Inside the VIP fitting room of Vera Wang's New York flagship, as three assistants gave up trying to zip my six-figure custom gown, the truth finally hit me: this grand wedding Julian Thorne had spun for me was a lie from the very start. He stood a few feet away, showing no remorse. All I saw was impatience. "Ava, is your personal trainer just for show? It’s a standard size." He looked me over like a bad investment. "Whatever. The wedding is next week. Starve yourself for a few days, and you'll squeeze into it." Same old bullshit. Ever since his ex-girlfriend, Chloe, moved back to town, Julian had made a habit of treating me like an afterthought. Like the custom JAR perfume I got for my promotion. He gave it away without a second thought, only because Chloe played the 'poor girl' card. "Babe, it's just a symbol. Order yourself another bottle. Don't be so petty." Or when he smiled and handed me an almond cookie, conveniently forgetting my lethal allergy. "Try it. Chloe says these are the best in New York." Now, watching me suffocate in this ridiculous dress, he didn't show a shred of guilt. Instead, he snapped a picture and sent it straight to Chloe. I silently slid the five-carat engagement ring off my finger. He must have forgotten something. He was the one who gave the designer the measurements. It wasn't some "standard size." It belonged to someone barely five-foot-three. Chloe. And me? I'm five-foot-eight with a healthy, athletic build. He loves problem solving? Good. Because starting today, his biggest problem is finding a new bride. …… Julian took the ring out of the velvet box. He spoke to me like he was soothing a disobedient pet. "Stop throwing a tantrum, Ava. You're acting like a child." He reached for my hand, trying to force the ring back on. I took a step back, dodging his grasp. "Fine. I was wrong. I shouldn't have called you fat." He acted like he was doing me a massive favor. "But every woman drops a few pounds to look good on camera. I'm looking out for you." I stared at my reflection. The hemline hovered awkwardly around my calves. I looked utterly absurd. I didn't say a word. This was the 99th time he had told me to "look at the bigger picture." The past 98 times, I sucked it up. But this time? How the hell was I supposed to compromise? Chop off my own legs to fit into a dress that wasn't even made for me?
"It's just a bit short." Julian circled behind me, slipping into his corporate problem-solver mode. "Have the designer alter it. I'll pay for the rush fee." The head designer gave an apologetic smile. "Mr. Thorne, we can take it in, but the proportions are fixed. We can't change the length. Unless we switch to an off-the-rack gown." "Off-the-rack?" Julian's jaw tightened. "The wedding is next week. If we pivot to off-the-rack now, the press will have a field day. They’ll say Julian Thorne couldn't even get his wife a dress that fits." "Then postpone it." My voice was cold. "Out of the question." He shut it down instantly. Then, his face lit up with a brilliant idea. "You can grab a backup dress to walk down the aisle. As for this Vera Wang... let Chloe wear it as her bridesmaid gown. It's practically her size anyway. No point letting it go to waste." I almost laughed. "Since when is Chloe my bridesmaid?" "She's all alone in New York. She wants to be part of the big day. Don't be like that." "My bridal party is full. Six girls. Who exactly is she replacing?" "Simple." He didn't even look up from his screen. "Just cut your college roommate... what's her name... right, Harper. Drop her. She didn't even show up to my party last time. You two aren't that close." "That's because she was litigating a big case in London." "Then cut someone else." He finally looked up, annoyance written all over his face. "Ava, women swap out 'best friends' like last season's handbags. Don't make such a big deal out of it." Right on cue, his phone buzzed. A FaceTime call. Chloe. His face immediately softened. He flipped the camera toward me. "Babe, look. Isn't the gown gorgeous?"
I stood before the mirror, trapped in the wrong gown, listening to my fiancé and another woman plan my wedding. Like it was theirs. An assistant walked over, handing me a milkshake. "Miss Hayes, you look pale. Have some of this to keep your blood sugar up." I was about to decline, but Julian had already hung up. He grabbed the cup and shoved the straw to my lips. "Drink. You've been going non-stop all morning." Cold liquid slid down my throat. Then came the smell—the heavy scent of almonds. My eyes dropped to the cup, fixing on the brown flecks swirling in the milky white. All color drained from my face.
My throat clamped shut. A searing burn crawled up my neck. I was already gasping for air. "This is... almond!" I grabbed his sleeve, forcing the words through gritted teeth. "My... EpiPen..." Julian stared at the empty cup, turning deathly pale. "How the hell is it almond..." He tore through my handbag. "The EpiPen..." His eyes darted away. "Last time you said it was expiring soon, I took it out. Chloe was stressed and sleep-deprived, so I... I gave it to her to keep by the bed. Just in case." "I'm taking you to the ER!" He threw an arm around me, rushing me toward the door. Right then, his phone rang. Julian glanced at the screen. He pushed me aside to answer it. "What? Your stomach hurts? From that juice?" I slumped against the icy wall. The world began to blur. All I could hear was a deafening ringing in my ears. Seconds later, Julian hung up, sheer panic in his eyes. "Look, Chloe drank your strawberry juice. She's having severe stomach cramps. She's by herself, Ava. I need to go to her, I can't risk it." He shoved his Black Card into my hand. "Call an Uber. Go to the nearest private ER and put it on my card. I'll check on you later!" And with that, he bolted. He jumped into his Bentley and took off without looking back.
The suffocation was crushing me. I fumbled for my phone with shaking hands. The screen lit up. A push notification from Instagram flashed. It was Chloe's latest post. In the photo, Julian was standing in an apartment kitchen, awkwardly wearing an apron, cooking something for her. The caption read: "True love isn't what he says. It's what he does." Posted three days ago. I had a 102-degree fever that day. I begged him to heat up some soup for me. Yet he just handed me a room service menu. "Babe, order the truffle soup from the hotel. Room service makes it way better than I ever could. I can barely boil water." It wasn't that he couldn't cook. He simply wouldn't do it for me. My legs finally gave out. Before everything went black... I heard the horrified screams of the assistants, and the distant wailing of an ambulance.
I woke up to glaring hospital lights the next morning. A nurse was swapping out my IV bag. "A good Samaritan brought you in. Your airway was shut. You barely made it. We tried calling your emergency contact, Mr. Thorne... but it went straight to voicemail." I shook my head. The number wasn't wrong. The man was. I pulled up Julian's number, ready to type out two words: We're done. But before I hit send, the door swung open. Julian hurried in. Chloe trailed close behind him, looking pale and frail. When she saw me, she rushed to the bed with an exaggerated gasp. "Oh my god, Ava! You scared me half to death! When Julian told me you were in the ER, I made him bring me straight here." She looked me up and down. Her eyes lingered on my swollen, blotchy face. Then, a giggle slipped out. "You know... you look kind of cute like this. Like an angry pufferfish." She laughed and leaned into Julian's chest. His mouth twitched, then froze under my dead stare. "But seriously, Ava." Chloe covered her mouth, her eyes darting between us. "If you're still swollen like this... what about the wedding? We can't let Julian be the laughingstock of Wall Street, right?"
I instantly caught her drift. So, I filled in the blanks for her. "Yeah. How do you suggest we save Julian from embarrassment?" "Well..." Chloe looked down, biting her lip. "What if someone stood in for you? You know...to walk down the aisle." "Exactly!" Julian snapped his fingers. "That’s it! Chloe will wear the dress and walk the aisle for you. You can stay home and rest. It’s purely a PR stunt, Ava. For the sake of both our families' reputations." He was getting carried away. "This way, Chloe doesn’t have to take a bridesmaid slot. Two birds, one stone! The ceremony is just a show anyway. We need to do some solid damage control." He looked at me expectantly, waiting for me to nod. My hands clenched. Blood backed up into my IV tube. Compromise? No. In his corporate sociopath brain, this was "risk management." The "optimal solution." A stand-in dress. And now, a stand-in bride. Right then, I was genuinely grateful. Grateful for that wrong-sized gown. Grateful for that lethal almond shake. They snapped me awake right on time. I looked at Julian. "Okay." Julian and Chloe both breathed a sigh of relief. They smiled. I smiled too. They smiled because their little "PR crisis" was solved. I smiled because my new life was finally going to begin.
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