Seventy-two hours before my wedding, I stood in front of the fitting mirror at a bridal shop.
My best friend sent me a social media post, and the red exclamation mark in the message box stung my eyes sharply.
The post’s title read: Guys, my boyfriend is getting married to his current partner. What should I do?
The comment section had already erupted into chaos.
“Dude, are you out of your mind? You’re the other woman here!”
“You’re the homewrecker and you dare post this to get roasted? Where’s your shame?”
The poster was firing back furiously, every word oozing unapologetic madness:
“We’ve been inseparable since we were kids! His first love, first kiss, first time—all mine!”
“He doesn’t even like that old hag; he’s only marrying her out of obligation!”
“Who’s the real mistress, anyway?”
I should have swiped past it like a silly joke, but my gaze was locked onto the poster’s profile picture.
It showed two hands laced together. Peeking out from the man’s wrist was a dark green watch dial—a Richard Mille Valentine’s Day limited edition. It was the seven-figure engagement gift I’d bought him by selling my mother’s last precious heirloom, the only one of its kind in the world.
My heart was squeezed tight by an icy hand, plummeting to the bottom in an instant.
I tapped into the account’s homepage. The second my finger swiped open the photo album, a dizzying, world-spinning sensation crashed over me.
In the photos, the man holding the girl closely was none other than Lu Yanchen—my fiancé, who was supposed to marry me in three days.
I stared at the screen. All the wedding hopes and love I’d saved up over three years shattered into nothing but dust at this moment.
I couldn’t believe it, yet I had to. The man who’d loved me for three years and sworn to protect me forever had been lying to me from start to finish.
