The night of our wedding, the scent of wilted peonies and day-old champagne still hung in the air as I scrolled through the raw photos on my laptop. A cold dread trickled down my spine. Eight hundred images, and fewer than ten of them showed my face. The camera hadn’t been telling our story; it had been telling his. There was Ethan, my new husband, bending to pick up a fallen napkin, a candid shot of him adjusting his cufflink, his brow furrowed in concentration. My own presence was reduced to a series of blurry profiles, a ghost at my own celebration. White-hot anger surged through me. Then, a single, jarring photo stopped me cold. I waited until Ethan came out of the shower, a towel slung around his neck. “You know Leo Vance well?” I asked, my voice tight. He paused for half a second, the motion of drying his hair momentarily frozen. “Not really.” “Then how does he have this?” I spun the laptop around. The image on the screen was of Ethan, shirtless, in the middle of changing. The distinctive red mole on his lower back was in sharp focus. The background was unmistakably the apartment he lived in before we were married. 1 The towel slipped from Ethan’s hands, hitting the floor with a soft thud. He bent to retrieve it, and as his shirt lifted, the mole on his lower back was exposed—a perfect match to the one in the photograph. He walked over, his face a mask of carefully constructed confusion. I zoomed in on the photo until the mole filled the screen, an undeniable crimson dot. He leaned in, his tone casual. “Oh, that. I did a favor for a friend of his once, some headshots for his portfolio. He must have slipped it in by mistake.” Ethan reached out to stroke my hair. “It’s nothing, Sienna. Don’t work yourself up. You know how disorganized Leo can be.” Still seething, I pulled away from his touch. “Work myself up? Eight hundred photos and my own husband’s wedding photographer couldn’t find ten decent shots of the bride? That’s ‘nothing’?” “A private, shirtless photo of you suddenly appearing in the files is ‘nothing’?” I had spent a week of late nights scrolling through portfolios to find the right photographer. I wanted a perfect ending, a perfect collection of memories. A wedding is a one-time event. And he was telling me not to work myself up? His fingers found the mouse, and with a quiet click, he closed the folder. His voice was laced with a weary patience. “I told you I didn’t want to hire him. You were the one who insisted.” “You loved his style so much, so I gave in. Now that it’s turned into this mess, there’s not much to be said, is there?” His words silenced me. He took the opportunity to pull me into his arms. “Come on, Si. Don’t be angry.” “We’ll find another studio. We’ll do a reshoot, something even more beautiful.” I pushed against the strange feeling in my gut. “Do you really think a reshoot is the point?” “If you had taken five minutes away from your precious work to look at portfolios with me, this disaster wouldn’t have happened.” He sighed, a long, theatrical sound. “The company is resting entirely on my shoulders right now, Sienna. I can’t step away for a single day. You spend your days having fun, of course you don’t understand.” He looked at me, his expression a mixture of apology and exhaustion. “Trust me, Si. I’ll make it right. You’ll be happy with the new photos, I promise.” I looked up at him, my anger softening, but a seed of doubt had been quietly planted. The next morning, Ethan announced he had already booked a session with the top-rated photography studio in all of Crestwood Hills. A night’s sleep had cooled my temper. Maybe he was just under too much pressure, too overwhelmed to focus on the wedding details. I accepted his gesture. The photoshoot was seamless. The photographer was a true professional, his jokes and easy banter making both Ethan and me laugh. The lingering shadows of the previous night began to dissipate. But Ethan seemed distracted. When I stepped out in a new dress, I saw him hunched over his phone, his thumbs flying across the screen. A faint, tender smile played on his lips. I lifted the hem of my gown and walked toward him, curious. He immediately shoved the phone into his pocket, a flicker of panic in his eyes. “Who was that?” I asked casually. “Just work stuff.” He wrapped an arm around my waist, his grip a little too tight. “God, how do you manage to look so beautiful in everything?” The compliment felt hollow. I pouted. “Can’t you put work away for one afternoon? Try to be present?” He chuckled, a low, tired sound, and took my hand. “I have to build the empire before I can settle in the castle. That’s the only way I can deserve my Sienna.” I squeezed his hand back, my brow furrowing. “There you go again. I’ve told you, stop thinking like that. I love you. That’s all that matters.” He stared at me for a moment, then pulled me into a hug. That evening, he gave me an expensive necklace as a peace offering. For the next week, everything felt normal. Except he suddenly started a new routine of morning runs and gym sessions. For seven days straight, I woke up to an empty bed. Then, a notification popped up on my phone. A message from Leo. “Ms. Hale, the edited photos will be ready for you to review tomorrow afternoon.” I frowned, confused. When Ethan got home, I mentioned it to him. His expression froze. He was pouring a glass of water, and a few drops sloshed onto the counter. I moved closer. “Do you want to come with me to pick up the prints tomorrow?” I asked softly. Ethan hesitated for a beat. “There’s no need to speak with a guy like that.” I stepped into his space, looking up at him. “He was so unprofessional. I think we should go together. Let’s see if he’s still so arrogant with you standing right there.” He was silent for a long moment before finally nodding. “Okay. Whatever you want.” The next afternoon, the sun beat down relentlessly. Ethan drove us to a run-down part of the city, navigating the streets with a familiarity that felt unsettling. “Looked up the address online,” he explained, a little too quickly. He parked in front of a tired-looking pre-war walk-up and pointed to a third-floor window. “That’s the one.” We climbed the stairs together and knocked. The door opened to reveal Leo, still in his pajamas. He looked startled to see me. “The photos?” Ethan cut straight to the point, his voice hard. Leo said nothing. He walked over to his computer, clicked a few times, and handed me an external hard drive. I took it, my voice steady. “Mr. Vance, I don’t understand. As a wedding photographer, why would you deliberately not photograph the bride? Is that your standard of professional ethics?” Leo leaned against his desk, arms crossed, his gaze flickering past me to Ethan. A mocking smile touched his lips. “I shoot what the client asks for.” “The fact that I took any photos of you was a courtesy. Right, Ethan?” Ethan’s face turned ashen. “Leo, that’s enough,” he snapped. Leo just shrugged, a picture of indifference. “I’ll refund your money.” His dismissiveness sent a fresh wave of anger through me. I opened my mouth to argue, but Ethan grabbed my arm, pulling me toward the door. “Let’s go, Sienna. There’s no point arguing with someone like him.” In the split second before the door clicked shut, my eyes darted around the room. A flash of dark wood in the corner caught my attention, and my breath hitched. It was an acoustic guitar, a deep mahogany. Near the bottom of the body was a thin, silvery scratch—a scar I had accidentally made years ago on Ethan’s beloved college guitar. He’d told me he’d thrown it out.
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "386021", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel