The Dress Was White, The Blood Was Red

My fianc, Ethan, was everyone's idea of a flawless saint. We had been together for seven years, yet he had postponed our wedding nineteen times. Each delay came with a noble excuse: saving a drowning child, chasing a robber, or rescuing a stray cat. He would return with red eyes, pleading, Anna, wait for me one more time. Surrounded by the pity or schadenfreude of our guests, I always agreed.

Tonight, drunk in our home, he shattered the illusion. Dressed in my twentieth custom wedding gown, I stood outside the half-closed door. He whispered to the empty air, his voice thick with longing. "Vivian, I didn't dare hold your hand back then. But this time, I'm ready."

My nails dug into my palms as I listened to his desperate vow. "Steal me from the wedding," he choked out. "Appear on the day, and I'll take you anywhere." Tears fell as he repeated the promise, oblivious to my presence. "Three days from now, we leave this place forever."

Blood from my clenched fists dripped onto the pure white silk. The crimson stain bloomed, forcing me to recall his first postponement. His guilt-ridden plea for another chance had been a lie. His selflessness was merely a mask for his favoritism. I took off my engagement ring and placed it on the entrance cabinet. Tomorrow, I will return this dress. I am done waiting.

Ethan was curled up at the edge of the sofa. The strong smell of alcohol mixed with the sour stench of vomit rushed toward me.

I instinctively covered my nose and mouth and looked at him. He was barefoot, and the collar of his expensive shirt had been tugged completely out of shape.

Ethan?

I called him softly, my voice trembling so badly it sounded strange even to me.

He didnt respond. He only clutched a cushion tightly and muttered to himself, fragile as broken porcelain.

I had never seen him like this before.

For the past seven years, he had always been cold, elegant, and restrained. Even if he was only ten minutes late for a date, he would message me in advance to apologize.

But now, he was so drunk he couldnt even lift his head. His Adams apple moved with difficulty, and he was still stubbornly murmuring that name.

Vivian. Im so cold.

He suddenly curled up even tighter, as if trying to squeeze himself into the cracks of the sofa.

My heart clenched. Instinctively, I crouched down to help him.

But the moment my fingertips touched his shoulder, he suddenly grabbed my wrist with a violent backhand.

Dont go!

His eyes were closed as he roared hoarsely, This time, I wont let you leave. Well elope!

My tears broke free instantly.

Who did he think I was?

Ethan, open your eyes and look clearly. Im Anna.

I clenched my teeth and desperately tried to pull my hand back.

He froze for half a second, then opened his drunken eyes in a haze. In those unfocused pupils, my wretched face was reflected.

The next second, as if burned by fire, he violently flung my hand away, turned over, and retched against the carpet.

I froze in place, watching his back as he struggled in pain. Suddenly, the last bit of tenderness left in my heart seemed laughably pathetic.

I got up and went into the bathroom to wring out a hot towel. When I came back out, he was trying to climb onto the sofa, only to slide weakly back down onto the carpet.

I crouched and silently wiped the cold sweat from his face.

His skin was burning hot, his brows tightly furrowed. Even trapped in nightmares, he kept muttering.

Cake. She loves red velvet the most.

My hand stopped abruptly.

The warm yellow light from the bathroom slanted beneath the coffee table, illuminating a hidden kraft paper envelope.

As if possessed, I reached out and pulled it out.

Inside was a neatly bound file. On the cover was printed a line:

Vivians Lifestyle Preferences.

I opened the first page, and my breathing stopped.

Vivian hates rainy days. Remember to keep an umbrella by the door of her studio.

Her stomach is weak. She absolutely cannot eat spicy food. Next date should be at that upscale French restaurant.

On the anniversary of her mothers death, make sure to bring white roses and accompany her to the cemetery.

The edges of the paper had already grown fuzzy, clearly worn from being touched over and over again.

My fingertips trembled as I turned the pages. Every page was densely packed with records of another womans trivial daily life.

The origin of the coffee beans she loved. The indie music she played on loop while painting. Even an insignificant childhood memory she had once mentioned in passing.

On the last page, there was a photo tucked inside.

It was a candid profile shot Ethan had taken of Vivian.

Sunlight danced across her lashes, gentle enough to inspire despair.

I sank onto the cold floor and flipped through the pages one by one.

Memories I had deliberately suppressed surged into my mind like floodwater bursting through a dam.

Seven years ago, when my fever had reached 102 degrees, he had been busy with a merger and acquisition case. He only hurriedly left a box of fever medicine at my apartment door. He didnt even spare the time to pour me a glass of warm water.

Five years ago, when I was hospitalized after a car accident, he came every day on schedule to bring food. But whenever his phone rang with a certain ringtone, he would leave in a rush.

Just last month, on my birthday, he was three full hours late. In the end, he appeared at the restaurant soaked from head to toe, only casually explaining, I saved a drowning child on the way.

At the time, his eyes had been filled with relief and righteousness, yet he hadnt noticed that I had stood in the cold wind all night, my stomach hurting so badly I couldnt even straighten my back.

So it turned out he wasnt naturally unromantic.

He wasnt careless.

He had simply given all his tenderness and thoughtfulness to someone else without holding anything back.

I gently placed the file back where it had been, turned, went into the bedroom, and took off the heavy wedding dress.

The phone in my pocket vibrated. It was the companys final confirmation email for my overseas transfer.

The destination was faraway London.

The departure date was exactly three days from now.

I looked one last time at the man sleeping on the floor. There was even a faint smile at the corner of his mouth. Perhaps in his dreams, he was running away with Vivian.

I took a deep breath and pressed send.

[Transfer accepted. Departing in three days.]

This time, it was my turn to break the appointment.

At seven the next morning, my phone vibrated wildly on the bedside table. I was lying awake, staring blankly at the ceiling.

A sleepless night had left my eyes so dry it felt as if they were covered in rough sand.

Hello?

I answered, my voice so hoarse I barely recognized it.

Anna.

Ethans voice carried the exhaustion of a hangover. In the background, I could hear the sound of cars rushing past.

I probably cant make it to the final wedding dress fitting today.

My fingers tightened slightly around the phone. A faint taste of blood rose in my throat.

Mm. Okay.

I wont be back for dinner tonight either. He paused, deliberately making his tone sound relaxed. Theres an urgent project I need to catch up on.

My voice was flat. Okay.

The other end of the line fell briefly silent.

He seemed not to have expected me to be so calm. Then he switched into that tone he used to soothe a small animal.

Ill only be busy these next few days. Dont overthink things. I promise you, on the wedding day, Ill be there on time. I wont be late.

He laughed softly. Through the signal, that laugh sounded impossibly false and distant.

Stop being petty. Be good.

I closed my eyes and let tears slide silently down, disappearing into the hair near my temples.

Okay.

After hanging up, the room was swallowed by dead silence again.

I opened Instagram. The private account Ethan had hidden at the very bottom of my following list suddenly showed a new update.

He rarely shared private life on social media.

His main account was full of industry news and official reports about charity events, cold and perfect like a fake person.

But this post was completely different.

[Chasing the light!]

The picture showed a mountain summit at dawn, a pair of rugged hiking boots, and beside them a slender wrist wearing a baseball cap, reaching toward the camera.

That wrist had delicate bones. There was a light brown mole near the joint of the pinky finger.

I recognized that mole.

It was Vivian.

My heart felt as if it had been gripped tightly by an invisible hand. Even breathing came with a dull ache.

I scrolled down. The comments were lively.

Ryan: Ethan finally made a move! Shes definitely going to be moved to tears now!

Owen: You shouldve done this ages ago, bro! Congrats! Dont forget to invite us for wedding drinks!

Caleb: Finally got your girl? Hahaha, congrats!

Every one of those names was painfully familiar to me.

When Ryans father had heart surgery, I was the one who ran around using my connections to contact a top surgeon.

When Owens startup failed and he faced bankruptcy, I privately asked a headhunter friend to help him find a respectable job.

When Caleb didnt have enough for the down payment on his wedding home, I secretly used my own savings to fill the gap.

They all knew.

Every single one of them had known from the beginning.

An absurd laugh rose in my throat, but in the end, what escaped my mouth was only a desperate sob.

I numbly put down my phone and went through the motions like a programmed machine: wash up, change clothes, go to work.

When I got off work, the Chicago sky was gloomy, as if it might collapse at any moment.

I pushed open the apartment door. Silence followed me like a shadow.

I collapsed onto the sofa and, as if possessed, opened his private account again.

He had posted five updates today.

9 a.m.: [The wind at the summit was stronger than expected, but everything was worth it.]

The picture showed two hands with fingers interlaced, holding a cup of hot coffee together.

10 a.m.: [She said the sea of clouds in the distance looked like spilled milk.]

The picture showed Vivian from behind, her golden hair lifted by the wind.

11 a.m.: [So the sound of a heart moving is real.]

The picture showed blurred sunset light and his own elongated shadow.

12 p.m.: [From now on, every year on this day, well come here together.]

The picture showed two pairs of shoes side by side on dew-covered grass.

1 p.m.: [Before I met you, I never looked forward to the future.]

The picture showed Vivians delicate profile.

In every photo, his eyes were shining.

That kind of unreserved, scorching, passionate love was a luxury I had never possessed in these seven years.

I opened my photo album and typed Ethan into the search bar.

Only a few photos came up.

Most were group photos. He was always turned sideways or wearing a stiff expression, as if every press of the shutter were an annoying KPI he had to complete.

Once, during a vacation, I acted spoiled and begged him to take more photos with me. He only frowned impatiently and said, Whats there to take? Its too much trouble.

So it turned out he didnt dislike taking photos.

He just disliked taking photos with me.

I swiped through the photos one by one.

At graduation, his lips were tightly pressed together while I held a bouquet and smiled cautiously.

At a birthday party, his eyes wandered. The hand he used to hold mine while cutting the cake was stiff as wood.

Even the only photo in the album where he had an arm around me had been taken after I begged repeatedly. He had perfunctorily placed his hand on my shoulder, but his body instinctively kept a distance from mine.

And today, he had taken an entire nine-photo grid for Vivian. Every angle and every beam of light carried the fervor of wanting to preserve her smile forever.

My phone suddenly vibrated.

It was a message from his main account.

[The project is finally finished. A little tired. Ill go with you tomorrow to confirm the final makeup and styling.]

I stared fixedly at that line of text. An exhaustion I had never felt before swept through my entire body.

Seven years of youth. Hundreds of compromises and waits. Thousands upon thousands of self-deceptions.

At that moment, everything collapsed with a crash and turned to ash.

I locked the screen and did not reply.

The next day, when the doorbell rang, I was kneeling on the carpet, packing my suitcase.

Through the peephole, I saw Ethan crouching outside the door with no trace of his usual dignity.

I hesitated for exactly three seconds, then opened the door.

When he heard movement, he abruptly raised his head. His handsome face still carried the exhaustion of a sleepless night, but the moment he saw me, he immediately pulled out a perfect smile.

Out of habit, he lifted his hand as if to ruffle my hair. But it stopped awkwardly in midair. He changed the motion into scratching the back of his head to cover it up.

Did I wake you?

No.

I stepped aside to let him in. My gaze swept over his wrinkled shirt and the obvious mud stains on the cuffs of his trousers.

He walked into the living room. His eyes fell on my open suitcase. He paused slightly but didnt ask.

He sat down by the sofa, his long legs folded in a deliberately pitiful way, his whole body radiating a carefully performed weariness.

The project wrapped up too late last night, so I slept in the office.

He lowered his voice, his tone gentle.

I was afraid you were still asleep, so I didnt dare ring the bell. I just sat outside for a while.

My heart felt as if something had bumped against it, neither too lightly nor too heavily.

If this kind of subtle thoughtfulness had happened a month ago, it would absolutely have moved me so much I couldnt sleep all night.

But now, I only found it absurd.

He could cross half the city in a rainstorm to accompany Vivian to an art exhibition. He could drive hundreds of miles late at night to climb a mountain with her and watch the sunrise. Yet he didnt even have the time to call me and say, I wont be home tonight.

In a daze, distant memories suddenly surged up like tidewater.

At fifteen, as a transfer student who had just moved to Chicago, I sat awkwardly in the last row of the classroom and watched him run freely across the basketball court.

Sunlight fell on the sweat-damp ends of his hair, coating his entire body in a dazzling golden edge.

He was everyones sun.

Bright, passionate, selflessly lighting up everyone around him.

And I was only the most insignificant speck of dust in the corner. Small and dim, needing all my courage just to look up at him.

So when, on the day of our high school graduation, he suddenly stuffed a note into my hand and said seriously, I think youre special, I was completely stunned.

That sudden, enormous happiness left me flustered. I even thought it was a dream I might wake from at any moment.

To hold tightly onto that beam of light, I desperately learned to be sensible. I learned tolerance. I learned to chew up every grievance and swallow it.

When he was late for dates, I smiled and said Chicago traffic was indeed awful.

When he forgot our anniversary, I took the blame and said I should have reminded him earlier.

When he missed the eve of our wedding again and again, I kept brainwashing myself, telling myself it was proof of his noble character.

In the process, I slowly became a people-pleaser so unfamiliar that even I found myself strange.

Anna?

Ethans voice pulled me back to reality.

He moved closer and waved his hand in front of my eyes. His deep eyes were filled with genuine worry.

Whats wrong? Are you feeling unwell?

I looked at him quietly.

This face. I had looked at it for seven years and loved it for seven years.

At this moment, the concern in his eyes was so real that I almost wanted to suspect everything I had seen last night had only been a nightmare.

He reached out and took my hand. His palm was still warm and dry.

I promise you.

He spoke word by word, his eyes sincere like a believer confessing before a priest.

Tomorrow, I will appear on time. You should be happy and become the most beautiful bride in the world.

My eyes suddenly warmed.

But my chest felt as if a huge hole had been torn open. Cold wind howled through it, and there was no echo left inside.

I gently withdrew my hand and pulled out a perfect smile.

Mm. I know.

He seemed about to say something else, but the phone on the coffee table suddenly lit up.

He glanced at the screen quickly and almost reflexively pressed mute, then placed the phone face down on the table.

The movement was extremely fast, but I still clearly caught the notification on the lock screen.

[Vivian: See you tomorrow!]

He raised his head and looked at me. The smile at the corner of his mouth had already become somewhat stiff.

After hesitating, he opened his arms and pulled me into his embrace, holding me tightly.

My body remained rigid, like a puppet, allowing him to hold me.

Outside the window, the sunlight was still bright. Golden light spilled over us, yet brought not even the slightest warmth.

So when a moth decides to stop flying into the flame, that light loses all meaning to it.

That day, Ethan acted like the perfect, flawless fianc.

He accompanied me to try on my wedding dress, standing behind the huge floor-length mirror and giving alteration suggestions with utmost seriousness.

He remembered that I was allergic to cilantro, and when ordering at the French restaurant, he naturally reminded the waiter to pay attention to the details.

While walking down the street, he even took my hand first. Everything seemed exactly like the early days when we were madly in love.

I quietly cooperated with the performance and did not tear through his gorgeous disguise.

Only occasionally, when I met his probing gaze, I would politely smile back.

At dusk, he drove me back to my apartment.

Outside the car window, city lights were just beginning to glow, neon shifting and flowing. Inside the car, an old jazz song was playing, the very one that had played on the radio during our first date.

Then, as the car approached a dim intersection, I saw a familiar figure standing by the road.

Vivian was wearing a thin white dress, hugging her arms as she shivered in the early autumn wind.

Ethan slammed on the brakes. The tires made a piercing screech against the asphalt.

He abruptly turned to look at me. His eyes were filled with an extreme tension and panic I had never seen before.

Anna.

His voice was terribly tight.

Thats Vivian. A friend of mine. Shes timid and in poor health. Its so late, and shes standing there alone. I really cant feel at ease

Before he could finish, I had already calmly unbuckled my seat belt.

Go take her home.

He was visibly stunned, then urgently promised, Ill come back for you as soon as I take her home. Itll be quick. Wait for me here.

I nodded and pushed open the car door.

The suburban night wind was bone-chilling.

I stood alone under the streetlamp, watching his black Porsche merge into traffic without the slightest hesitation. Its red taillights soon disappeared around the corner.

Everything around me was deathly quiet. The dim yellow streetlamp stretched my shadow long and thin.

I took out my phone and opened Uber, but the screen kept showing: No available cars nearby.

Cold wind poured in through the collar of my coat, and I couldnt help shivering.

By two in the morning, he still had not returned.

My phone screen suddenly lit up. It was a multimedia message from an unknown number.

The moment I opened the photo, all the blood in my body froze.

The background was the large bed of a luxury hotel. Ethan and Vivian were asleep in each others arms.

She nestled against his chest like a delicate bird, her fair fingers intimately hooked around the buttons of his shirt.

His eyes were closed, and at the corner of his mouth was a satisfied, relaxed smile I had never seen in these seven years.

Immediately after, a second text popped up.

[Thanks for stepping aside, big sister! Have a wonderful wedding tomorrow!]

Expressionlessly, I locked the screen.

The next morning, the car arranged by the company stopped downstairs from my apartment on time.

One hour later, the Boeing 777 cut through the sky and soared into the clouds.

Ten thousand meters above the ground, I quietly gazed at the churning sea of white clouds outside the window.

My phone already had a new British SIM card in it.

As for the old card, before the plane took off, I had thrown it mercilessly into a trash can at Chicago airport.

Goodbye, Ethan.

At the same time, in the banquet hall of a top hotel in downtown Chicago.

Ethan stood before the mirror in an exquisitely tailored handmade suit, a fleeting trace of guilt passing through his heart.

But the moment he recalled how Vivian had woken in his arms that morning, looking so dependent and fragile, as if she could not survive without him, that tiny bit of guilt instantly transformed into peace of mind.

Vivian was so fragile. She needed protection too much.

Anna had always been generous and strong. She would definitely understand him.

The melodious and romantic wedding march echoed throughout the hall.

The host, using a passionate tone, invited the most beautiful bride of the day to enter.

However, the music played on loop again and again. At the end of the red carpet, the carved double doors remained tightly closed.

No one appeared.

The guests began to stir and whisper.

The perfect smile on Ethans face began to crack. He hid to one side, lowered his voice, and frantically called that familiar number, only to hear the cold notification that the phone was turned off.

Go find her in the dressing room!

He grabbed the best man by the collar and roared, finally unable to hide the panic in his voice.

Just then, the side door of the banquet hall was shoved open.

The makeup artist stumbled out, her face pale as paper.

Mr. Ethan Miss Anna, she isnt in the room at all!

Ethan stood frozen as if struck by lightning. All that remained in his ears was a sharp buzzing sound.