Ditched the Fiancé

The elevator's soft chime echoed through the marble lobby of Richards Corporation as I stepped out, my heels clicking against the polished floor. Three days. Just three days until I would walk down the aisle and become Mrs. Gabriel Richards. The thought should have filled me with joy, but instead, a knot of anxiety twisted in my stomach.

I clutched the leather portfolio containing our final wedding details, my fingers unconsciously finding the familiar weight of Grandmother's gold bracelet on my wrist. The delicate piece had been in our family for generations, and knowing it would be with me on my wedding day brought comfort amid the chaos of last-minute preparations.

Gabriel's assistant, Monica, looked up from her desk with a practiced smile. "Ms. Young, he's expecting you. Go right in."

I pushed open the heavy oak door to find Gabriel hunched over his desk, phone pressed to his ear. His dark hair was perfectly styled despite the late hour, his navy suit immaculate as always. He held up one finger, signaling me to wait, then continued his conversation in rapid Spanish—something about catering arrangements.

My eyes drifted to the stack of cream-colored envelopes on his desk. Wedding invitations. A flutter of excitement rose in my chest as I moved closer, eager to see how beautiful they looked with our names intertwined.

But the words that greeted me made my blood freeze.

*Castillo de Montemayor, Sevilla, España.*

Not Grandmother's estate. Not the rolling vineyards of Napa Valley where four generations of Young women had been married. Not the rose garden where I'd dreamed of saying my vows since I was twelve years old.

A Spanish castle.

"Gabriel." My voice came out as barely a whisper.

He glanced up, still talking, and his expression shifted when he saw me holding the invitation. He quickly ended his call. "Izzy, sweetheart, I can explain—"

"Explain what?" The invitation trembled in my hands. "Explain why our wedding invitations have a completely different venue than what we discussed? Explain why you changed our wedding location without telling me?"

He stood, moving around the desk with that charming smile that usually melted my resolve. "It's a surprise, baby. Dakota mentioned this incredible castle in Sevilla—she stayed there last month and said it was the most romantic place she'd ever seen. I thought you'd love it."

Dakota. Of course.

"You changed our wedding venue because Dakota suggested it?" The words tasted bitter. "Gabriel, we've been planning this for two years. My grandmother's estate—"

"Is beautiful, yes, but think about the photos, Izzy. Think about how incredible this will be. A destination wedding in Spain? Our friends will talk about it for years."

I stared at him, searching his face for some sign that he understood what he'd done. That he remembered the hours we'd spent walking through Grandmother's gardens, planning where the altar would be, which vintage we'd serve from the family vineyard.

"You don't understand," I said quietly. "That estate isn't just a venue, Gabriel. It's