Orla:

The silence in the bridal suite was almost oppressive. I glanced around, suddenly aware of how alone I really was. My so-called bridesmaids—if I could even call them that—were nowhere to be seen. They had fluttered off hours ago, probably getting ready for the ceremony outside, leaving me in this cavernous room. That was fine by me; they weren’t even friends, just acquaintances at best. Most of them had been chosen by Logan and his family, a detail that made their absence feel more like a relief than an insult.

A pang of uncertainty gnawed at me, though. I stared at the bouquet of flowers on the small table beside me, a beautiful arrangement of white roses and lavender, yet something about it felt… wrong. Were these the flowers I was supposed to carry? I couldn’t remember now.

Suddenly the thought of holding the wrong bouquet seemed like the only thing I could focus on.

I needed to find the wedding coordinator, or anyone, who could confirm it for me.

I left the suite, the door clicking softly behind me as I stepped into one of the estate’s back hallways. It was a secondary corridor, once used by the servants in the olden days, hidden from the grandeur of the main halls. Now, it served as my quiet escape, far from the prying eyes and expectations that weighed so heavily on me.

The corridors were dimly lit, a stark contrast to the brightness outside, and the silence here was even more pronounced, broken only by the faint echo of my footsteps on the marble floor.

As I walked, I felt the weight of the estate’s grandeur pressing down on me. The walls, lined with portraits of people I didn’t know, seemed to close in, their eyes following me as I moved deeper into the maze-like hallways. Everything about this place, this day, felt surreal, like I was a guest in someone else’s life, playing a part in a script I hadn’t written.

I turned a corner, the light growing dimmer, when I heard it—muffled moans coming from a door slightly ajar. At first, I thought it was just voices, but as I moved closer, the sounds became more distinct, unmistakable. My heart pounded in my chest as the realization hit me.

Jesus, is someone was having sex? At my wedding?

I should have walked away, should have ignored it, but something compelled me to move closer. My hand trembled as I reached for the door, pushing it just enough to peer inside through the narrow crack. The scene that met my eyes was like something out of a nightmare.

There, in a small custodial closet, tangled in the mess of their tryst, was Logan. My Logan. His tuxedo jacket was off, his shirt untucked, and he was knee-deep—literally and figuratively—in one of the bridesmaids. But not just any bridesmaid.

Anna Cho.

Of course, it had to be Anna.

She was lounging back, half-dressed, with her dark hair cascading over Logan’s chest, her eyes half-lidded with pleasure, completely unaware of me standing there.

Anna, the one bridesmaid I had never gotten along with, whose passive-aggressive jabs had stung more than I ever let on. Her words had always been barbed, disguised as concern or humor, but there was always that undercurrent of disdain, as if she was waiting for the moment to strike.

Logan had always been oblivious to her remarks, brushing them off as ‘just her way.’ Now, I could see why.

The pieces fell into place. How many times had I caught her watching him with that smug, self-satisfied smile? How often had she brushed too close to him during the planning, her touches lingering just a little too long? It had all been right in front of me, and I’d been too blinded by the fantasy of this day to see it.

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For a moment, I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. It felt as though I’d left my body entirely, floating somewhere above, watching everything unfold below me like a distant observer—detached, as if this wasn’t my life at all but someone else’s nightmare. Tears welled up in my eyes, blurring my vision, but I couldn’t tear them away from the betrayal that was playing out mere feet from where I stood.

My breath hitched, and Logan’s head snapped up, his eyes locking onto mine. The shock on his face mirrored my own, but there was something else there, too—something that looked almost like… relief? Or annoyance, maybe. It was as if he had been waiting for this moment, waiting for me to find out, so he could be free of the pretense.

And Anna? She didn’t even flinch. Her eyes eventually met mine with a look I could only describe as triumph. The passive-aggressive smiles, the jabs—it all made sense now. She had wanted this. She had wanted to humiliate me.

The tears spilled over, and I took a step back, my heart shattering into a million pieces.

Without another thought, I turned and ran, my feet carrying me blindly through the hallways, away from the betrayal, away from the life that had been nothing but a lie. The walls blurred past me, the sound of my sobs echoing in the empty corridors.

I had to get out of here, had to escape this twisted nightmare. But even as I ran, I knew there was no running from the truth. My wedding, my marriage, everything about this day was a farce, and I was the fool who had believed in it.

I don’t know how long I ran, the corridors of the Ashcroft Estate blurring around me as I fled. When I finally stopped, my chest heaving and tears streaking down my cheeks, I found myself in a small, dimly lit sitting room at the far end of the estate. The air was thick, oppressive, as if the walls themselves were closing in on me, trapping me with the truth I had tried so hard to ignore.

I sank onto the velvet sofa, my head falling into my hands as I tried to make sense of it all.

How the hell had I ended up here? How had I allowed myself to be drawn into this twisted, loveless charade?

Logan Park. The name alone had once made my heart flutter, a foolish reaction to a man who was as cold as the marble floors beneath my feet. He was the young, dashing tech entrepreneur everyone admired, the man who was supposed to be my future. His family was wealthy beyond imagination, with connections that spanned continents and influence that reached the highest echelons of society. To them, Logan and I together were the epitome of perfection—the picture-perfect couple destined for greatness.

But that’s all it ever was—a picture. A carefully curated image, crafted by Logan’s parents, who had planned this wedding from the very beginning. It was never about love; it was about appearances, about securing Logan’s position as the heir to his father’s empire. And I was nothing more than a prop in their grand design.

I knew this had been arranged from the start, yet somehow I had let myself believe—stupidly, naively—that I might have been the one he chose anyway.

I remember the first time I met Logan. He was everything I thought I wanted—charming, ambitious, and strikingly handsome. In the beginning, I saw him differently. He seemed suave yet sweet, the perfect mix of sophistication and warmth. There was a magnetism to him, an allure that drew me in despite the coldness in his eyes. I didn't want to see it back then. I mistook his aloofness for mystery, his indifference for confidence. I convinced myself that I could break through his walls, that I could be the woman who stood by his side as he conquered the world.

But it seems Logan never saw me that way. To him, I was just another piece in his puzzle, a convenient choice who fit the mold his parents had created for him. He needed a wife who looked the part—a sweet, innocent woman who wouldn’t ask too many questions, who would play the role of the perfect spouse in his grand plan to own shares in his father’s company.

And I, in my desperate yearning for love, had fallen for it. Hook, line, and sinker.

God, I'm such an idiot.

I loved him. Or at least, I thought it to be love. I spent countless nights dreaming of a future with him, imagining what it would be like to build a life together. I held on to every small, meaningless gesture, convincing myself that there was something deeper beneath his distant exterior. But it was all one-sided, a fantasy I had created in my own mind.

Only now, in this moment, did I realize how blind I had been—how wrong I was to ever believe Logan would love me back. He never wanted me. He never cared enough to even try to get to know me. To him, I was plain, uninteresting, not worth his time or attention. He kept me on the sidelines, always just out of reach, never letting me in, but never pushing me away entirely. It was a cruel game, and I had been too foolish and in denial to see the truth.

The tears came harder now, as the full weight of my naivety crashed over me. All those years, all those hopes, shattered in an instant by the sight of him with someone else. Someone who probably meant as little to him as I did.

But this was it. This is what my gut had been trying to tell me all along. This was the moment, clear and undeniable, that proved everything I had refused to see. Logan Park would never love me. Not now, not ever.