MELISSA'S POV
I stared at my phone for the twentieth time that morning, my stomach twisting into knots.
Nothing. Still nothing from Blake.
"Melissa, honey, you need to stop checking that phone," Grace said, grabbing my hand. "It's bad luck to talk to the groom before the ceremony anyway."
"He hasn't answered any of my texts since last night," I whispered, trying to keep my voice steady. "Not even a 'good morning' or 'I love you.' What if something's wrong?"
Grace squeezed my fingers. "He's probably just nervous. Men get weird on their wedding day. My brother threw up four times before his ceremony."
I wanted to believe her. I really did. But the knot in my stomach had been there for weeks now—ever since Blake started coming home late, ever since he started hiding his phone screen when I walked into the room, ever since he stopped looking me in the eyes when he said he loved me.
"Earth to Melissa!" My wedding coordinator, Patricia, snapped her fingers in front of my face. "We have fifty-eight minutes until you walk down that aisle. Your makeup artist is waiting, and your dress is steamed and ready. Can we please focus?"
I nodded and put my phone down, but my hands were shaking.
This was supposed to be the happiest day of my life. I'd been planning this wedding for a whole year. Blake Romano—handsome, charming Blake—had proposed to me under the stars at his family's beach house in the Hamptons. He'd gotten down on one knee and said, "Melissa Hart, you're the only woman I'll ever love. Marry me and make me the luckiest man alive."
I'd said yes without thinking twice.
Now, sitting in this fancy hotel suite with my best friend and a wedding coordinator who cost more than my car, I felt like I was going to throw up.
"Melissa, seriously, what's wrong with you today?" Grace asked, studying my face. "You look like you're about to cry, and that's going to ruin your makeup."
"I just... I have this feeling," I admitted, pressing my hand against my chest where my heart was racing. "Like something bad is about to happen."
"That's just nerves," Patricia said, waving her hand like she was swatting away a fly. "Every bride feels this way. It's completely normal."
But it didn't feel normal. It felt like standing on the edge of a cliff, knowing you're about to fall but not being able to stop it.
The makeup artist came in and started working on my face. I sat perfectly still while she brushed powder on my cheeks and painted my lips red. Through the mirror, I could see Grace texting someone furiously, her face tight with anger.
"Who are you texting?" I asked.
"Nobody," Grace said too quickly, shoving her phone into her purse. "Just... work stuff."
I knew Grace was lying. We'd been best friends since college—eight years of friendship—and I could always tell when she was hiding something. But before I could push her, Patricia clapped her hands.
"Dress time!" she announced. "Let's make you a bride, Melissa."
The wedding dress was beautiful—white silk with tiny diamonds sewn into the bodice, a long train that made me feel like a princess. It had cost Blake's father a fortune, though I'd never met Dominic Romano in person. Blake always said his dad was too busy with business to attend family events.
As Patricia zipped up the back, I caught sight of myself in the full-length mirror. I looked beautiful. I looked like a woman about to marry the man of her dreams.
So why did I feel like I was making the biggest mistake of my life?
"Two hundred guests are already seated downstairs," Patricia said, checking her tablet. "The flowers are perfect, the music is ready, and Blake is—" She paused, frowning at her screen. "Actually, Blake hasn't checked in with me yet. That's odd."
My heart started pounding harder. "What do you mean he hasn't checked in?"
"I'm sure he's just in his suite getting ready," Patricia said, but her smile looked forced. "The grooms always run a little behind schedule."
"I need to see him," I said suddenly, gathering up my dress.
"Absolutely not!" Patricia blocked my path. "The groom cannot see the bride before the ceremony. It's terrible luck!"
"I don't care about luck!" My voice came out louder than I meant it to. "Blake hasn't answered my calls or texts all morning. Something is wrong. I can feel it."
Grace grabbed my arm. "Melissa, maybe you should just—"
"No!" I pulled away from her. "I'm not walking down that aisle until I talk to Blake. I need to know he still wants this. I need to know he still wants me."
Patricia and Grace exchanged a look that made my blood run cold. They knew something. I could see it in their faces—that careful, pitying expression people get when they're about to deliver bad news.
"What?" I demanded. "What aren't you telling me?"
"Nothing," Grace said, but her eyes were shiny with tears. "Melissa, please just trust me. You don't want to—"
"Don't want to what?" I was yelling now, my hands clenched into fists. "What don't I want to do, Grace?"
Before she could answer, my phone buzzed on the table. I lunged for it, desperate for any message from Blake.
But it wasn't from Blake.
It was from Sienna—my other best friend, the woman I'd known since freshman year of college, the woman who was supposed to be my maid of honor.
The text message had no words. Just a photo.
My hands started shaking so hard I almost dropped the phone. The photo showed a hotel room—expensive furniture, silk sheets, champagne on ice. And on that bed were two people, tangled together, clearly having sex.
Blake. And Sienna.
The photo had a timestamp: 9:47 AM. Twenty-three minutes ago.
"Oh my God," I whispered, the room spinning around me. "Oh my God, oh my God—"
"Melissa—" Grace reached for me, but I stumbled backward.
My phone buzzed again. Another text from Sienna.
"Sorry, babe. He was just too good to resist. Hope you understand. XO"
The phone slipped from my fingers and crashed to the floor. I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Couldn't process what I'd just seen.
Blake—my Blake—was having sex with Sienna. Right now. While I stood here in my wedding dress. While two hundred guests waited downstairs. While I'd been worried about him, texting him, loving him.
"That bastard," Grace hissed, picking up my phone. She looked at the screen and her face went white with rage. "That absolute bastard. Melissa, I'm so sorry. I tried to warn you. I saw them together last week at a restaurant, but I didn't know how to tell you. I didn't want to believe it myself."
The room was spinning. My chest felt like someone had reached inside and squeezed my heart until it burst.
"Where?" I asked, my voice coming out strange and hollow. "Where is he?"
"Melissa, you don't want to—"
"WHERE IS HE?" I screamed.
Patricia checked her tablet with shaking hands. "The... the honeymoon suite. Third floor. Room 347."
I grabbed my dress and ran.
Grace called after me, but I didn't stop. I couldn't stop. I had to see it with my own eyes. I had to know if this was real or if I was having some kind of nightmare.
My heels clicked against the marble floor as I ran down the hallway. Hotel staff stared at me—a bride running through the corridors like a crazy person—but I didn't care.
Room 347. The honeymoon suite. The room where Blake and I were supposed to spend our first night as husband and wife.
I stood in front of the door, my hand raised to knock. My whole body was shaking. Part of me wanted to turn around, go back to my room, pretend I never saw that photo. Maybe it was photoshopped. Maybe it was a mistake.
But I knew it wasn't.
I tried the handle. The door was unlocked.
I pushed it open.
And my entire world shattered into a million pieces.
Blake was there. Bent over the desk. And underneath him, her blonde hair tangled in his fists, her bridesmaid dress pushed up around her waist, was Sienna.
They were so lost in each other they didn't even notice me at first.
"Blake?" The word came out of my mouth like a broken sob.
He jerked around, his eyes going wide. But he didn't look sorry. He didn't look guilty.
He looked annoyed that I'd interrupted.
Sienna smirked at me—actually smirked—as she straightened her dress.
And in that moment, standing there in my wedding gown while my fiancé zipped up his pants and my best friend fixed her hair, I felt something inside me die.
But something else was born.
Something cold and hard and absolutely furious.
Blake opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say a word, the hotel room door opened wider and someone else walked in.
A man I'd never seen before—tall, with silver-gray hair and sharp eyes that looked exactly like Blake's.
He stared at the scene in front of him: his son half-dressed, Sienna adjusting her clothes, and me standing there in my wedding dress with tears streaming down my face.
"Well," the man said, his voice deep and dangerous. "I guess the wedding is off."
He looked directly at me, and something flickered in his gray eyes. Something that made my breath catch in my throat.
"And who," he asked softly, "are you?"