One Wedding Shoot Two Grooms

In the eleven years Id been with Valerie, she had never once thrown me a birthday party.

But on the evening of my twenty-ninth birthday, her private driver dropped me off at the entrance of a lavish banquet hall.

It was a sensory overload of imported orchids and a towering, decadent dessert bar. The vibrant, dopamine-inducing color palette made the entire venue feel like a scene pulled straight from a glossy Manhattan society magazineexpensive, intoxicating, and deeply romantic.

I was just pulling out my phone to call her when the massive LED screen at the front of the room flared to life. A high-fashion editorial slideshow of Beckett began to play.

"Mr. Beckett, this is a birthday gift from Ms. Valerie. She wishes you the happiest of birthdays!"

Valeries executive assistant brushed past me, walking straight toward Beckett, who was dressed to the nines in a bespoke tuxedo.

The velvet box was snapped open. Nestled inside was the exact set of jewelry I had once told Valerie was my ultimate dream to own.

My gaze slowly lifted, locking onto Becketts eyes. They were gleaming with a sharp, triumphant provocation. In that singular, crystal-clear moment, I finally understood where his hostility had come from since the day we met.

Valerie had betrayed our love. And she had done it a long time ago.

"Mr. Samuel, I am so sorry. I forgot I swapped shifts with Tommy today. He was supposed to drop Mr. Beckett here, and I was supposed to take you to the Upper East Side to have dinner with the Dowager. Should we head out now?"

Valeries driver, panicked at the realization that he had brought me to the wrong address, hurried up behind me. He was practically wiping the nervous sweat from his forehead, his eyes darting to my face to gauge my reaction.

"Its fine," I said.

I forced a mechanical smile, waiting for the icy numbness to bloom in my left ventricle, spreading out to my fingertips before slowly receding.

I finally found my voice. I didn't make a scene or give the driver a hard time.

Knowing this opulent party was not for me, I turned on my heel to leave.

"Samuel, don't misunderstand. Beckett is my right-hand man. I threw him this party to reward his dedication to the company."

Valerie approached from the other side of the room. She naturally, almost gravitationally, positioned herself right next to Beckett.

She frowned, throwing an explanation at me like a bone to a dog, while simultaneously shoving a stained suit jacket into my arms.

"Someone spilled wine on this earlier. Take it home, hand-wash it, and have the driver bring it back. I have an industry mixer with Beckett later tonight, and this jacket pairs perfectly with his tuxedo. Do me this favor."

Her mouth said the words do me a favor, but her eyes held zero warmth, zero remorse, zero tenderness.

"Valerie, we're done. Wash his clothes yourself."

I offered a faint, hollow smile and took a deliberate step back, letting the jacket drop. I didn't reach out to catch it like I always had before.

"Can you stop being so goddamn sensitive? I just explained it to you. What more do you want?"

She was so used to my absolute subservience. Seeing me refuse, her eyes widened, brimming with a mix of disbelief and sudden anger.

"So what? You throw an excuse at me, and Im just supposed to swallow it?"

I used to think that if this day ever came, I would be hysterical. I thought I would scream, demand answers, ask why him, why not me?

But looking at her standing therehow, when forced to choose a physical space between me and Beckett, she instinctively anchored herself to himI felt a profound, sweeping sense of relief.

Sand that you cannot hold is better left to the wind.

"Happy birthday, Beckett."

I didn't bother wasting another glance on Valerie. I merely lifted my heavy eyelids, gave the smug, preening Beckett a passing look, and walked out of the hall.

The second I got into the back of the town car, I dialed Beatrice, Valeries grandmother.

I gently explained that I wouldn't be able to make it to dinner tonight. Then, taking a steadying breath, I told her that Valerie and I had broken up, and that she needed to take good care of herself from now on.

Hearing the news, Beatrice sounded utterly heartbroken. She pressed me for the reason.

I told her the truth.

Not long after I hung up, my phone lit up with Valerie's name.

"Samuel, what the hell are you playing at?"

"When did I ever agree to a breakup?"

"Is this about the jewelry? I bought him a set you liked. So what? Its his birthday. Whats wrong with a boss buying her employee a nice gift?"

Valerie was practically screaming into the receiver. Clearly, Beatrice had just torn into her. Every word out of her mouth was entirely centered on her own twisted logic.

"So, you did remember that I wanted that set."

A bitter laugh scraped its way out of my throat. I had thought, maybe, she had just forgotten.

I had told her years ago. I designed that jewelry. Before my career was derailed, my blueprints had been stolen by a rival. I knew I would never get my name on the patent, but I had told Valerie that owning a physical set of my own stolen masterpiece would finally give me some closure.

Back then, she had held me in her arms, kissing my temple. With a soft, aching tenderness, she had promised me that the second it hit the market, she would buy the very first set for me.

A week ago, the launch campaign went live.

I had stared at the screen for ten solid minutes. Valerie had seen me. She had promised to buy it.

I just never imagined she would buy my stolen legacy to drape over her lover's neck.

"If you really want it that badly, Ill buy you another set tomorrow. Just stop throwing a tantrum."

"Go straight to the Upper East Side and have dinner with Grandma. Her arthritis is acting up again, and no one else knows the right massage techniques. Only you can soothe it."

There it was. The real reason she was calling.

When did it start? When did her calls become nothing more than a string of transactional demands?

Im craving that soup you make. Bring a thermos to the office.

I drank too much. Bring me that hangover remedy you brew.

I got into a fender-bender and Im late for a client meeting. Wait on the side of the highway in the freezing wind for the insurance guy and handle it for me.

There were even times when she, drunk and belligerent, had gotten into physical altercations at clubs, and it was me who had to show up to apologize and pay off the victims.

My friends used to joke about it. Those who knew our history remembered we were a couple. Those who didn't thought I was her unpaid, live-in personal assistant.

On call, twenty-four seven. Three hundred and sixty-five days a year. No sick days.

"Im going to say this one last time, Valerie. We are breaking up. Do not call me again."

"I just texted you the video tutorial on how to relieve Beatrice's arthritis. If you actually give a damn about your grandmother, you'll go take care of her yourself."

"If your love for her is just lip service, then thats your problem. Ive spent eleven years with you. My conscience is clear. I owe nothing to you, and nothing to your family."

"Are you forcing me to call your mother? Samuel, you know exactly how desperately your mother wants you to marry me. If we break up, aren't you terrified of the hell she'll rain down on you?"

Realizing I was actually walking away, Valerie dropped her voice. It was a low, venomous threat.

"Shes going to find out eventually. Shell just have to learn to live with it," I replied, though the mere mention of my mother made my scalp prickle with anxiety.

When Valerie and I first started dating, my mother was violently opposed to it.

Valerie was a struggling entrepreneur back then, drowning in debt. My mother had wanted me to follow her scriptto marry a wealthy, divorced woman in our hometown who could provide for our family.

But I chose Valerie. I threw myself into helping her build her startup, alienating myself from my family for three grueling years.

By the fourth year, my mother saw Valerie on the cover of Forbes Midas List. Suddenly, she showed up in New York, practically begging Valerie to lock me down with a wedding.

Over time, my mother started bypassing me entirely, calling Valerie directly to chat. It was through their growing alliance that Valerie learned the darkest truths about my childhoodhow my mother had always neglected me, constantly draining my resources to pave a golden path for my younger brother, all under the guise of "family duty."

"Your mother is currently waiting for me to wire the money for your brothers wedding. Are you seriously telling me shes going to 'live with it' right now?"

"..."

Hearing that my brother was actually at the altar, I froze for a fraction of a second.

"Samuel, don't blame me for not taking you seriously. Your own mother doesn't even love you. How do you expect me to cherish you?"

"Be a good boy. Go home and wait for me. Ill make it up to you tonight. Ill admit, yes, I have feelings for Beckett. But I never planned on leaving you. Beckett doesn't mind sharing, so why can't you be a little generous? Stop letting his existence bother you."

She took my silence as submission.

"So, what is this? A modern-day corporate queen with her harem? Valerie, my brother is a grown man. If he wants to get married, he needs to earn his own life. Im done fixing his messes, and I will certainly not be buying his wife with my dignity."

"You don't own me anymore."

I could hardly believe the sheer, unadulterated audacity coming from the woman I had worshipped for over a decade.

I was suddenly profoundly grateful that the driver had accidentally taken me to Becketts party. Otherwise, I might still be rotting in the dark.

The fiery, passionate girl I fell in love with had been completely devoured by the ruthless corporate world and the intoxicating fumes of power. She was unrecognizable. I couldn't even conjure the memory of the girl she used to be.

"You haven't held down a real job in years. If you leave me, how exactly do you plan on surviving out there? Don't bite the hand that feeds you. With me, youll never have to worry about your allowance."

"Step outside my shadow, and youll realize just how brutal the real world is to people like you."

She had forgotten.

She had forgotten that I built the foundation of her company. She had forgotten that I was the one who secured her very first venture capital check.

All she remembered was that I hadn't worked a 9-to-5 in years. What she didn't know was that in the endless, lonely nights waiting for her to come home, I had quietly clawed my way back into my own profession, building a quiet but lucrative freelance portfolio.

As her empire expanded, the only thing that occupied her heart was herself. She stopped caring about me. She stopped knowing me.

"That is my problem, Ms. Valerie. We are officially strangers. Have a nice life."

I didn't bother defending myself. I certainly wasn't going to tell her about the money I had made.

The "allowance" she gave me was sitting in an envelope in the nightstand of our master bedroom. I had never touched a single cent of it.

For years, every household expense, every grocery run, every electric billI had paid it all out of my own pocket.

I used to be too proud to touch her money. But now? Now I realized it was back pay.

Realizing it was a substantial amount, I tapped the glass partition and told the driver to reroute to our newly purchased penthouse.

The renovations had just finished, and we had only been living there for a month. Every single tile, every piece of custom furniture, every piece of artI had picked them all out with meticulous love.

I used to sit on that velvet sofa and dream about us growing old in that space.

Now...

The fantasy cracked. And finally, my eyes were open.

I grabbed the debit card from the nightstand, packed my minimal clothes into a duffel bag, and headed for the door.

Just as I stepped out, the private elevator doors parted. Valerie stepped out, her arm wrapped tightly around Becketts waist.

Six eyes met in the hallway. The air instantly violently flatlined.

I was the first to recover. I stepped sideways, giving them a wide berth to pass.

We were broken up. It was her penthouse. Who she brought home to screw was her business. I felt absolutely nothing.

"Samuel, I knew you were just throwing a fit. I knew you wouldn't actually leave."

Misreading the duffel bag and my presence, Valeries eyes lit up with a sickening flash of relief. She dropped Becketts waist, lunging forward to grab my wrist, trying to bury her face against my chest.

"Get off me!"

My voice was absolute ice. My eyes swept over her with naked disgust.

She reeked of that heavy, musky scent. I didn't even have to guessthey had already slept together in a hotel room before coming back here to shower.

The thought of those hands, the same hands that had just been tracing Becketts skin, touching me... It made my stomach violently heave. I yanked my arm away.

"Still pouting? Beckett agreed to let you have the jewelry. Look, just stop making a scene, okay?"

Valerie extended her hand, taking the velvet box Beckett smoothly offered her. She shoved the diamondsthe ones I had poured my soul into designingagainst my chest, expecting me to light up with gratitude.

I stared down at the blinding stones. Then, I swiped my hand, sending the box clattering violently across the marble floor.

"We may have been together for eleven years, Valerie, but clearly, you know nothing about me."

"I don't do second-hand goods. Not objects. And definitely not people."

I turned to step into the elevator.

Suddenly, Beckett lunged, grabbing me by the collar and violently hauling me out of the elevator bay.

He dragged me to the door of the adjacent penthouse. He punched in a code, shoving me inside.

The layout was identical to the home I had just meticulously designed for Valerie and me. The exact same fixtures. The exact same wallpaper. But hanging on the wall of the foyer was a massive, professionally framed wedding portrait of Valerie and Beckett.

During our renovations, I knew the neighbors unit was also being gutted, but I had never bothered to look inside.

I never knew that, separated by merely six inches of drywall, Valerie had built herself two parallel lives.

A biting, terrifying chill seeped into my marrow. I gasped for air, staring at the wedding photostaken with the exact same photography studio package we had usedand stumbled backward onto the sofa.

"What exactly are you playing the victim for, Samuel?"

"I am willing to accept you! Why can't you tolerate me?"

"Since we both love her, why can't we just coexist? She bought both these penthouses, designed them exactly the sameit proves we are completely equal in her heart!"

Beckett looked down at me with an expression of bizarre, twisted self-righteousness. He actually pointed around the room, detailing the furniture, the decor, the styling of the photos.

"Do you know how much I sacrificed? I told her I wanted a traditional black-tie wedding shoot, but because you liked the vintage aesthetic, she made me compromise."

"When we first got together, she promised me wed get legally married. But then she said you were better suited as the 'official' husband for the press, and she gave the marriage certificate to you. I swallowed my pride and agreed."

"And this building? I fucking hate this neighborhood. But so she could easily walk between our beds, I bit my tongue and moved in. Piece by piece, compromise by compromiseI have been nothing but accommodating to you! Don't push your luck, Samuel!"

As the shock slowly wore off and I could breathe again, I subtly slid my hand into my pocket and hit record on my phone.

Listening to his deranged monologue, watching his facecompletely devoid of shame, genuinely believing this twisted reality was logicalI had a fleeting moment of vertigo.

Was I the crazy one? Were they right?

But the fog cleared instantly.

Valerie and Beckett were sick. They were morally bankrupt and profoundly broken. They were the monsters. Not me.

I pulled my phone out completely, recording a clear, sweeping video of the room and their wedding portraits.

"Since you two are so deeply in love, I'm stepping aside. You should be thrilled."

I was much calmer than I expected. I looked at Valerie, and my heart was a completely stagnant pool of water.

It was strange. The very second I truly committed to walking away, she morphed into a stranger. And whatever insane, shameless things a stranger did on the street had nothing to do with me.

"You are the one choosing to leave! Don't you dare regret this! Even if you come crawling back on your knees, I won't take you back! Think very carefully about what youre doing!"

Valeries jaw clenched. She hadn't anticipated that even after Becketts "generous" compromises, I would still walk away.

She yanked the front door open, gesturing violently for me to get out.

I walked past them without a sideways glance.

"Tommy! He is no longer my boyfriend. You are forbidden from driving him! Let him walk!"

Valerie spat the words through her teeth, her voice trembling with barely suppressed rage.