I hope today goes well.
I say it quietly in my head, like a prayer I have already memorized. I have said it so many times that it almost feels useless now, but I say it anyway. Some habits are hard to break. Today, I will become the wife of the chairman of Rinnah Holdings.
Even now, the words feel heavy. Important. Unreal. When I repeat them silently, my chest tightens, not with fear, but with pride. This is not just a marriage. It is a position. A title. A final arrival.
The most wanted and eligible bachelor will finally be mine.
I have made my family proud. I have silenced the whispers that used to follow me. The laughs that people tried to hide behind their hands when I walked into a room. The look that said, She is trying too hard. She doesn't belong here.
After today, my name will not be spoken with pity.
It will be spoken with respect. With envy. With awe.
Power has a sound to it, I smiled. I can almost hear it already, humming softly beneath everything else.
It is my wedding day.
I have dreamed of this day for as long as I can remember long before I met him. Long before this venue, this dress, this man. I imagined it during lonely nights when sleep refused to come. During quiet prayers whispered into the dark, when hope felt like something fragile I had to protect.
I imagined chandeliers. Flowers. Cameras. Applause.
I imagined myself standing at the center of it all, calm and admired, finally seen.
The preparations alone have been so grand. Crystal chandeliers flown in from Europe. Flowers imported overnight, arranged and rearranged until everything looked perfect. The guest list was treated like a classified document, every name carefully chosen, every seat intentional.
The press has already called it the wedding of the year.
I try not to smile too much when I think about that.
Right now, everything feels strangely still. Like the world itself is pausing, waiting for me to take my next step.
I walk slowly down the private hallway, my white ball gown brushing softly against the marble floor. The fabric is heavy, layered with satin and lace, but I carry it well. I was born to carry weight.
The tiara on my head sparkles under the soft lighting. It is beautiful, but it is not light. It presses down slightly, a constant reminder of what is to come. Responsibility. Status. A new life.
I am stepping into a world where nothing is forgiven, and everything is remembered.
I pass the lounge mirror and stop. Just for a moment. I need to see myself one last time before the photographers arrive for the pre-wedding shots. I stand still and study my reflection.
I look regal. Controlled. Almost untouchable. The makeup artist understood exactly what I wanted. Soft, but strong. Feminine, but commanding. There is nothing accidental about my face today. Nothing careless. I look like a woman who has already won.
You did it, I tell myself.
You made it.
I walk along the corridor towards the lounge. The lounge sits right beside my fiancé's room. The door is slightly ajar, and a thought slips into my mind. At first, it feels playful. Innocent.
Maybe I could sneak a look at how he's preparing.
I smile to myself and walk closer, pushing the door open gently. The room is empty.
There is no sign of him anywhere. His suit jacket rests neatly on the chair. His shoes are polished, perfectly aligned at the foot of the bed. The room smells faintly of his cologne—clean, expensive, familiar. Everything is controlled. Just like him.
My eyes drift toward the coffee table.
His phone lies there.
Alone.
He must not have gone far.
I hesitate.
I have never been the type to invade someone's privacy. I have never felt the need to question his loyalty. We have come too far for that. We have endured too much together. Trust is supposed to be the foundation of everything we are about to build.
This is not who I am.
I tell myself that.
But before I can turn away, the screen lights up.
A message from his mother.
She is on her way and should arrive in about an hour and thirty minutes, just minutes before the ceremony begins. My heart lifts.
We have spoken on the phone many times and haven't really seen her face before. I had asked Austin a few times, but he never got around to showing me, and she has been away for months, ever since she stepped aside and allowed her son to take full control of the company. She decided to travel. Long Island, she said. A place to rest. To reset.
I have always admired her from a distance. A woman who built an empire with her bare hands and knew when to let go.
I am glad I will finally meet her today. The CEO of the holdings. My future mother-in-law.
I place the phone back on the table, but my hand slips.
The screen shifts. And everything changes.
A photo appears. My breath catches so sharply it almost hurts.
It's him.
And another woman. Not that there is much to think about the photo, but they are too close for comfort, too close to ignore. Why would her legs rest on his lap? Too intimate to ignore.
I freeze.
For a moment, I cannot even blink. My pulse pounds loudly in my ears, drowning out every other sound. I stare at the image, trying to convince myself that I am mistaken.
But I am not.
She is beautiful.
There is no point pretending otherwise. I cannot tell her exact age, but she looks beautiful. Confident. Comfortable in her skin. Like a woman who knows who she is and does not need permission to exist.
Her curves are impossible to ignore. Her skin glows even through the screen. She looks like fine wine with intention.
My chest tightens. This cannot be happening. I scroll.
Another photo.
Then another.
She is everywhere.
Smiling. Laughing. Posing as if she belongs there. As if she has always been there. There are selfies, too close for comfort. Too familiar. Just too close.
My hands begin to tremble.
Who is this woman?
Thoughts crash into me all at once. Everything I have worked for. Everything I sacrificed. Every compromise I made. Every moment, I swallowed my pride.
Just as I am about to make him mine.
Is she coming to the wedding? My stomach churns.
Side women are usually discreet. Quiet. Hidden. But this feels different. This feels bold. Comfortable. Established.
At least now I know what she looks like. Without thinking, I take out my own phone and snap a picture of the image.
Proof.
Insurance.
I refuse to be surprised in my own wedding hall.
My hands feel numb as I place his phone back exactly where it was. I step out of the room, my heart racing, my vision slightly blurred.
This cannot be happening to me.
Not today.
Not now.
This cannot be my story.
The hallway suddenly feels too long, too bright. My chest tightens as I fight the tears burning behind my eyes. I refuse to cry. Not in this dress. Not before I walk down that aisle.
I turn the corner.
And I see my mum.
She takes one look at my face and knows.
"Why do you look like that?" she asks, concerned with filling her voice.
I try to speak, but the words get stuck. When I finally explain every image, every detail, my voice shakes despite my effort to stay calm.
She listens. Quietly.
Then her expression changes.
Her shoulders straighten. Her chin lifts. I recognize that look. I have only seen it a few times in my life, and she says, 'NOT ON MY WATCH.'
And at that moment, I knew.
This wedding will not unfold as anyone expects.