Betrayed Bride Wakes Before the Wedding

On the eve of my wedding, the drug effects of the sleeping pills have faded away. That's how I find myself waking up amid the rambunctious laughter in the master suite of the estate.

As soon as I open my eyes, I see my luxurious custom-fitted wedding gown being shredded into pieces by Trevor Gibson's female best friend, Sophia Lynch.

She toys with the scissors as she jokes around in front of her phone, where a livestream is ongoing.

"Helena is no lady of the house! At the end of the day, I can still manipulate her as though she were a maggot!"

Trevor's friends agree with her loudly.

"Trevor was the one who laced her milk with sleeping pills, to begin with. Anyone else would've slept like a log!"

The comment section is filled with mocking comments directed at me. Meanwhile, Trevor just pats Sophia on the head dotingly.

"You must be done venting your anger by now, right? Be a good girl and turn off the livestream. If Helena wakes up and kicks up a fuss, it'll be difficult for tomorrow's wedding to proceed."

Once everyone leaves the master suite, Trevor sits by the bed and tucks me in.

"Sophia mustn't get triggered at all due to her depression. I'll only deal with you later. Anyway, I've already arranged for a plane to fly in a new wedding gown for you as we speak. Honestly speaking, that gown fits you even more."

I can only grip the covers quietly. Then, I fire a text at Jordan Scott.

"I'm not going to get married now. Are you still sticking to that promise you gave me back then?"

"Stop sulking. I promise no one will ever take your place as Mrs. Gibson."

Trevor Gibson's deep voice echoed throughout the bedroom. He gently patted my shoulder through the blanket to calm me down.

I kept my eyes closed and steadied my breathing. I didn't let even the slightest tremor slip through.

His footsteps gradually faded.

Then, the bedroom door clicked shut, and the room fell into dead silence.

I opened my eyes. My gaze drifted past the edge of the bed and landed on the shredded fabric scattered across the floor.

That had been the couture gown for which I had flown to Seine to finalize every detail over the course of two years. It embodied every fantasy I'd ever had about our ten-year relationship.

Now, it lay in pieces across the carpet.

I threw back the covers and got out of bed. My bare feet hit the cold floor.

On the nightstand sat a glass. A thin layer of milk still clung to the bottom.

Two hours ago, Trevor had handed me that glass and watched me drink.

"You've been exhausting yourself with the wedding planning lately, Helena. Drink some warm milk and get some sleep. You'll be a beautiful bride tomorrow."

His voice had been tender then, but now, the bitter aftertaste left in the glass felt painfully ironic.