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Listen to the audio: https://youtu.be/hP8OxM8Is7Q

Chapter 1: The Wedding Dress

The night before my wedding, I quietly sold the luxury penthouse that had taken me eight years to pay off, packed my bags, and flew to Europe alone.

As for my fiancé, Nolan Vance… I heard he nearly lost his mind searching for me.

The unraveling of my perfect life began the day before, while I was visiting my hometown in upstate New York to finalize some family estate paperwork. While scrolling through social media in my hotel room, I stumbled across a short video clip posted to a public fashion account.

In the video, my soon-to-be husband was standing in the VIP suite of an elite Manhattan bridal boutique. He was patiently, lovingly adjusting the long, diamond-encrusted train of a wedding dress.

It was the dress I had spent three months designing myself, before commissioning a French artisan to bring it to life.

But I wasn’t the one wearing it.

The woman twirling in front of the mirror, the rhinestones catching the boutique lights, was Maya.

I had known Maya for ten years. She was an impoverished, brilliant student from a broken home whom Nolan and I had financially sponsored through high school and college. We paid her tuition. We bought her groceries. On the day Nolan knelt down to propose to me, Maya had hugged me and sobbed, telling me she would always treat me like family.

Now, the girl I had personally lifted from the mud was wearing my wedding dress, leaning her head on my man’s shoulder, and kissing his cheek in front of the fitting room mirror.

I stared at the screen for a long time. The silence in my hotel room was absolute.

Finally, I picked up my phone and called Nolan.

“Hey, darling,” he answered, his voice smooth and warm.

“I heard from the boutique manager that you already picked up the main wedding dress?” I asked, my voice terrifyingly calm. “Did you want to surprise me?”

The line went dead quiet for a few seconds.

Then, he chuckled softly. His tone was so natural, so perfectly relaxed, it was as if the video I had just watched didn’t exist.

“Yeah, actually,” Nolan lied effortlessly. “The dress was a bit bulky in the garment bag, so I asked my assistant to take it to the tailor to be steamed first so it’s perfect for you.”

“Oh,” I said.

“You can stay upstate for a few more days, Clara. There’s no need to rush back to the city. I’m still preparing a surprise for you here.”

I subtly curved my lips into a cold smile. “Okay.”

After hanging up, I opened my airline app and calmly changed my return flight. I was no longer flying back to New York. I booked a one-way ticket to Milan, Italy.

That was fine. I didn’t want to wear that wedding dress anymore, anyway.

Chapter 2: The Ticket and the Cilantro

“Ma’am, your flight to Milan has been successfully booked. Here is your new boarding pass.”

“Thank you.”

I took the thick cardstock from the airline concierge. The edge of the paper was icy cold, stinging my fingertips.

My phone vibrated in my trench coat pocket. The screen displayed his name: Nolan Vance.

I stared at it for a few seconds before answering.

“Clara, did you change your flight?” His voice was as gentle and commanding as usual. “My airline app just sent me a cancellation alert for your return ticket.”

“Yes,” I said smoothly.

“Why the sudden change? Weren’t you flying back this afternoon?” The sound of rustling architectural blueprints could be heard on his end; he was probably still in his corner office.

“I still have some unfinished estate business here,” I lied, watching the crowds of travelers blur past me in the terminal.

“That’s good.” Nolan chuckled. “The autumn air upstate is beautiful right now. Staying a few more days is like a mini-vacation.”

He paused for a moment before casually adding: “Oh, by the way, Maya wants to hold her college graduation party at the botanical garden restaurant we booked. You know, the venue we reserved before graduation?”

My grip on the phone tightened. “You mean our wedding rehearsal venue?”

“Yes.” His voice remained entirely nonchalant. “That poor girl grew up with nothing. We’ve sponsored her for so long; she’s practically a little sister to us. I think we should let her use the venue for a night to fulfill her princess dream.”

He continued, “It would be a waste to leave it empty before the rehearsal anyway. You’re so generous, you probably won’t mind, right?”

I didn’t answer.

Just then, Maya’s high-pitched, sweet voice echoed from Nolan’s side of the line. “Nolan, you look so handsome in that tuxedo! Just like my groom.”

I heard the rustle of a hand covering the receiver. But I could still hear his muffled, indulgent response. “Don’t talk nonsense, Maya. This is for the wedding day.”

He uncovered the phone. “Clara, are you still listening?”

“I’m listening.”

“So, it’s decided then. Just rest well, no need to rush back. I’ve prepared a surprise for you.”

“Okay.”

I hung up. I walked over to the nearest airport trash can, tore up my original return ticket to New York, and dropped the pieces into the garbage.

I had five hours until my flight to Milan. I dragged my suitcase into an airport noodle shop.

“Give me a bowl of beef noodles. Absolutely no cilantro,” I told the cashier.

When the steaming bowl arrived, it was covered in a thick layer of chopped, fresh green cilantro.

I wasn’t angry. I didn’t yell at the waiter. I just silently picked up my chopsticks, bowed my head, and meticulously picked out every single sprig of cilantro, piling them on a napkin.

Before, every time I ate with Nolan, he would passionately remind the waiters at least three times: “My fiancée is highly allergic to cilantro. Absolutely do not include it.”

But now… he didn’t even care enough to remember what day I was supposed to fly home to marry him.

My phone screen lit up. A message from Maya.

It was a photo.

In the picture, she was wearing my custom wedding dress. The rhinestones I had spent weeks placing caught the light perfectly. She was leaning her head against Nolan’s shoulder, making a playful peace sign in the mirror. Nolan’s face was slightly blurred, but his adoring smile was unmistakable.

Below the photo was an audio message.

“Clara! Nolan said it would be a tragic waste to leave this stunning dress sitting in a garment bag gathering dust, so he let me try it on just to get a feel for it! You aren’t mad at me, are you?”

I listened to the voice memo all the way through. A drop of hot broth from my noodles splashed onto the back of my hand. I pulled out a napkin, wiped it clean, and slowly typed back:

“Not mad at all.”

The chat bubble showed her typing for a long time, but no new message arrived.

I exited the chat and opened the shared cloud drive Nolan and I used to plan the wedding. I clicked on the folder labeled “Wedding Preparations.” A password prompt appeared. He had changed the master password half an hour ago.

But I knew his backup password architecture. I typed in his birth year followed by Maya’s initials.

The folder unlocked.

There was no guest list. There was no catering menu. There were only dozens of high-definition video files. They were all titled variations of “Maya’s Bridal Try-On Vlog.”

I clicked the first video. Nolan was kneeling on one knee on the boutique floor, patiently adjusting the train of Maya’s dress.

“Be careful, Maya. Watch your step on the silk,” his recorded voice murmured, his gaze suffocatingly gentle.

“Thank you, Nolan. You’re so good to me,” Maya beamed, bending down to kiss his cheek.

Nolan didn’t pull away. He just smiled helplessly and playfully tapped her nose. “Naughty.”

I stared at the screen, my stomach physically churning. That nose tap was a specific, intimate gesture he had only ever used when proposing to me.

I closed the app and placed my phone face down on the table. The noodles had gone cold, a layer of grease congealing on the surface. I stood up, grabbed the handle of my suitcase, and walked away.

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