I had just laid down in bed when my best friend’s frantic ringtone blared out, shattering the quiet of my room. "Weston, where the hell are you? The ceremony is about to start! Why aren't you here yet?" I blinked, completely dazed. "What ceremony?" Tayler sounded like he was about to have a stroke. "Your wedding to Sabina Lancaster, you idiot!" I figured he was pulling some elaborate prank, but then he flipped the camera. The screen filled with the glittering, high-ceilinged ballroom of the Olympic Hotel—one of Seattle’s most exclusive venues. There were my parents, all our aunts, uncles, and family friends, dressed to the nines and mingling around beautifully decorated tables. And right there, beside the grand floral arch at the entrance, stood an elegant gold-trimmed welcome sign: "The Wedding of Weston Davis & Sabina Lancaster" My stomach did a violent flip. Sabina Lancaster. The brilliant, untouchable tech mogul who had recently topped the city's billionaire list. She was also the girl I had harbored a silent, agonizing crush on all through high school. She was Seattle royalty. I was just another underpaid corporate drone grinding out a living on an entry-level salary. I hadn't seen her since our graduation night, and I didn't even have her phone number, let alone her social media. Getting married? To "her"? What kind of sick, impossible joke was this? But Tayler sounded dead serious, and in the background, I could hear the anxious murmur of a crowd waiting for the groom. Determined to get to the bottom of whatever madness was happening, I threw on a jacket and bolted out the door. But the very second I stepped onto the street, the blinding headlights of an out-of-control semi-truck roared around the corner. There was a deafening screech of tires, a violent impact, and then—nothing. When my eyes snapped open, the phantom pain was still vibrating through my bones. I was back in my bed, panting for breath, right at the exact moment Tayler's call began to ring again. … I woke up drenched in cold sweat, my heart hammering against my ribs. The memory of the truck hitting me felt incredibly real, but even in the face of death, a single question consumed me: "Why did everyone think today was my wedding day?" With trembling fingers, I grabbed my phone and searched: "Sabina Lancaster wedding." Nothing. No press releases, no social media speculation, absolutely no news about her dating, let alone getting married today. I checked my contacts, my call logs, my text history, and my photo archives. There wasn't a single trace of her name or face. My phone vibrated violently in my hand again. Tayler’s anxious voice cut through the speaker. "Weston, the coordinator is losing her mind. Where are you?" "The guests are starting to whisper. You need to get down here right now, man. It’s showtime!" The sheer panic in his voice made my blood run cold. I took a screenshot of my clean search results and fired it over to him. "Tayler, jokes have limits. Sabina Lancaster and I live in entirely different worlds. We have zero connection. How on earth could we be getting married?" There was a stunned silence on the other end. Then, Tayler flipped his camera again, panning across the crowded chapel lobby. There she was. Sabina Lancaster, breathtaking in a sweeping white silk gown, surrounded by her bridesmaids and a flock of venue coordinators. "Are you losing your mind, Weston? You literally signed the marriage license last week. Now you're claiming you're single? What is this, some weird panic attack where you pretend you're a bachelor from five years ago?" "Stop screwing around. Everyone is waiting." The rest of the groomsmen crowded into the frame. "Weston, buddy, where did you go? You disappeared out of the dressing room, we've been turning this hotel upside down!" "The woman proposed to you ninety-nine times! She spent over ten million dollars on this wedding alone. What more do you want?" "Sabina proposed to me ninety-nine times?" It was laughable. She was Seattle's famous "Ice Queen"—untouchable, brilliant, and notoriously private. What could a guy like me possibly offer to capture the heart of a tech billionaire? Suddenly, her clear, crisp voice echoed near the microphone in the background. "Did anyone find Weston? Is his phone connected?" "No, not yet..." Tayler stammered, quickly cupping his hand over the receiver. Sabina’s eyes darkened. She turned to her security detail, her voice turning to pure steel. "Check the hotel cameras. Find Weston Davis. Now." Tayler lowered his voice, whispering frantically into the phone. "Did you hear that? She’s been looking for you for hours." "Stop playing games. I don't care how much she spoils you, if you leave her standing at the altar in front of the entire city's elite, she will never recover from the humiliation. And frankly, neither will you." "If you don't show up in five minutes, I can't protect you." He aimed the camera toward the entrance. My parents stood there, their faces drawn with anxiety, scanning the lobby. Guests were whispering behind their champagne flutes. Their panic felt too real to be an act. But in my previous life—just minutes ago—I had believed them, and it had cost me my life on that asphalt. I clenched my fists, my knuckles turning white. "Tayler, I have never dated Sabina Lancaster. We are not getting married. If this is some sick AI deepfake prank, I'm hanging up." Tayler let out a harsh, disbelieving laugh. "AI? Weston, did a mule kick you in the head? Look at this. Does this look like a simulation?" "This is your wedding, not mine. If you want to ruin your own life, fine. I'm done." He snatched a screenshot of something, fired it over to me, and slammed the phone down. I stared at my screen, completely numb. It was a picture of a marriage certificate. And there, clearly stamped and authenticated by the state, were our names and photos: "Weston Davis" and "Sabina Lancaster". I zoomed in, looking for any signs of digital manipulation, overlapping pixels, or editing. Nothing. It looked entirely authentic. But I had no memory of signing it. My phone's camera roll didn't have this photo. My brain was short-circuiting. Tayler and I had been best friends since we were kids; he was a terrible liar who always stuttered when he tried to pull a fast one. He hadn't hesitated once. And my parents had no reason to participate in such a cruel, elaborate hoax. If it was real... why did I have absolutely no memory of loving her? Then, I remembered someone. My Aunt Martha worked at the county clerk's office. If there was a marriage certificate on file, she would know. I messaged her the screenshot immediately. "Aunt Martha, please tell me the truth. Is this real?" She called me back instantly, sounding exasperated. "Weston Davis, if this is another one of your stunts to get me off your back about settling down, it isn't funny! I have set you up with half the eligible people in this city, and you've shot every single one of them down. Now you're sending me fake certificates?" Hearing her familiar, nagging voice grounded me. "So... it's a fake?" "Of course it is!" She flipped her camera to show her dual computer screens at the government office. "Look at the registry yourself. Your file says 'Single.' I'm the clerk for this district. If you got married here, do you really think I wouldn't be the one processing the paperwork?" I stared at the screen. The status column clearly read: "Unmarried". One of her coworkers leaned into the frame, chuckling. "Gotta admit, though, whoever forged that did a hell of a job with the seals." "Weston, your aunt is losing sleep over your bachelor status," the coworker teased. "Stop messing with her and bring a real partner in to sign the papers!" I let out a long, shuddering breath. Thank God. My aunt loved me like her own; there was no way she would skip my wedding to work a weekend shift. If the state database said I was single, then I was single. But then, my phone buzzed again. A new group chat named "Operation: The Big Day" popped up. Notifications began flooding in, tagging me repeatedly. "Weston, where the hell are you? The officiant has asked three times. We need you in the wings!" "Hurry up! The press outside is starting to ask questions!" My head throbbed. When had this group chat even been created? Why had I never noticed it before? Then, a voice note came through. "Weston, are we doing this or not?" It was Sabina. Her voice was clipped, carrying a sharp, dangerous edge of irritation. Then my mother's voice popped up: "Weston, honey, what is going on? Marriage isn't a game. Why are you hiding? Get down here right now. Sabina has been pacing the green room for an hour. If you're doing this to be stubborn, your father and I are going to be extremely angry. Get in here." Frustration bubbled up in my chest. I screen-recorded my video call with Aunt Martha showing the registry and threw it into the group chat. "Mom, Dad, what is wrong with you guys? Why are you playing along with this? I'm not married. This joke isn't funny anymore." I expected them to back down, to admit the prank had gone too far. Instead, my mother’s voice came back, practically shrieking. "Martha! What the hell are you doing? The boy is having a panic attack, and you're helping him play make-believe? Are you out of your mind?" Then, Aunt Martha’s voice came through the chat, sounding sheepish and defensive. "Oh, Grace, I'm sorry! I thought Weston was just having cold feet and wanted me to help him stall! I didn't think he'd actually hide from his own wedding!" "Weston, sweetie, I'm so sorry! You really are getting married today. I filed the papers myself last Tuesday! Just go inside. I'm waiting in the second row to watch you walk down the aisle!" I stared at the screen, my mind completely fracturing. If Aunt Martha was sitting in the wedding chapel, who was the woman working at the county clerk's office? I frantically dialed my aunt’s direct work number. She picked up, sitting at her desk in her beige cardigan, looking thoroughly annoyed. "Weston, I am in the middle of a stack of deeds. Why are you calling me again?" A cold sweat broke out across my back. How was this possible? How could there be two of her? Both versions of her felt entirely authentic, real down to the subtle cadence of her speech. I forwarded the call log to the group chat, my fingers shaking violently. "I'm not married. Look at this. What are you guys trying to do to me?" The group chat, which had been a flurry of notifications, suddenly went dead silent. Then, a direct voice note from Sabina arrived. "Weston, you keep sending these absurd deepfakes. What are you trying to prove?" "My patience is wearing thin. I am giving you exactly five minutes. If you aren't here, you will have to deal with the consequences." I shivered. Sabina Lancaster was a titan of industry. She wielded power that could ruin families with a single phone call. Why would a woman of her stature spend millions of dollars and enlist my entire family to play a psychological game with an ordinary guy like me? The sheer cost of the flowers alone—cascading white Juliet roses flown in from France—cost more than my entire net worth. My phone rang again. The screen lit up: "Sabina Lancaster". My breath caught. My fingers trembled so hard I nearly dropped the phone. I had searched my contacts ten times. Her name had not been there. How was it suddenly appearing now? With a racing heart, I slid the bar to answer. Sabina’s striking, pale face appeared on the screen, framed by her bridal veil. Her eyes were rimmed with red. "Weston," she said, her voice dropping to a low, painful whisper. "Time's up. Are you... really not coming?" A strange, sharp ache bloomed in my chest. "Sabina... we... we aren't married. We don't even know each other. Right?" Her eyelashes fluttered, and she closed her eyes for a long, agonizing second. A bitter, tragic smile touched her lips. "Wow. You really are something, Weston." "Three years. We've been together for three years. I thought if I loved you unconditionally, if I gave you everything you ever wanted, I could finally break through that wall of yours..." "But I guess I was delusional." Seeing the raw devastation on her face, I felt an instinctual urge to reach out. "No, it's not like that..." Deep down, a part of me wanted this to be true. I had loved her from afar since our sophomore year of high school. The reason I had remained single all these years was because no one else could ever compare to the memory of her. But my survival instinct screamed at me. I had died in the street because of this wedding. I couldn't gamble my life on a hallucination. I took a deep breath, looking at her with a heavy heart. "Sabina... we aren't together. Please... stop playing this game with me." The warmth drained from her eyes, leaving them as cold as winter ice. She nodded slowly, a single tear escaping down her cheek, and ended the call. Before I could process the silence, my parents called back. "Weston, have you lost your mind? Sabina is a saint! She has cherished you, and you're throwing her away like garbage!" "How can you be so incredibly selfish? You spent our entire relationship demanding she prove her love to you because of your insecurities, and now you pull this stunt on your wedding day? What is wrong with you?" I was on the verge of tears. "Mom, Dad, please listen to me! We never dated! I don't know her!" My father’s roaring voice cut me off. "Enough of this ridiculous act!" "I'm telling you right now, Weston—if you do not walk through those chapel doors in ten minutes, you are no longer our son." The line went dead. When I tried to call back, a robotic voice informed me the number was no longer in service. Panicking, I looked up the Olympic Hotel's public number and dialed the front desk. "Hi, is there a wedding scheduled today for Sabina Lancaster and Weston Davis?" The receptionist’s polite voice answered immediately. "I'm sorry, sir, but our main ballroom is currently closed for a complete structural renovation. There are no events scheduled today. Would you like me to connect you with our events coordinator for a future booking?" The tension in my shoulders finally broke. I knew it! They were lying to me. It had to be an incredibly elaborate setup orchestrated by Sabina. She had the resources to manipulate everyone around me. But why? What did she want from a nobody like me? Then Tayler sent me a link. I clicked it, and my vision blurred at the sight on my screen. It was a live broadcast. Sabina was standing on the steps of the hotel ballroom. Her eyes were bloodshot as she addressed the crowd, announcing the cancellation of the wedding. A mob of reporters surrounded her, their flashbulbs illuminating her pale, stoic face. The internet was already exploding with headlines: "Tech Heiress Left at the Altar by No-Name Fiancé". My parents and Tayler were desperately trying to hold her back. "Sabina, please, just give him a few more minutes!" "Weston isn't like this. Something must have happened to him on the way. Please, let us find him!" "I'll go to his apartment myself," Tayler pleaded, sweat dripping down his face. "I'll drag him here, and he will explain everything, I promise!" Aunt Martha was crying in the background. "Yes, Sabina! Weston loves you so much! He acts distant sometimes because he's intimidated by your success, but he's wanted this his entire life. He was crying tears of joy when you got your license! He wouldn't do this on purpose!" Sabina let out a hollow, bitter laugh. "Not on purpose?" "Three years ago, the moment I saw him again, I promised myself I would never let him go." "I gave him my entire heart. We planned this day for a year. I thought he was as excited as I was, but it turns out I was just making a fool of myself." "He thinks he can humiliate me in front of the entire world and get away with it." She pushed past the reporters, ready to leave. Tayler grabbed her arm. "No, Sabina, please! Weston might be an idiot, but he wouldn't do this. Give him one more chance!" Then, Tayler turned directly to the camera, screaming into the lens: "Weston, what the hell are you doing?!" "Stop throwing a tantrum and get down here! Are you really going to destroy your own happiness over this?!" Seeing the genuine agony on their faces, my resolve began to crumble. Could it be true? Was my memory flawed? I grabbed my keys and bolted out of my apartment. In the hallway, my neighbor, Mrs. Hudson, looked up from her mail in surprise. "Oh, Weston! Didn't you just get home from work? Going out again?" My throat tightened. "Mrs. Hudson... do you know if... if I was supposed to get married today?" She blinked, then chuckled warmly. "Oh, Weston, you and your sense of humor. Aren't you still very much single?" A chill ran down my spine, but I didn't stop. I pressed the elevator button and ran toward the street. No matter what game was being played, I had to see it with my own eyes. Every muscle in my body was tense as I drove, constantly checking the mirrors for any rogue semi-trucks. But I made it to the Olympic Hotel without incident. I ran through the revolving doors and into the lobby, but the moment I reached the entrance of the ballroom, the blood froze in my veins. I collapsed to my knees, gasping for air. The grand, glittering ballroom from the video was gone. In its place was a dark, hollow cavern of concrete, exposed wires, and dust. Not a single soul was inside. "No... this can't be happening," I whispered, looking around in terror. "Where is everyone? Where is the wedding?" A man in a hard hat and a high-visibility vest walked over to me. "Sir? Can I help you?" "The wedding..." I gasped. "Sabina Lancaster... the wedding?" "We've been under structural renovation for the last two months, buddy," he said gently, reaching down to help me up. "No events here. You must have the wrong venue." As he pulled me up, my eyes locked onto a distinct tattoo on the web of his hand—a small, dark crescent moon. In that split second, everything clicked.
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "524609", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel