Audrey's POV
Do you want tips on how to ruin a wedding, or mostly how to ruin your own wedding. That you should read closely, and take some tips from my wedding.
That's right, my wedding. Not actually my wedding, but you will understand as the story goes by.
You should read closely. Take notes, even. This is a masterclass in how to burn your own life to the ground with style. And by "your own," I mean the life everyone else has so thoughtfully constructed for you.
The gown I'm swimming in costs more than a luxury sedan. It's not elegant; it's a billboard. A screaming, lace-and-satin announcement that I am a valuable asset being successfully transferred.
It itches. Mike's smile as I approached the altar was a masterpiece of smug possession. It sent a thrill through me, all right—a thrill of pure, undiluted anger so sharp I could taste it, metallic and clean on my tongue. But I smiled back. A small, practiced thing behind the veil.
He kissed my hand. His lips were dry. "You look so beautiful," he whispered, and the lie was so pathetically transparent I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
Then came the vows. Mike's turn. He launched into a sonnet. A torrent of words about starlight and destiny, his soul finding its home in mine. It was a Hallmark card vomited up by a supercomputer.
Which, incidentally, is exactly what it was. I'd seen the browser history left open on his tablet: "AI wedding vows, profound and romantic." He hadn't even bothered to delete it. The ultimate insult isn't malice; it's lazy, complacent contempt. He thought I was too stupid, too blinded by the spectacle, to notice or care.
The congregation ate it up. A collective, simpering "Awwwn" rippled through the room. I swear, I felt my eardrums wither.
Then the priest looked at me. "And now, the bride."
I let the silence hang for a beat too long. Just to watch Mike's confident smile tighten at the edges.
"I would," I said, "like to recite my vows with some visual aids."
A polite, confused murmur followed. Mike's brow furrowed, but he gave a magnanimous nod. The man at the AV booth, whom I'd slipped five hundred dollars and a flash drive to an hour earlier, gave me a barely perceptible thumbs-up.
The massive screen behind the altar, which had been displaying a tasteful, rotating slideshow of our professionally shot engagement photos, flickered to life.
When I met you, Mike, I thought I'd found it. The kind of love they write about in fairy tales. And I wanted to stay in that forever." My gaze swept over the bridesmaids, , and the groomsmen, his loyal band of brothers.
A picture of us at the charity gala where we'd met filled the screen. My voice, calm and clear, rang out, a stark contrast to the romantic image.
"When I met you, Mike," I began, "I thought I'd found it. The love you read about in fairy tales. I wanted to stay in that feeling forever."
My eyes drifted to the bridesmaids, a row of perfectly coiffed sharks in blush-pink satin, and then to the groomsmen, Mike's loyal band of fools. They were all smiling, a chorus of curated support.
The pictures on the screen kept pace with my speech.
"But then, something begin to change. Or maybe it didn't change. MAybe it had always been there, and i had just been to blind, otr too willfully stupid to see it. To see it and paint over the cracks with my own desperate hope."
The next potos, the camera angle was wider. There was Mike, his arm slung around the waist of one of the brides maids, Clara. His hand was dipped low, tucked inside the waistband of her jeans.
A low murmur started in the pews.
"what is this?" Mike's voice was a low, confused growl beside me. "Audrey, what are you doing?"
I ignored him. "I wanted to live in that fairy tale forever," I repeated, my voice hardening. "But it turns out, i was just blindly leading myself to my ruin."
The screen changed. Mike, shirtless and sweating in low-slung shorts, was surrounded by clusters of women in various state of undress. One was topless, her arms draped around his neck.
The murmurs became a wave of shocked exclamations.
"Audrey, stop this." Mike hissed, his hand clamping down on my wrist. "Those aren't real. Its AI pictures, why would you believe this nonsense? Someone is trying to ruin us!"
I reached up and unclipped the veil, tossing the expensive tulle to the floor. I turned my head slowly towards him, my expression one of cold, detached amusement.
"You're right," I said, my voice ringing out. "Maybe those aren't real. So, how about this one?"
I gave a nod to the AV guy. The screen went black for a second, then erupted into full, high definition video.
The speakers, set to their highest volume, blasted the sound into the sacred space. Moans, grunts, and the rhythmic thumping of a headboard filled the church, echoing off the vaulted ceilings.
there, in glorious 4k, was Mike. And he was not alone. He was entangled in a sweaty, frantic orgy with the bridesmaids and the groomsmen.
The congregation erupted. Shout of horror and cried of disgust. Some people stood, while some covered their children's eyes, other were simply frozen in place.
It was a symphony of gasps, shouted questions, and the kind of horrified, delighted disgust that only truly juicy scandal can provide. A woman near the front actually clutched her pearls. I didn't know people still did that.
I turned back to mike, whose face was a grotesque mask of terror and fury.
"My vow to you mike," I said, my voice carried through the chaos,"Is to take my life back. And i am going to start by burning down every single lie you built it on."'
Mike's face had shifted from waxen terror to a purplish, vein-throbbing rage. "What the fuck, Audrey?" he snarled, his voice a low, strained thing meant only for me, though I'm sure the first five rows caught it. "Why? We could have talked about this! Privately!"
I tilted my head, the picture of innocent curiosity. "But that wouldn't be fun, now would it?" I replied. "This way, I've given these good people something truly worthwhile to talk about. And record." I gestured gracefully with my chin towards the sea of raised smartphones, their tiny lights blinking like a swarm of vengeful fireflies, dutifully capturing every damning image still cycling on the screen behind us. Mike's life's work, going viral in real-time.
"Take it down! Someone take that down!" he screamed, but his groomsmen were either frozen in mortification or already sidling away, disassociating themselves from the sinking ship.
I didn't wait for the encore. I gathered the obscenely expensive, itchy skirts of my gown in one hand, hoisting them just enough to walk without tripping, and turned my back on the altar. My exit was slow, deliberate, elegant. A queen walking away from a sacked city.
I made eye contact with a groomsman and gave him a slow, knowing smile. As I passed the bridesmaids, I saw one of them, her face streaked with mascara-tinted tears, being screamed at by her now-ex-boyfriend, who was shoving one of Mike's frat-brother groomsmen.
A fight. Excellent. The more chaos, the better the story. The more entrenched the scandal, the harder it would be for Mike to weasel his way out of it.
People surged to their feet, phones held aloft, their lenses capturing my triumphant retreat. They were vultures, yes, but I was the one who had laid out the feast. Let them feast. Let them spread the word.
I stepped out of the place, taking in air.
Now, did I forget to mention the minor detail that I was only playing the part of this Audrey?
I was transmigrated into this shitty romance novel just yesterday. For no apparent reason. One moment, I was me, a woman who had just expertly negotiated a multi-million dollar deal and was celebrating with a very expensive, very solitary glass of Scotch. The next, I was waking up in a silk-sheeted prison, due to marry this walking, talking red flag named Mike.
The original Audrey, from what I could glean from the fragmented memories, was a doormat. A sweet, gullible heiress primed to be bled dry by this financial vampire.
Well, fuck that. Whatever cosmic joke or higher power brought me here, they better take me back.
Because what kind of dramatic life is this?