Today was her wedding day.
Finally.
The day she had dreamed of—walking down the aisle with Christian. Forever is the deal.
Saraphina stood in front of the mirror, her hands trembling against the silk fabric.
She blinked at her reflection. The gown she wore was not the one she had sketched. Not the one she had poured her heart into. Not the one Christian promised would come from Paris.
Instead, this was a hurried choice. A gown her future mother-in-law had pulled from a store rack at the last minute, because, as Tessa had explained with a thin smile, Christian had "completely forgotten" to send her choice.
Her chest squeezed at the memory. Forgotten. The word sat heavy in her heart.
The gown was simple, heavy in all the wrong places. It clung where it shouldn't and ballooned where it shouldn't. It made her look bigger, rounder and softer. Not exquisite. Not magical. But at least… she looked like a bride. That was all that mattered.
She pressed her hands against her stomach, willing herself to believe that. Today wasn't about the dress. Today was about her and Christian. Today she would finally belong to him.
"I'm really disappointed, Saraphina," Hazel's voice cut through the room.
She leaned against the wall, her lips pursed in mock pity. "I thought I'd see you in the gown you sketched. That one was… breathtaking. This…" she waved her hand vertically at Saraphina, "this looks plain."
Saraphina's throat tightened. She forced a smile, even as her heart dropped. "It doesn't matter," she whispered. "I'm still a bride. That's what counts."
Hazel shrugged, smirking at her reflection in the mirror instead. "If you say so."
Saraphina dropped her gaze to the floor.
For a fleeting moment, she imagined the sketch folded in her drawer—the dream gown that had lived in her mind. She could almost see herself in it, walking toward Christian, his eyes softening at the sight of her.
But that was a fantasy.
And this was reality.
Lily stood behind her, hands folded, eyes steady. Through the mirror, their gazes met.
"If you don't want this, Phina…" Lily's voice was soft, almost pleading. "You can stop it here. You don't have to go through with it."
For a second, Saraphina's chest tightened. Her lips trembled—but then she forced them into a smile.
"Why not, Lily?" she said, her voice gentle.
"This is what I want. I'm happy to do this."
Lily's eyes searched hers, but Saraphina looked away, smoothing her gown again as if the fabric could hide the uneasiness creeping through her heart.
A pang of guilt stung her. Her friends had wanted to be by her side today, laughing with her, carrying her veil, whispering words of encouragement as she walked down the aisle.
But at the last minute, Tessa had decided otherwise. "Family first," she had said firmly. Only Amelia—Christian's sister—was allowed to be her bridesmaid.
Saraphina had nodded, swallowing the disappointment. Her friends had understood, even hugged her, promising they would be cheering from the back rows. Still, the absence burned quietly in her chest.
A sharp knock rattled the door.
Her heart jumped.
"It's time," a voice called from the other side.
The room seemed to grow smaller. Heavy. Oppressive.
Saraphina's palms grew damp. Her feet felt like ice against the floor. She took one shaky breath, then another, staring at herself in the mirror. The woman staring back looked like a bride, but the fear in her eyes betrayed her.
She curled her fingers tighter around the bouquet.
This was it.
The aisle waited. Christian waited. Forever waited.
And yet… why did her heart feel so unbearably heavy?
Hazel and Lily had already left. After all, the bride would walk the aisle alone.
Saraphina held her bouquet tighter, her breath shallow, her heart pounding in her ears.
When the door creaked open, she froze.
Light spilled in from the grand hall. But before she could take a step—another door on the other side of the hall opened at the same time.
Her eyes widened.
The back of a woman appeared. A woman dressed in white. A wedding gown.
Saraphina blinked in confusion. Another bride? Today? Here? In her wedding hall?
Her stomach knotted.
But then her breath caught.
That gown… the delicate embroidery… the flowing lines… the perfection of every detail.
It was her design.
The very sketch she had stayed up all night drawing, clutching in hope, dreaming of walking in herself.
Her body went cold.
The hall erupted with cheers and applause.
The crowd gasped as though they were seeing a vision descend from the heavens.
"Oh my God… she looks like a painting!" someone cried.
"So beautiful," another whispered breathlessly.
"Who designed that wedding dress? It's divine!"
Saraphina's throat locked. Her fingers dug into her bouquet until the stems bent.
A middle-aged man stepped forward, pride shining on his face. He took the woman's arm tenderly, guiding her toward the aisle.
Saraphina's heart lurched to her throat.
Wait.
No.
That was her father.
Her father… walking another woman down the aisle. In her gown.
Her vision blurred, the cheers of the crowd crashing in her ears like waves.
Saraphina could not move. Her body refused to obey. Her feet stayed glued to the floor, as if the earth itself had swallowed her whole.
Her father's hand tightened around the woman's arm, guiding her proudly, step by step, until they reached the altar.
Saraphina's vision swam. Her lips parted, but no sound came out.
The man waiting there—tall, broad-shouldered, smiling with a tenderness she had once thought belonged only to her—reached out his hand.
Her father placed the woman's hand into his.
The hall thundered with applause.
Saraphina's heart stopped.
Wait.
No.
Her breath shattered in her chest.
That man was Christian.
Her Christian.
The groom who had promised her forever.
The man who was supposed to be waiting for her at the altar.
And yet here he stood… holding another bride's hand.
Her world tilted, the bouquet slipping from her fingers.
It rolled across the floor as the cheers grew louder, drowning out the silent scream tearing through her soul.