Planning My Fiances Other Wedding

In my third year as a high-end wedding planner, I hit a wall. Id presented five different design concepts to a difficult client, and shed rejected every single one of them with a wave of her manicured hand.

Then, she saw it. My personal booking for my own wedding venue.

Why don't you just give it to me? she asked, her voice airy as if she were asking to borrow a pen. "Ill pay five times whatever you put down."

She leaned back, admiring the photos of the venue on my desk. "The date is perfect for me and my husband. I want to surprise him."

I thought about what it took to secure the Conservatory at The Heights. Id worked myself to the point of physical exhaustion, pulling double shifts for months just to scrape together the non-refundable deposit. My fianc was three thousand miles away, working a grueling corporate job in London just so we could afford a life together.

The venue wasn't just a space. it was the summit of our five-year climb.

I didnt even have to think about it. I politely declined.

The next day, she showed up at the front of my apartment building. This time, she wasnt alone. She was draped in designer labels, clinging to her husbands arm and pouting like a spoiled child.

"That planner is being completely unreasonable, honey. You have to do something," she whimpered, her voice loud enough for the neighbors to hear. "If I don't get the Conservatory, Im not having a wedding at all!"

The man looked down at her with indulgent adoration. "Ill pay a hundred times the price if I have to, princess. Your wish is my command." He patted her hand, a smug smile playing on his lips. "Ill handle her. No one says no to my girl."

As he stepped closer, laughing at something she whispered, he looked up.

The smile died on his face. The air seemed to get sucked out of the street.

We both froze.

This was the man who claimed he was broke. The man who said he had to live in a cramped flat across the ocean for five years just to save for our future.

My fianc, Simon.

For a split second, I saw a flash of pure, unadulterated panic in Simons eyes. But it vanished as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a sharp, warning glance.

Camilla, oblivious to the earthquake happening beneath our feet, pulled a checkbook from her Chanel bag and thrust it toward me.

"Lets be real," she said, her tone dripping with condescension. "Write down any number you want. I want the Conservatory, and my husband is paying the bill."

I looked past her, searching Simons face for a shred of guilt. A hint of remorse. Anything.

There was nothing.

I remembered standing in line for three days and nights in the freezing rain just to get that booking. My skin had broken out in hives from the cold; my feet had gone numb. When a spot finally opened up because another couple canceled, Id cried with relief.

I hadnt slept that night. Id stayed up until dawn on a video call with Simon, describing every detail of the glass ceiling and the way the moonlight would hit the dance floor. Wed dreamed about our future together until the sun came up.

Now, looking at him, I realized he had never even opened the floor plans Id sent. He didnt care that I chose the Conservatory because it was exactly five blocks from where we had our very first date.

I didn't take the check.

Simon spoke finally, his voice deep and unsettlingly calm. "Are you in such a hurry to get married?"

I didn't know who was askingthe man Id loved for five years, or the stranger standing next to a socialite.

He knew my parents had been haunting me about a wedding date since our third anniversary. He knew how many times Id forced a smile and told my mother, "Not yet, Mom. Were just waiting until we have enough saved."

He knew I was losing my hair from the stress of the distance. He knew I was barely holding on, all because I didn't want to pressure him while he was "struggling" abroad.

I let out a sharp, hollow laugh. "Not anymore. Im not in a hurry at all."

Simons expression shifted, something dark and complex crossing his features. Camilla beamed, reaching up to plant a victory kiss on his cheek.

"See? I told you my husband could handle anything!"

She scribbled a number on the check that I had never seen in my bank account: one million dollars.

"Take it," she said, tucking the slip of paper into my coat pocket. "I spend more than this on my nails in a year. My husband and I are spending forty million on this vow renewal. The Conservatory is the only place classy enough for us."

She looked me up and down, her lip curling in pity. "Honey, don't try so hard to live a life you can't afford. Take your little boyfriend to a nice bistro or something. Its more your speed."

I was wearing a coat from three seasons ago. I looked like a ghost standing next to her. But that coat was the only "expensive" gift Simon had ever given me for my birthday.

Simon gave her arm a gentle tug, and she finally took the hint to leave.

"Im just a blunt person, don't take it personally," she tossed over her shoulder. "Oh, and heres my husbands card. We still need to finalize the details for his tuxedo."

I looked down at the heavy, embossed cardstock.

Simon Montgomery, CEO of Montgomery International.

The man I knew wore the same three t-shirts until they were threadbare. He cut his own hair in the bathroom to save twenty bucks. Every time Id bragged about winning a hundred-dollar gift card at work, he must have been laughing at me behind my back.

I watched them walk away, their silhouettes merging into one as they stepped into a waiting Maybach.

Five years of long distance. Five years of working myself to the bone to save for a life that was already a lie.

My phone buzzed in my hand. A text from Simon.

Meet my assistant at the villa in an hour. We need to talk.

The fury in my chest was a living thing, clawing at my throat. I fired off message after message.

Why did you lie? Why didn't you tell me you were married?

What was I to you? Just a hobby?

The messages went unread. The "delivered" status felt like a slap in the face.

Simons assistanta man who looked at me like I was a piece of gum stuck to his shoeshoved me into a black car and drove me to a secluded estate on the outskirts of the city.

"This is a private property the Mrs. doesn't know about," he said coldly. "Wait for Mr. Montgomery inside."

As I walked through the iron gates, the staff's eyes followed me. I could see the judgment in their stares. To them, I wasn't a fianc. I was a "kept woman." A mistress.

The interior of the villa was a masterpiece of marble and gold. It was a suffocating display of the wealth hed hidden from me. I thought of the drafty, leaking basement apartment Id lived in for five years to save three hundred dollars a month in rent. I thought of the nights Id eaten instant noodles so I could send him "care packages" in London.

Then, I saw it. On the mahogany nightstand in the master bedroom: a marriage certificate in a silver frame.

The date they were married... it was the day my father died.

I remembered that day with agonizing clarity. I had collapsed on the floor of the hospital, sobbing into the phone, begging Simon to come home.

"I can't, Norma," hed said, his voice sounding so pained, so convincing. "The office is on lockdown for the merger. If I leave now, I lose everything weve worked for."

He hadn't been at an office. Hed been at an altar.

When the door clicked open, Simon walked in. He reached for me, trying to pull me into his arms with that same familiar rhythm I used to crave.

"Norma, listen to me," he whispered. "Shes a family connection. It was a merger of interests. I had no choice."

He looked at me with those soulful eyes that I had once trusted with my life. "I know how understanding you are. Youve always been my rock. Can you just try to understand this?"

I shoved him back, my vision blurring with hot, angry tears. "Five years, Simon! What were we? What was I?"

"I'm a bastard, okay?" he snapped, his patience fraying. "Thats why Im doing this. Im going to take care of you. Youll live here. Youll have everything you ever wanted. As long as Camilla doesn't find out, we can have our life."

I looked around the roomat the expensive linens that smelled like another woman's perfume, at the life hed built on a foundation of my misery.

"You want me to be your secret?" I laughed, the sound jagged and raw. "You want me to be the 'other woman' in a life I helped you build?"

I swung my hand with every ounce of strength I had left, the crack of my palm against his cheek echoing through the room. "In your dreams, Simon!"

Suddenly, there was a noise at the door.

"Ma'am, you can't go in there"

Camilla stood in the doorway, her face a mask of shock that quickly curdled into rage.

She marched toward me before I could even breathe, her hand coming down across my face so hard I tasted copper.

"You pathetic slut!" she shrieked.

"I wondered why he smelled like that cheap perfume. I should have known he was keeping a little toy on the side."

Simon panicked, stepping between us, trying to shield me. "Camilla, let me explain"

She shoved him aside with a manic strength, grabbing me by the hair and dragging me toward the landing of the grand staircase. "Get out of my house! Get out!"

I clawed at her hands, trying to find my footing, but the marble was slick. My heel caught on the edge of the top step.

The world tilted. I felt the sickening rush of air before the first impact.

My scream tore through the silence of the villa as I tumbled down the long, cold flight of stairs.

Simon started to run down after me, his face pale with horror. But then, Camilla let out a sharp cry of her own, clutching her stomach.

"Simon... the baby... I think somethings wrong..."

With those three words, Simon stopped. He didn't look back at me. He didn't see me lying broken at the bottom of the stairs. He scooped Camilla up in his arms and stepped right over my body, rushing for the door.

I lay in a pool of my own blood, my bones feeling like shattered glass. I called his name, a broken, wheezing sound, but he didn't even turn his head.

I looked to the servants for help. They just turned away, whispering the word "mistress" like a curse.

Five years of devotion crumbled into the red puddle on the floor.

I dragged myself toward my phone with trembling fingers. I dialed a number I hadnt called in half a decadea man from my past who had once promised me a way out.

"You said there would always be a place for me," I whispered into the receiver. "Does that offer still stand?"

The line went quiet for a second before a calm, steady voice replied, "Always. Where are you?"

Before I could answer, a notification flashed across my screen. A high-priority alert from the hospital.

My mothers heart was failing.

By the time I crawled into the hospital, I was a ghost of a person. My mother lay in the ICU, her breath coming in shallow, ragged hitches.

"Norma..." she rasped, her eyes filled with a devastating shame. "Why? Why would you do that to another woman?"

I froze. "Mom, please, let me explain"

She turned her head away, unable to even look at me.

On the small television above her bed, the local news was scrolling. Camilla had gone public. She had posted their marriage certificate alongside a tearful video, accusing a "predatory wedding planner" of trying to dismantle her marriage and endanger her unborn child.

The comments section was a bloodbath. Homewrecker. Slut. Social climber.

The physical pain from my fall combined with the crushing weight of the betrayal was too much. The room began to spin, the sound of the heart monitor fading into a dull roar. I collapsed into the blackness.

When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed of my own. Simon was sitting in the chair beside me, dark circles under his eyes.

There was no warmth in his gaze. Only a cold, calculated threat.

"You need to post an apology to Camilla," he said, his voice flat.

"She said if you admit you were the aggressor and beg for her forgiveness, shell let this go. She might even let me keep you around."

The blood in my veins turned to ice. Five years of my life had been stolen, and now he wanted me to sign a confession for the crime he committed.

"Youre a monster," I spat, the words catching on the soreness of my throat.

He didn't flinch. Instead, he pulled a stack of papers from his briefcase. Medical bills. My mothers records.

"I've been paying for her treatment for years, Norma. If you don't cooperate, the funding stops today. I think we both know she won't survive the week without it."

I stared at the bills. This was the man who once swore that as long as he was alive, Id never have to worry about money again.

I nodded, my soul feeling hollowed out.

The moment I posted the statement, the internet descended like vultures. My phone didn't stop vibrating with death threats. People mailed razor blades to my apartment. I didn't leave my room for days, until the silent alarm for my shop went off.

I rushed to the studio, my heart hammering against my ribs. As soon as I stepped onto the sidewalk, a bucket of red paint splashed over my head, stinging my eyes.

"Homewrecker! You almost killed a pregnant woman!"

"You used your job to seduce a married man! You're disgusting!"

Inside, my lifes workthe mood boards, the fabric swatches, the dreams of a hundred brideswas being torn to shreds by a mob of "moral crusaders."

"Stop it! Please!" I screamed.

Camilla appeared from the crowd, her hair artfully disheveled, tears streaming down her face.

"You knew we were getting ready for our big day," she sobbed for the cameras. "You threw my custom gown into the sewer just to hurt me. You can hate me, but how could you try to ruin a wedding?"

She pulled back her sleeve, revealing faint, fresh scratches on her arm. "You're a psycho."

The crowd growled. Camilla turned to Simon, who was standing by his car, watching the spectacle. "Simon, if you won't protect me from her, then the wedding is off! Ill just leave so she can have you!"

My heart lurched. I waited for him to say something. To tell them the truth. To remember the girl he used to love.

Simon stepped forward, his eyes burning with a dark, cold fury as he looked at me.

"I thought your apology was real. I didn't realize you were planning to sabotage her behind my back."

He turned to the men standing behind himthree large security guards. "Since she refuses to learn her lesson, give her something to remember it by."

A cold dread settled in my stomach.

The guards pinned me to the pavement. I felt a sharp, agonizing snap as they began to break my fingers, one by one.

The sound of my own screams filled the air, but Simon didn't blink. He just watched, his face a mask of indifference.

"You're a coward!" I shrieked through the pain. "You're a pathetic, soulless coward!"

Simon turned his back on me. "Break three fingers every day," he told the guards. "Don't let her out until she truly understands what she did wrong."

As Camilla followed him to the car, she looked back at me. The tears were gone. In their place was a smirk of pure, triumphant malice.

I was a prisoner in my own ruins. For days, I huddled in the corner of my destroyed shop, waiting for the guards to return for their daily ritual of cruelty.

By the time Camilla returned, my hands were mangled, my legs broken from a "fall" the guards orchestrated. I was a broken doll tossed in the dirt.

She stood over me, draped in a white fur coat. "How does it feel to be the most hated woman in the city? Do you finally get it? Simon loves me. Hed burn the world down to keep me happy."

I closed my eyes. The pain was so constant it had become a rhythm.

"You think because he did this to me, it means he loves you?" I whispered. "It just means hes a monster. And eventually, hell turn on you, too."

She laughed, a sharp, tinkling sound. "Oh, honey. You still don't know the best part, do you?"

She leaned down, her voice a poisonous whisper. "While you were 'recovering' in the hospital after your fall? Simon had the doctors perform a little procedure. You don't have a uterus anymore, Norma. Youre never going to be a mother. You're just a broken toy now."

The world went silent. I reached down, my trembling, broken fingers feeling the jagged scar beneath my clothes that I had been too traumatized to investigate.

"He said a woman like youa common mistressdidn't have the right to carry a Montgomery heir," she sneered, patting her own stomach. "Theres only room for one child in his life."

I couldn't even scream. The betrayal was so deep it bypassed the vocal cords and went straight to the soul. Every "I love you" hed ever whispered was a lie. Every dream of a family wed shared was a weapon hed used to gut me.

Then, she dropped a final piece of paper onto my lap.

A death certificate.

"Your mother died this morning, Norma. The doctors said she just lost the will to live. Or maybe she was just embarrassed to have a daughter like you."

A low, guttural wail broke from my throat. I lunged for her, but my broken legs gave out. I fell into the red paint on the floor, sobbing into the dust.

"You'll pay for this," I wheezed. "Both of you."

"I doubt it," Camilla said, stepping toward the door. "I can't have you lingering around, reminding him of his mistakes."

She slipped out and locked the heavy deadbolt from the outside.

Seconds later, the sharp, cloying scent of gas filled the room.

I scrambled toward the door, my broken fingers clawing at the wood until my fingernails ripped away, leaving ten bloody streaks on the frame.

Boom.

A wall of heat slammed into me. The orange glow of the fire reflected in my eyes as the shopmy life, my memories, my griefbegan to melt.

As the smoke filled my lungs, I had a hallucination. I saw Simon, years ago, kneeling in the rain with a ring, promising me forever.

I realized then that the girl who loved him had already died a long time ago.