The day before my wedding, I dropped my best man off at his hotel and saw my fiancée, Isabella, checking into a room with her ex-boyfriend. Just ten minutes earlier, she had texted me: “I’ll be waiting for you tomorrow, my love. Come and take me home.” I swallowed my rage and filmed the video of them kissing in the hallway. The next day, at our wedding, I played it for everyone to see. 1 The moment the video played, the reception hall erupted. Isabella’s younger brother was the first to react, pointing at the event staff and screaming. “What the hell are you people doing? Why would you play a video like this at a wedding?” “How dare you embarrass the Thorne family! Is your company trying to go out of business?” “Where’s your manager? Get them out here…” His voice trailed off as he, along with every other guest, became glued to the screen. I nodded, satisfied. “Everyone,” I announced, “welcome to my breakup party with Isabella Thorne. From this day forward, we are finished. Please, eat, drink, and enjoy.” Realizing she was the star of the show, Isabella rushed toward me, desperate to explain. But I had already dropped the microphone and walked out. The second I stepped outside the hotel, my father’s call came through. I let my phone’s AI assistant handle it. When I’d first told him I was marrying Isabella, he’d been so ecstatic he stayed drunk for three days, bragging to anyone who would listen about how his brilliant son was marrying a wealthy heiress. He would be the last person to accept this wedding being called off. Back at my apartment, the calls from my father were relentless. Annoyed, I finally just pulled the SIM card out of my phone. I tossed my wedding suit in the trash and found the nearest bar. My social media, anything that connected me to Isabella, was blowing up with notifications. But I had a new phone now. I couldn't see their chaos even if I wanted to. The bar owner saw me and strolled over, a friendly grin on his face. “Flying solo tonight, Leo? Where’s your fiancée?” I glanced over my shoulder, a wry smile on my face. “She’ll be here soon.” A second later, a familiar figure appeared. 2 Isabella was frantically pushing her way through the crowd, her eyes glued to her phone as she scanned the room. A man who had been watching me from a distance a moment before moved toward her. She fought him off, shoving him away. I couldn’t hear what he said, but it left a look of pure resentment on her face as she pushed him aside again and continued her search. The man watched her go, his posture radiating a deep, lonely pain. The bar’s flashing lights obscured his features, but there was something unsettlingly familiar about him. I assumed he was a friend of Isabella’s who had spotted me and tipped her off. Yet, racking my brain, I couldn’t place him. It was the bar owner who broke my train of thought. “Leo, your fiancée is calling my phone now.” “Your phone’s on, isn’t it? What’s going on? You two have a fight?” I looked up, and he, thinking I wanted to answer, accepted the call. He even helpfully turned it on speaker. Isabella’s voice, frantic and loud, came through the phone. “Leo, honey, I know you’re at a bar. Please just tell me where you are. Give me a chance to explain.” I hung up. The owner stared at me, bewildered. “Aren’t you going to find her? Aren’t you worried about her being out alone?” I glanced back at the spot where the mysterious man had been. He had already vanished back into the crowd. “She’s not my fiancée anymore,” I murmured, my voice hollow. “She doesn’t need me.” 3 It was past two in the morning when I finally stumbled home. I looked up and saw her, Isabella, huddled by my front door. It was always her move after she’d done something wrong. “Leo, I couldn’t find you at the bar, and your phone was off.” “You’ve had so much to drink. You can barely stand.” “Come on, let’s get you inside.” She greeted me with a bright, relieved smile, fussing over me as if nothing had happened. I shoved her away. “Get off me. Don’t touch me!” She froze, her eyes filled with a wounded look. “Honey, it was the wedding company. They were trying to mess with us. The video was a deepfake.” “I’ve already called my lawyer. I’ll find the proof, I promise…” “I filmed it.” My voice was cold as I looked at her. “You couldn’t even wait to get into the room. You were so into that kiss, it’s no surprise you didn’t see me standing right there.” The color drained from her face. She stood rooted to the spot, lost. The alcohol in my stomach churned. I pushed past her, ran to the bathroom, and collapsed over the toilet, heaving until tears streamed from my eyes. Isabella followed me, silently tending to me. She handed me tissues, found the hangover pills, and went to the kitchen to cook me noodles. She didn't say a word. But every second, the image of her and her ex, desperate for each other outside that hotel room, played on a loop in my head. Seeing her now, so full of care and concern, felt surreal and absurd. “Isabella, I don’t want to see you again. Get out of my apartment.” Suddenly, there was a crash from the kitchen—the sound of a bowl shattering. She was silent for a long moment. Then, she brought out the noodles and the pills, placed them on the table in front of me, and quietly cleaned up the broken porcelain. “Leo, just… take some time to cool off. I’ll come back in a few days, and we can talk.” I was slumped on the sofa, my hand covering my eyes. “Get out.” 4 I didn’t touch the food. I spent the night on the sofa, wrapped in my own arms. Early the next morning, a loud banging rattled the front door. I opened it, and my father stormed in, nearly knocking me over. “Leo! Have you lost your mind?” “Isabella is from a wealthy family! Of course she’s had boyfriends! Once you were married, you would have had everything! You’re going to throw all that away over one little thing?” “All our friends and family were there! How could you humiliate me like that?” My head was pounding. “Dad,” I said weakly, “did you not see the video? She was with her ex, the day before our wedding…” He waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t talk to me about that! She’s a fourth-generation heiress! Men are lining up to marry her. This only happened because you couldn’t keep her satisfied! If you were man enough to keep her focused on you, this never would have happened. You were about to marry up, to enter a whole new world, and you just walk away? You’re thirty years old, Leo! Where are you going to find another woman who can do more for you than Isabella?” Hearing those words come from him was no surprise. His greed knew no bounds, especially when it came to rich women. But I had my limits. “Dad, if you love her so much, why don’t you ask her to adopt you?” He sputtered with rage, his hand flying up to slap me. I’d been drinking all night on an empty stomach, and the stress sent a sharp, cramping pain through my gut. I shoved him aside and ran for the bathroom again. Even then, he didn’t stop yelling, telling me I was inflexible, that my lifestyle was unhealthy. But every sentence somehow circled back to Isabella. “She’s beautiful, she’s sophisticated, and her family is top-tier! You couldn’t hold on to her, and now she’ll find someone better looking, more successful, and more open-minded than you! You’ll be left with nothing!” His words echoed down the hall and drilled into my ears. I thought of the heartbroken man at the bar last night. The delayed realization hit me like a sledgehammer, pounding against my chest. “You’re a grown man, and you can’t even clean up after yourself! What are these drops of blood on the floor?” “Only Isabella would put up with you. Any other woman would have burned this place to the ground by now.” I slammed the bathroom door shut and crawled into bed, pulling the covers over my head. I curled into a ball, cocooned in the darkness, and finally let myself sob. 5 My relationship with Isabella didn’t start the way my father thought—me climbing the social ladder, her being a convenient, docile rich girl. We had been together for ten years. We fell in love during a time when my father’s control over my life was at its most suffocating. In our tenth year together, through my own hard work, I had finally bought an apartment and a car in the city where her family lived. I had teased her, “Apartment and car are paid in full. I’ve saved for the wedding, and I even bought you your favorite style of ring. How much longer do I have to wait before you’ll marry me?” She had cupped my face in her hands and kissed me, her love enveloping me. When she pulled back, her eyes were shining. “This year. Let’s get married this year.” “Leo, do you still want to marry me?” I didn’t. I should have said no right then. Isabella, you said I was your present and your future. I was the one who healed your past, the one who brought you peace. I was the one you were supposed to walk down the aisle with. So why? Why, when I was closer to happiness than I had ever been, did you have to go back to him? 6 My father harassed me for days, a cycle of threats and pleading, all aimed at getting me to reconcile with Isabella. When he realized I wasn’t going to budge, he slammed the door and left in a huff. I locked myself in my apartment. No one called. My phone was off. I heard nothing. I lay on my bed like a corpse, utterly lifeless. On Monday, I went back to the office. My colleagues immediately started congratulating me. “The wedding didn’t happen. Sorry,” I said flatly. Their faces shifted from cheerful to awkward. “Oh. That’s… sudden. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to…” “Let me buy you a coffee, man, I’m really sorry…” I cut them off with a weak smile. “Don’t worry about it. It’s over.” The busy morning was a welcome distraction. I went to the breakroom to get some water and overheard a few people whispering. “Why didn’t Leo get married?” “His fiancée is gorgeous and comes from a great family. You think she got cold feet?” “No way. She was crazy about him. She used to bring him different kinds of homemade soup every week to help his stomach problems. When he was hospitalized for that ulcer, she never left his side. She even drove him to and from work for a while after he was discharged. She was completely devoted to him.” “Then what could it be? You don’t think Leo was cheating on her, do you?” “Get out of here! We’ve worked with him for years. He’s capable, responsible, has a great sense of humor but always knows the line. He’s a solid guy.” I didn’t stay to hear the rest. I bought a coffee from the vending machine and went back to my desk. As soon as I sat down, my father called. I ignored it, but then the texts started. “How could you block Isabella? Are you a child?” “Can’t you two just sit down and talk this out like adults?” I read the messages with a detached numbness. I didn’t know how to respond. My entire being felt hollow. By the time I snapped out of it, my father’s number was in my block list. 7 A thunderstorm raged outside, the wind howling. Flashes of lightning illuminated the faces of my colleagues as they rushed to get home. I waited until the office was empty before heading down. I opened my bag and remembered: I never carried an umbrella. For ten years, Isabella had always been the one to remind me. Before I left, she would give me a playful, insistent look until I finally grabbed it. I had gotten so used to following her lead. I trusted her unconditionally. That kind of blind trust is a terrifying thing. I held my briefcase over my head and dashed into the parking garage, only to find my car wouldn’t start. I slammed my fist on the steering wheel in frustration. It had been working fine. In the end, I had no choice but to brave the storm and head for the subway. The moment I stepped out of the garage, I saw her. Isabella, standing in the pouring rain. She saw me and ran over, her voice filled with worry. “Leo, you’re getting soaked! Let’s just go home and we can talk…” “Let go of me!” I ripped my arm from her grasp and stormed off into the downpour. She ran after me, calling my name, trying to shield me from the rain with her small hands. “Leo, I drove here! Please, let me give you a ride!” “You have stomach problems! You’ll get sick if you catch a cold!” “If you won’t get in the car, at least take my umbrella! I’ll worry about you…” “Leave me alone! Stop following me!” I stopped dead in my tracks and screamed at her, all my pent-up frustration and pain exploding out of me. “Just get away from me! GO!” “I never want to see you again! I don’t want to hear another word from you! Do you hear me?” “I will never, ever trust you again! Get out of my life! GET OUT!” I was shaking, my face a mess of rain and tears. My throat was raw, as if I had screamed myself bloody. Why? The day had been so normal. I had closed a deal with a client, I had eaten properly. I had even decided to finally schedule a check-up for my long-neglected stomach issues. I thought I was moving on. Why did the sight of her make me fall apart all over again? The only umbrella we had was knocked from my hand, snatched by the wind and sent tumbling down the street. Isabella’s elegant dress was ruined, plastered to her skin by the rain. We stood there, two pathetic, drenched figures. Despite my furious rejection, she stood as still as a statue, just staring at me. Her lips moved, soundlessly forming my name. Seeing her so broken and lost brought me no relief. It only made the weight on my chest heavier. A few passersby were staring. I couldn’t stand it any longer. I wiped the water from my face and walked away, leaving her standing alone in the storm. Back home, after a hot shower, I could already feel a cold coming on, and a dull ache in my stomach. I took some medicine and was about to lie down when my phone lit up with a call from an unknown number. “Leo, you bastard! You blocked your own father?” “I’ve been going out of my mind! Isabella tried to kill herself! She cut her wrists!” “Downtown General, third floor, emergency room! Get your ass over here now!”
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