I thought Audrey Lane was the love of my life. I’d planned a wedding for the ages, timed perfectly with the launch of the Eternity Collection—a jewelry line worth a fortune, built entirely around our story. Then, seven days before the wedding, she told me she had to marry someone else first. Her high school sweetheart, Ryan. It was to honor his late mother’s dying wish, she explained. After that was done, she would marry me. She said it with a straight face, as if it were the most reasonable thing in the world. “It’s about his mother’s memory, Grayson. Some things are more important than money.” Then she added, a little too casually, “If you can’t handle that, I guess you can find someone else to marry.” Just like that, I understood. In her world, my love, my life’s work—it was all disposable. A temporary roadblock on the path to serving the ghost of her first love. I turned away, my heart a block of ice, and dialed my sister-in-law. “Eleanor,” I said, my voice steady. “The wedding is still on. I just… need you to find me a new bride.” 1 The day of the final dress fitting, I waited for what felt like an eternity in the black town car idling in front of Audrey’s downtown office. She finally emerged, sliding into the leather seat beside me without a glance. She tossed a small, branded box onto my lap. A miniature model of a private jet. “A little something from Ryan,” she said. “He felt bad about how you acted at the memorial service. You should probably call him and apologize.” The model was a cheap gift-with-purchase. I’d seen the real thing—a top-of-the-line Gulfstream—in Audrey’s online shopping cart a few days ago. “I don’t want it,” I said quietly. Audrey’s brow furrowed in annoyance. “What is your problem now? You’re the one who stormed into his mother’s memorial service and made a scene, telling everyone I wasn’t his fiancée. He’s being the bigger person here, and you can’t even accept a simple gift?” The woman who once defended me, who saw me as her entire world, was gone. In her place was someone who cherished another man’s feelings above all else. She cracked the window, the city noise flooding in, a tangible representation of the static between us. When it became clear I wasn’t going to soothe her irritation, she sighed. “Fine. Whatever. Today is supposed to be a happy day. I won’t let you ruin it.” It was the closest she’d come to an apology in months. At the bridal salon, a hushed temple of silk and lace, the consultant greeted us with a reverent smile. “Ms. Lane. Mr. Cole. We have the one hundred and twenty custom gowns you commissioned ready for your selection.” But Audrey’s eyes weren’t on the sea of white before us. They were glued to her phone, her thumb swiping furiously. I saw the flash of panic on her face before she shoved the phone into her purse. “Grayson,” she said, her voice laced with a practiced sort of regret. “Something’s come up with Ryan. It’s an emergency. I have to go. You know my style… just pick one for me? I trust your taste.” Before I could answer, she was out the door, hailing a cab, leaving me alone in a room built for two. The consultant approached cautiously. “Mr. Cole? Would you… would you like to make the selection yourself?” I drew my gaze away from the empty space where Audrey had stood and gave a slow nod. Oh, I would be choosing a dress. Just not for Audrey Lane. Because the bride had changed. “Eleanor,” I’d said into the phone, the words feeling foreign and heavy in my mouth. “The wedding’s still on. I just… need you to find me a new bride.” There was a stunned silence on the other end. “You’re calling it off?” “No,” I said, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. “She is. She’s marrying someone else.” To be with Audrey, I’d fought my own family, battled my way through boardrooms, and staked the biggest launch of my career—the Eternity Collection—on our wedding day. Now, it was all turning to smoke. Eleanor was quiet for a long moment. “Then it has to be Sloane Davenport,” she said finally. “Her family has been putting the pressure on, and she’s been looking for a suitable arrangement.” I winced. Sloane Davenport was my lifelong rival. The day I announced my engagement, she’d sent me a bottle of hundred-year-old scotch with a note that said, “Here’s to watching it all go up in flames.” Turns out, she was a prophet. But time was running out. “Fine,” I bit out. “Ask her. If she says no, I’ll figure something else out.” Eleanor’s reply was suspiciously quick. “Oh, she’ll say yes. Don’t you worry.” Before I could ask what she meant, she claimed she was busy and hung up. I drove home, half-expecting the house to be empty. But Audrey was there, bustling in the kitchen just before dinner. She walked over to me, holding out a takeout container from a ridiculously expensive Italian place across town. “I went all the way to Marcella’s to get this for you,” she announced, a triumphant smile on her face. “Your favorite Cacio e Pepe.” I looked down at the pasta. There were three forkfuls missing from the top. On one of the remaining swirls of spaghetti, I could clearly see a bite mark. Thirty minutes earlier, I’d seen Ryan’s Instagram story. A picture of this exact dish, a half-empty glass of wine beside it. The caption read: My girl still knows how to spoil me after a long day. Love you, A! I set my fork down, my appetite vanishing. The self-loathing was a physical taste in my mouth. “I’m not hungry. Throw it out.” Audrey’s face hardened. She took a breath, visibly restraining herself, and sat down next to me. “You have no idea what Ryan went through today,” she began, her voice taking on a martyred tone. “My parents showed up at his apartment and demanded he prove his financial stability. The poor guy broke down in tears.” She slid her arm through mine, a gesture that used to feel like coming home. “He’s just getting back on his feet after moving back to the States. He doesn’t have that kind of money. I was thinking… I could give him the money you were giving my parents.” I pulled my arm away, looking at her as if for the first time. “Let me get this straight,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “You want me to bankroll your other husband?” 2 There was a time when I would have given Audrey anything she asked for. I would have burned down the world to keep her warm. But she was the one who handed me the extinguisher. Looking back, ever since Ryan returned from overseas, every decision she made, every move, was for him. She had completely forgotten that I was the man she had promised to spend her life with. My question infuriated her. “What is that supposed to mean? Are you saying no?” She stood up, her eyes flashing. “You need to understand something, Grayson. Ryan is my oldest friend. You will make him happy. If you don’t, I swear to God, I won’t marry you.” She stormed out, the slam of the front door echoing in the silent house. My head pounding, I went for a run in the park downstairs to clear it. I’d barely completed a lap when my phone rang. Sloane Davenport. Remembering her cool, perpetually unimpressed expression, I hesitated for a second before answering. “Just so we’re clear,” she said, her voice like chilled vodka. “You’re my problem now. You try to back out of this, and I’ll make you regret it.” Classic Sloane. I remained silent, and she continued, all business. “FedEx me a copy of your driver's license. My assistant will handle the marriage certificate. I don’t trust you not to get cold feet.” Sloane, what is going on with you? I found myself thinking. I pictured a thousand ways she could use this marriage to torment me, to settle old scores. All I could manage to say was, “I’ll see you at the altar, Ms. Davenport.” Just as I hung up, a voice cut through the evening air from behind me. “You’re inviting Sloane Davenport to our wedding? Absolutely not.” It was Audrey, her arms crossed, her face a mask of fury. “Grayson Cole, I told you to stay away from her. She’s always had a thing for you. If you insist on having her at our wedding, don’t blame me for what happens.” Before I could even process the hypocrisy, she’d laid down her ultimatum. Audrey had always harbored a strange, baseless animosity toward Sloane. Early in our relationship, she’d thrown a fit over Sloane and me trading sarcastic comments on social media, so I’d eventually just cut contact. But her saying Sloane had a thing for me? That was new. I was about to ask what she meant when Ryan stumbled, leaning dramatically against Audrey’s shoulder. “Audrey, baby, you’re holding my hand too tight…” That’s when I noticed their fingers were interlaced as they walked. Audrey coughed, a faint blush on her cheeks, but she didn’t pull her hand away. Ryan shot her a look of pure adoration before turning his attention to me, his face a caricature of apology. “Hey, Gray, sorry about this. We were just… practicing our walk down the aisle. You know, for the wedding. Don’t mind us.” He paused, his expression shifting to one of deep concern. “And listen, I won’t tell anyone about you hiring those guys to jump me or what you did to my mother’s grave. Just… please don’t hurt Audrey. A woman’s heart is a fragile thing.” I had no interest in watching this soap opera. I turned to leave. “Since you’re so convinced, maybe I’ll go find some thugs and desecrate your mother’s grave for real tonight.” SLAP! The sting on my cheek was sharp, but not as sharp as the pain in my chest. Audrey stood before me, breathing heavily, her face dark with rage. “How can you be so vile, Grayson?!” So vile? He spins a ridiculous lie, and she believes him without question. Five years of my life, of my unwavering devotion, hadn't earned me an ounce of her trust. A white-hot anger surged through me. I opened my mouth to confront her, but Ryan stepped in front of her, shielding her. “Please, Gray,” he said, his voice trembling. “I’m begging you. As soon as the wedding is over, I’ll give her right back to you. Just… show some mercy. Don’t hurt the people I care about. Don’t hurt Audrey.” He made a show of starting to kneel. Audrey gasped, wrapping her arms around his waist to hold him up, glaring at me over his shoulder. “Don’t you dare pull your rich-boy power plays with us, Grayson! You know how much I hate that. If you still want to marry me, you’ll stop this nonsense right now!” With a final, warning look, she told me to stay away from them until the wedding. I didn’t expect to hear from her the next day, but she called, her voice shrill with accusation. “Grayson, you actually did it! You dug up Ryan’s mother’s grave! I can’t believe you’re that kind of monster!” Confused and furious, I called my assistant, Mark, and told him to find out what the hell was going on. An hour later, he called back with a piece of information that changed everything. Ryan’s mother… wasn’t dead. 3 Of course. No wonder he could so casually use his own mother’s grave as a weapon to frame me. The whole thing was a scam. I sent Audrey a single text message: Ryan’s mother is alive. The proof is in the email I just sent you. Whether she chose to open it was no longer my concern. My flight was in three days. Sloane had booked it herself. When Audrey came home that evening, she found me sorting through my closet, creating two piles: one for donation, the other to be shipped to Chicago. “Why are you packing?” she asked, a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. “Moving,” I said, not looking at her. She was quiet for a moment, missing the finality in my tone. “Well, the company headquarters is in Chicago, so we’ll have to move there after the wedding. It’s good you’re starting early.” She then fixed me with a hard stare. “And you will apologize to Ryan’s mother on the day of the wedding. Don’t make this difficult for me.” With that, she went to find her passport. Today was the day she and Ryan were getting their marriage license. She didn’t come back that night. Around midnight, my phone buzzed. A text from Ryan. It was a photo of Audrey, shot in low light. She was wearing a French maid costume, looking directly at the camera. I squeezed my eyes shut, a sharp, familiar pain piercing my chest. I forced it down, silenced my phone, and turned off the screen. But the night offered no peace. Every hour, like clockwork, my phone would vibrate on the nightstand. Another text from Ryan. A video clip of him and Audrey. A taunt. A reminder. The next morning, a different message appeared. It was from Sloane. Mr. Cole, the peonies are in bloom. It’s time to come home. Attached was a photo of two crisp, new marriage certificates lying next to a vase filled with the most magnificent crimson peonies I had ever seen. I’d given her a cutting from my garden years ago, a casual peace offering after a particularly brutal business negotiation. I never imagined she would actually cultivate it. A strange, unfamiliar warmth spread through my chest. I texted back a single word: Okay. I was packing up the files in my home office when Audrey finally returned. She was pulling a suitcase, stuffing her everyday essentials into it. “I’m going to stay with Ryan for a few days,” she announced. “He can’t manage all the wedding prep by himself. Just remember to be at the ceremony the day after tomorrow. Don’t be late.” She followed it with a long-winded explanation about how it was all perfectly innocent and that I shouldn’t “make a scene.” “I won’t be there,” I said, my eyes focused on the laptop in my hands. After last night, the last embers of whatever I felt for her had finally turned to ash. My calm demeanor seemed to unnerve her. A flicker of panic crossed her face, and for a second, she looked like she might stay. But then her phone buzzed, and I saw the name ‘Ryan’ on the screen. The memory of his cloying affection was enough. Her hand, which had been gripping the suitcase handle, relaxed. Grayson loves me too much, she was surely thinking. What could possibly go wrong? With that thought soothing her, she turned and disappeared from my sight without another word. I watched her go, then picked up my phone and made a call. That evening, a helicopter landed in the private square behind my building. A man in a pilot’s uniform approached me. “Mr. Cole? Your charter is ready. We’ll have you safely in Chicago in three hours.” I nodded and handed him a large manila envelope. “Make sure this is delivered to the wedding venue tomorrow. It’s my gift to the bride and groom.”
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