The seventh time Blake asked me to marry him, he told me to wear the dress. The white one. And the ring. I waited from sunrise to sunset at City Hall, a bride with no groom, only to find my humiliation broadcast across the city by a swarm of drones. I saw him then, his arm slung around Chloe, his childhood friend. He gestured back at me, a smirk playing on his lips as he addressed their friends. “See? Told you she’d do whatever I say. Pay up. A hundred bucks each.” Then his eyes, full of a familiar, malicious glint, found mine. “Ava, it’s just a joke. You’re not mad, are you?” he called out, his voice dripping with false concern. “Chloe needed an idea for a story, a little social experiment. We just wanted to see what would happen.” He let out a low chuckle. “I didn’t realize you were this desperate to get married. But then again, with your family bankrupt, who else is going to take you?” The group erupted in laughter and began to drift away. I managed a small, tight smile and raised my phone, dialing the number of his sworn enemy. “City Hall closes in an hour. Feel like getting married?” 1 The breath on the other end of the line hitched. A moment later, a low, masculine voice, laced with amusement, rumbled through the speaker. “You sure you have the right number? Little Ava, this is Ethan Grant. Not your precious Blake.” I glanced over at Blake, who was now laughing, utterly delighted with himself as Chloe clung to his arm. The pain in my chest was so sharp it had become a dull, constant ache. Ever since Chloe had moved back from her overseas assignment three years ago, the Blake I knew—the one whose world once revolved around me—had vanished, replaced by this cruel stranger. He used her career as an excuse, a shield for his increasingly twisted games. This was the seventh time. It would be the last. This time, I was the one leaving. “I know who you are. Are you in, or not?” “Fine,” he said, a note of finality in his tone. “Stay put.” The moment I hung up, a drone zipped down, its camera lens hovering inches from my face. The sound of Blake and his friends’ jeering laughter washed over me like a tidal wave. “Oh, look, she’s still keeping up the act!” “Get the camera right on her. Let’s see how good her performance is.” “Wow, she’s a natural.” Blake sauntered over, feigning annoyance as he stepped between me and the camera. “Alright guys, that’s enough.” He turned to me, his voice a stage whisper. “I mean, she’s wearing the dress and everything. It’d be a shame not to let her finish the scene, right?” The group roared. I stared at him, my body trembling with a rage so profound it left me speechless. He had insisted I wear this dress, and now he was using it as the punchline to his joke. His gaze dropped to my hand, and he snorted. “No way, Ava. You actually bought a ring? God, you’re desperate.” He grinned. “Hey, I’ve got an idea. We can make you famous today. We’ll call you the ‘Desperate Bride.’ You should thank Chloe. Without her story, you’d never get this kind of exposure.” Chloe linked her arm through mine, her expression a mask of gentle reprimand. “Oh, Blake, stop it. Don’t tease her. There’s nothing wrong with Ava wanting to marry the man she loves.” She gave my arm a squeeze. “Ava, don’t mind them. They’re just boys being boys.” “This was all for my story, you see,” she continued, her voice soft and earnest. “Just a social experiment. I told him it might be hard on you, but he insisted my work was more important. There was nothing I could do.” With a few placid words, she absolved herself, framing my public humiliation as a necessary sacrifice for her career. Blake hadn’t just played me for a fool at City Hall; he’d turned it into a city-wide spectacle, complete with a live drone feed. The old Blake—the boy who once tore through the city in the dead of winter to find me a specific kind of candy from our childhood that they didn’t make anymore—was gone. He’d been gone for three years. I pulled my arm from Chloe’s grasp. “I just never said I was here to marry him.” “Oh, Ava, stop trying to save face,” Blake sneered. “Your father’s in jail. You’re not a princess anymore.” 2 “You know what? I’ll tell you what we’ll do,” Blake continued, a cruel grin spreading across his face. “Gus can marry you. Yeah. That way, we can all still hang out sometimes. Keep you from going crazy when you can’t see me.” He shoved a short, heavyset guy with a face full of acne forward. “He’s a man, isn’t he? You should be grateful anyone wants you. Stop pretending you have options.” He watched me then, his eyes alight with a sick curiosity, waiting for my reaction. So, he knew. He knew how I felt, and he was using it to wound me. I recognized the man—Gus. One of Blake’s sycophants. He’d just gotten out of jail a few days ago, served a few years for what he did to that girl from state college. And Blake, in some twisted attempt to prove his loyalty to Chloe, was trying to pawn me off on him. My fists clenched at my sides. “No, thank you. My fiancé is on his way.” For a second, they were all stunned into silence. Then, a wave of derisive laughter broke over the plaza. Gus laughed so hard that tears streamed down his pimpled cheeks, looking at me like I was a lunatic. Blake waved the drones closer, directing them to focus tightly on my face. “Everyone get a good look! Remember this face. This is our city’s one and only Desperate Bride.” He shook his head, feigning pity. “Ava, are you delusional? Has wanting to get married finally broken your brain?” I saw Gus holding up his phone, the camera pointed at me. A live chat was scrolling rapidly on his screen, a torrent of digital venom. [OMG, this is so cringe. Showing up in a dress and ring to force a guy’s hand?] [Anyone in the chat wanna claim her? If you like ‘em easy, here’s your chance.] [This kind of girl is too much drama. Pass. Maybe for 100 bucks a night to help her out since her family’s broke lol. Support small business!] Gus grinned, flashing a set of yellowed teeth as he read the comments aloud. The humiliation was so public that even my father saw the news from the county jail. He called, his voice a furious rasp through the phone. “Our family would rather starve to death than pull a stunt like this! What is wrong with you, going to City Hall and making a spectacle of yourself? Have you lost your mind?” he yelled. “Chloe has a real, respectable career! What do you have? How dare you even think you can compete with her!” I’ll admit it. At first, my reason for wanting to marry Blake was tied to my family’s situation. That’s why I had let him humiliate me, time and time again. Even when I knew his marriage proposals were just ploys to appease Chloe and give her material for her sensationalist stories, I kept showing up. In the beginning, I would get angry. “It’s just a joke, Ava,” he’d say, his eyes cold. “Don’t be so sensitive.” Eventually, I just went numb. I always knew his friends looked down on me, saw me as a desperate clinger. In the past, Blake would have defended me, ready to fight anyone who said a bad word. Now, he was the one leading the charge, orchestrating my mockery for Chloe’s amusement. And this time, as if the private cruelty wasn't enough, he’d invited the whole city to watch. The irony was, I’d known Blake longer than he’d known Chloe. The three of us grew up together, and for years, Blake couldn’t stand her. He used to say she was a phony, too calculating. But somewhere along the line, that changed. He started choosing her, over and over again, leaving me behind. Last year, for his birthday, I took time off work and flew in from out of state to surprise him. I spent three days and three nights in the freezing cold, setting up a huge outdoor party. My hands were swollen and raw by the end of it. But then, in the middle of the party, Blake got down on one knee in front of Chloe and declared his undying love for her. I stood in the snow, the tears freezing on my cheeks. Everyone cheered for them, a happy, roaring crowd. I was just outside the circle of their warmth, a lonely joke on the edge of their joy. 3 It felt just like that now. Except this time, I was certain I wouldn't be standing alone. I took a deep breath, faced the cameras, and smiled. “Thank you all for coming to my wedding. My fiancé will be here shortly. Please be patient.” My words were a stone tossed into a still pond, sending ripples of shock and mockery through the crowd. “I’m dying! Is this woman for real? She’s completely delusional.” “Who’s gonna marry you? Someone from the livestream? Alright boys, hit ‘1’ in the chat if you want to marry her.” The chat feed flooded with a stream of ‘hell no’ and ‘run away.’ Blake crossed his arms, a smirk playing on his lips. “Ava, this act has gone on long enough. It’s going to be pretty embarrassing when no one shows up.” “Why don’t you tell us who this fiancé of yours is?” he taunted. “Did you hire an actor? How much does he charge an hour that he thinks he can keep us all waiting?” He was pretending to be annoyed at my non-existent fiancé, but his real target was me. The group behind him howled with laughter. I let my own smile widen. “Ethan Grant. Head of Grant Corporation.” Blake’s expression flickered, then he threw his head back and laughed, louder than before. “How many drinks have you had today? Ava, even if I gift-wrapped you and handed you to him, he wouldn’t look twice. Not after everything between us.” Chloe, ever the gentle mediator, wore a look of helpless concern. “Ava, please stop. Is it really that hard to just apologize to Blake? We were just running a test for my article. Now… now you’re just wasting everyone’s time.” Her sentiment was echoed by the others. “Yeah, is it so hard to admit that nobody wants you?” “Just get on your knees and beg Blake to call it off. Either that or marry Gus. I think it’s a great match, he knows how to handle women…” The men snickered, nudging each other. I squeezed my fists, my nails digging into my palms. “I told you. My fiancé will be here.” Blake waved a hand dismissively and had someone bring a chair for Chloe. “Alright then,” he said, settling in for the show. “Don’t blame me for what happens next.” He lit a cigarette and blew a plume of smoke directly in my face. Chloe coughed delicately, and Blake immediately panicked, crushing the cigarette under his heel. “Chloe, I’m so sorry, I forgot you hate the smell. I’ll quit, I swear. I’ll quit right now.” He frantically sent someone for wet wipes and breath spray, cleaning himself up as if he’d committed a cardinal sin. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. I’m allergic to cigarette smoke. A severe, throat-closing allergy. The kind that has landed me in the emergency room, coughing up blood. Blake knew this. He never cared. When I first asked him not to smoke around me, he had exploded. “It’s my only vice, are you going to control that too? You think you’re my girlfriend or my warden?” he had snarled. “If you don’t like it, you can leave.” After that, I never mentioned it again. He seemed to find my silent suffering amusing, often blowing smoke rings in my face on purpose. Once, he and his friends locked me in a room, sealed the windows, and chain-smoked around me, calling it a “Smoke-Tasting Party.” They made me rank the brands from best to worst. When I pointed out the one that made my lungs burn the most, he made everyone smoke that kind for the rest of the night. My eyes were red and swollen, and later that evening, my throat and tongue went numb from the allergic reaction. I ended up in the ER. Twenty minutes had passed since my call with Ethan. He was always punctual, pathologically so. If he said he’d be there, he would. I wasn’t worried. They, however, were convinced I was bluffing. “She’s really committed to the bit, isn’t she? Does she actually think Ethan Grant is coming?” “‘My fiancé,’” one of them mimicked in a high-pitched voice. “God, how embarrassing.” “Hey Ava, there’s a 50-year-old bachelor back in my hometown who needs a wife. You should marry him. You’re not picky, right? As long as it’s a man.” “Oh, she’s picky!” another chimed in. “She brought the dress and the ring for Blake, didn’t she?” 4 I ignored their cackling, my brow furrowing in genuine confusion. “My dress and ring were for my fiancé. Is Blake my fiancé?” “Hahaha, you wish! But he’s got to want you first!” “Hey Blake, she’s asking you a question! You gonna marry her or what?” Blake held up his hands in mock surrender. “Whoa, no thanks! Pass! Not just anyone can walk through the doors of my house, you know!” A fresh wave of laughter. I couldn't help but roll my eyes. In that moment, any lingering trace of affection I might have had for him evaporated completely. The crowd of onlookers was getting restless. “I thought her fiancé was coming! Is she just messing with us? I have to pick up my grandson from school!” “Yeah, what a waste of time. Does she think we have nothing better to do?” A staff member from City Hall approached me. “Miss, are you getting a license or not? If not, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. You’re holding up the line.” “Just five more minutes, please. He’s almost here.” Chloe seemed to finally take pity on me, shooting Blake a disapproving glare. He immediately deflated. She sighed and walked over to me, her voice soft with sympathy. “Ava, just stop. There’s no point in dragging this out. You’re only going to humiliate yourself further.” Her eyes were wide and earnest. “I know you’ve always wanted to marry Blake, but he doesn’t feel that way about you. Why are you trying to force him?” She placed a gentle hand on my arm. “A woman needs to have self-respect, Ava. You need your own ambition, your own career. What man could possibly handle this kind of desperation?” Every word was carefully crafted to sound like advice from a concerned friend, but the subtext was clear: I was a pathetic leech, incapable of standing on my own two feet. The crowd and the online viewers exploded. The narrative shifted instantly. I was now the other woman, the homewrecker, using manipulative tactics to trap a man who clearly loved someone else. [She’s a classic psycho ex. Can’t stand to see him happy with someone else.] [For the love of God, will some man just take this trainwreck off the market? So embarrassing! Didn’t her dad go to jail? Why didn’t they take her too?] [Chloe is a true class act. A real role model. It’s trash like this that makes things harder for all women!] Suddenly, Chloe was the icon of the modern, independent woman. I was the clinging vine, a disgrace to my gender. The commotion had grown so large that local news crews had arrived. A reporter shoved a microphone in my face. “Do you feel that your actions today are setting a bad example for women?” I knew that saying anything would only make it worse. All I had to do was wait for Ethan, get the license, and end this nightmare. But they weren’t going to let me go that easily. They started bringing up my family’s bankruptcy, spinning new lies about my father, demanding a full investigation into his taxes, insisting he should never be released. I couldn’t take it anymore. I opened my mouth to speak, but before I could, a raw egg sailed through the air and splattered across the bodice of my white dress. Then a second, and a third. My gown was streaked with foul-smelling, yellow ooze. The next thing I knew, an old man was charging at me with a bucket of sludgy water. “You made my grandson late for his own wedding registration!” he screamed, and heaved the contents of the bucket toward my head. Blake’s only reaction was to pull Chloe back, shielding her from the spectacle. I braced for the impact, but it never came. A warm, solid body pressed against mine, shielding me, absorbing the filthy deluge. I looked up into the sharp, stoic face of Ethan Grant. “I dare anyone to touch her,” he said, his voice a low growl that cut through the chaos. “Ethan.” “It’s okay,” he murmured, his arms a fortress around me. “I’m here now.”
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