew you'd come around. Didn't spoil you for nothing." "Chloe says she doesn't care about titles. The three of us are family now — you're the wife, she's the other thing. Just stop being jealous, okay?" For the first time in four years, I don't reply. I just wait. Quietly. For the look on his face when the wedding comes. The day before the ceremony, Hayden sends me an address. I push open the door — and freeze. Hanging in front of me is the wedding gown I designed in college. My dream dress. I drew it by hand and left the sketch on Nate's desk one night. He was gaming. He glanced at it, mumbled "looks nice," and went back to his screen. The sketch disappeared after that. The shop assistant tells me Hayden commissioned it three months ago. Right when my wedding to Nate was first announced. I step out of the fitting room, and Chloe's shrill voice cuts through the air. "Nate! I want this one!" For a split second, Nate's eyes flash — caught off guard, admiring — before Chloe's whining snaps him back. "Babe, you said you owed me a wedding. You said you'd make it up to me. I want this dress. Wren won't mind — right?" Nate reaches over and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. "Wren, Chloe's pregnant. Don't upset her. Let her have it — I'll buy you something even better." I don't move. His patience vanishes. "That fitted silhouette doesn't even look good on you. Chloe's got the body for it." He grabs me, rough and careless, yanks the gown off my shoulders. The whole thing slides to the floor. I'm standing there in my slip, arms crossed over my chest, stumbling backward. Nate hands his Black Card to the assistant without blinking. "Triple the price. Charge it." Chloe hugs the dress to her chest and beams at me. Sweet as poison. Nate ruffles her hair, then turns to me like he just remembered something. "Oh — about tomorrow. Keep it low-key. Chloe's doctor says her hormones can't handle stimulation. I booked a little place in Queens — a few tables, a few friends, casual dinner. You hate big events anyway, right?" He shows me a photo of the venue. Mildew creeping up the walls to the ceiling. Round tables draped in cheap plastic. Fake flowers so tacky they look like funeral-home wreaths. I swallow the nausea and keep my voice flat. "Don't worry about my wedding. Save this for you and Chloe." Nate's jaw tightens. "Chloe spent three days — pregnant — running around to find this place for you. She was on her hands and knees picking out those tablecloths and flowers." "She does everything for you, and this is the face you give her?" He steps closer. Unclasps my necklace. Removes my earrings. My bracelet. "Also — don't wear the heirloom set tomorrow. Chloe's energy healer said your aura is too intense. Gold near the baby could hurt him. He's fragile — can't risk it." At the mention of the baby, his voice goes soft. His mouth curls into that little smile. "Better safe than sorry. You're the wife. Act like it. Be the bigger person." He nods to himself, satisfied. Grabs a bridesmaid dress off the rack and holds it out to me. "Wear this tomorrow."
I glance at it. Blush-pink chiffon. Cheap, scratchy fabric. You wouldn't even put this on a bridesmaid. "It's just a formality anyway. Dressing up too much would steal the spotlight, right?" I don't want to fight anymore. I turn to leave. Nate grabs my wrist and yanks me back. His eyes go soft — that melting, tender look he always pulls out when he needs me to fold. Every single time he wants me to give in, this is the face he makes. Slap me, then hand me candy. Same trick. Every time. "Why are you being difficult? You think your husband won't buy you nice things?" "Once Chloe has the baby, I'll make it up to you. The Hamptons estate — you've always wanted to do it there, right? I'll let you go all out. Whatever you want." His breath is warm against my skin. His lips graze my earlobe. Then Chloe comes running over in tiny, frantic steps, clutching a bundle of torn fabric. "This dress is such garbage! It ripped before I even put it on!" "Wren, what kind of trash boutique is this?" Before I can open my mouth, he's already pulling her into his chest. "It's just a dress, babe. I'll take you somewhere for a custom one." He walks past me and ruffles my hair one more time. "Don't be late tomorrow. Don't embarrass me." The morning of the wedding, Nate wakes up to his phone buzzing nonstop. The group chat has blown up — ninety-nine-plus messages, all tagging him. Brody's latest: "Bro, your girl posted a carousel — venue looks insane. Why aren't you on your way to pick her up yet?" "She looks UNREAL today, man." Nate taps into my Instagram. A hand-beaded couture gown, the train spilling across the entire bed. I'm wearing the Sinclair heirloom set — choker, earrings, bracelet. I look expensive. Untouchable. Caption: All dressed up. Waiting for my groom. His mouth curves up before he can stop it. Chloe pokes her head out from under his arm, pouting. "She's wearing all that gold on purpose! She's trying to hurt my baby! The energy healer said—" "If you let her get away with this today, she's walking all over me and your child!" Chloe cries until Nate's jaw clenches with irritation. Brody's call comes in at just the right moment. "Bro, the car's ready! Everyone's waiting on you!" Nate cuts him off. "What car? Don't make a big deal of it. You go pick her up. Tell her I'm not feeling well — she can come to me." "She's been acting out lately. Needs to be put in her place." "A cab is fine. Can't keep spoiling her." A few minutes later, Brody texts back. "Uh… bro? Your girl just got picked up. In a Rolls-Royce. By your brother. Something you arranged on the side? " "We were all set to film her getting into a cab so we could roast her in the group chat. You switched up the script on us, man. We waited for nothing." Nate opens his mouth to argue. Swallows it. Whatever. As long as she shows up. Saves him another tantrum later. Telling himself he doesn't care, he's already in the closet reaching for his custom suit. Nate pushes through the doors of the banquet hall. A handful of his buddies scattered around a half-empty room. They start hollering. "Where's the bride? Stop hiding her!"
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