It was strange, standing in front of the mirror, pretending everything was fine. My reflection stared back at me, perfectly composed, perfectly serene. A bride on her wedding day—glowing, beautiful, and about to step into her future. But behind the mascara and blush, behind the white lace and veil, there was nothing but cold, simmering rage.

A week. I had known for a week. And yet here I was, smiling, pretending, playing the part of the blushing bride.

"Just a touch more on the cheeks," the makeup artist said softly, completely unaware of the storm brewing inside me. I sat still, letting her do her work. The same work she had done for hundreds of brides before me, brides who probably didn't know their grooms were lying, cheating scumbags.

I didn't flinch. I couldn't. Not now. Not with all these people watching me, expecting me to be perfect, expecting me to marry the man who had promised me the world and then shattered it with one careless fling.

I'd caught him, of course. Red-handed. I'd always known there was something off, a little too much distance in his kisses, a little too much time on his phone. But nothing could've prepared me for seeing it myself—the way he touched her, kissed her, like I never existed. Like the vows we were about to say meant nothing to him.

And still, I hadn't walked away. Instead, I planned this. Every detail of this day, from the flowers to the cake to my dress. I kept the façade, because if I was going to ruin him, I wanted to do it in front of everyone. Where he'd never forget.

"Nyah?" The makeup artist smiled at me in the mirror, her job complete. "You're ready."

I nodded, forcing a small smile. Ready. Right. I stood, smoothing the front of my gown, the weight of the lace a comforting armor. I'd need it for what was coming.

The church was packed. Family, friends, people who'd flown in from all over to witness the perfect union of Nyah and Marcus. I stepped into the hallway, the organ music swelling to announce my entrance. My father beamed at me, completely oblivious to the fact that this wedding was about to implode.

I took his arm and let him guide me down the aisle, each step feeling heavier than the last. My heart pounded in my chest, but my mind was clear. I wasn't walking toward Marcus out of love, not anymore. This was about something else now. Something darker.

I reached the altar. There he was, Marcus, smiling like nothing had happened. Like he hadn't spent nights wrapped around another woman while I picked out wedding favors. His eyes met mine, and for a brief second, I saw it—he didn't know. He thought he'd gotten away with it. He thought I was still his.

But not today.

The ceremony began, but I barely registered the words. I didn't care about the readings or the prayers or the whispers from the crowd about how beautiful I looked. None of it mattered. All I cared about was what was coming next.

The priest turned to Marcus first.

He took my hands, his smile widening. "I, Marcus, take you, Nyah, to be my wife…"

I stopped listening after that. I could feel the tension rising in my throat, the fire building behind my ribs, threatening to spill over. Not yet, I told myself. Wait. Just wait.

"And now, Nyah," the priest said, turning to me. "Do you take Marcus to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

The silence in the church was suffocating. I took a breath, the words rolling around in my mouth, heavy and sharp.

"I don't."

The sound of my voice was louder than I expected, cutting through the room like a blade. The gasps came immediately, rippling through the crowd like a wave. My father's hand tightened on my arm, and I heard someone mutter, "What did she say?"

But I wasn't done. I dropped Marcus's hands, letting the bouquet fall to the ground. The flowers hit the stone floor with a dull thud, but I didn't care. I was already walking, my feet moving faster than my thoughts. I had to get out of there. Away from him. Away from all of it.

"Nyah!" Marcus's voice followed me down the aisle, desperate and panicked. "What are you doing? You can't just leave—it's our wedding!"

I kept walking. The doors were just ahead. Just a few more steps, and I could leave this whole mess behind.

But then he grabbed me, his fingers tight around my wrist. I spun to face him, my heart pounding in my chest.

"You can't do this," he hissed. "We have to get married. What's wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with me?" I said, my voice steady, cold. "You cheated on me."

The shock on his face was almost worth it. Almost. He opened his mouth, probably to deny it, but I was faster. I pulled out my phone, shoving it in his face, the pictures of him and her clear as day. His mouth snapped shut, his face paling as the realization set in.

"I—" he stammered, but there was nothing left to say.