The Bride Who Never Showed

Three days before my wedding, I find out that my fiance, Carlo Romano, has changed the wedding venue from my mother's estate to a villa located in St. Morizia, which happens to be his childhood sweetheart, Adriana Montanari's favorite place in the whole wide world.

When I'm about to confront Carlo, I overhear him complaining to his friend.

"Thank goodness Adriana has a good eye for beauty! Otherwise, I'll definitely get humiliated and mocked by everyone for hosting my wedding at such a rundown place!"

His friend asks, "Didn't you agree to host the wedding ceremony at her late mother's home? Aren't you worried that she might not marry you out of fury once she finds out that you changed the venue without her permission?"

Carlo merely sneered in return.

"Giada's family is insanely weak. Marrying me is her only path out of poverty. She can't risk losing me at all.

"Besides, I've already told the wedding planner to call her and inform her about my decision. She must be booking another flight and rushing toward the new destination as we speak."

Rage and humiliation swirl around in my chest. I gnash my teeth together, but I opt to turn around and walk away in the end.

Three days later, Carlo's wedding goes on as usual at the snow mountain.

But I never bought myself another ticket, nor did I appear at the new wedding venue. Instead, I've exchanged wedding rings with another man in Mom's manor located in Tuscanica.

Carlo fails to realize that I chose to marry him not because I view him as a ticket to wealth. It's purely because I've loved him for 12 long years.

I, Giada Castellani, am bold enough to show my feelings. Since I can enter a relationship, I can always exit it freely.

That's why Carlo is never my one and only choice in marriage.

Giada's POV

Carlo Romano sent me the location of the snowy mountains in St. Morizia, along with a photo. The image captured a sweeping view of the villa. Its white stone walls and black steel framework gave the place a stark, minimalist feel.

However, in the very center of the photo stood Adriana Montanari. Her long golden curls cascade over a white fur coat. I stared at her radiant, smiling face for a few moments. In that instant, I couldn't help but find it all hilarious.

I was the bride. This was the wedding venue Carlo had chosen for us. And yet, the woman at the heart of the photo was his childhood sweetheart—the one he kept insisting was "just a friend".

After that, Carlo went completely silent. I knew him well enough. He must have assumed the wedding planner had already informed me, so he went ahead and sent the address without a second thought. He was probably concerned I might not be aware of the location when rescheduling my flight.

It felt like a stone had lodged itself in my chest. I couldn't comprehend