The Unwanted Bride Takes Back Her Crown

At the wedding, Annabella's heavy, custom-embroidered 珠绣 wedding dress skirt swept across the trimmed lawn of the greenhouse garden.

The midday sun beat down on her bare shoulders, hot and blinding. She locked her knees, forcing her spine completely straight as she stared at Ethan. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic rhythm of pure anticipation.

The priest opened his leather-bound Bible. Five hundred of Manhattan's elite sat in the white folding chairs, the silence in the air thick and reverent.

Then, a harsh, mechanical buzzing shattered the quiet.

Ethan's phone vibrated violently against his thigh. His jaw tightened. A deep crease formed between his eyebrows, signaling his immediate annoyance.

The priest paused, clearing his throat. Ethan ignored him. He reached into his tailored tuxedo pants and pulled out the phone. The moment his eyes hit the screen, the blood drained from his face. His skin turned the color of dirty ash.

Leo, the best man, leaned in. "Ethan, put it away," he whispered, reaching out.

Ethan violently shoved Leo's arm aside. He spun around, turning his back to the priest and the entire congregation. His thumbs flew across the glass screen, his hands shaking so badly he almost dropped the device.

A cold knot formed in Annabella's stomach. She reached out, her fingertips brushing the warm fabric of Ethan's sleeve.

He flinched, jerking his arm away as if her touch burned him.

He turned his head. There was no joy in his eyes. There was no groom looking at his bride. There was only blind, suffocating panic.

"Do you, Ethan-" the priest tried again, raising his voice to regain control of the ceremony.

"Shut up!" Ethan roared.

The entire crowd gasped. A collective murmur rippled through the five hundred guests. In the front row, the press photographers immediately raised their heavy cameras. The rapid clicking of shutters sounded like gunfire.

A wave of dizziness hit Annabella. The edges of her vision blurred. She forced the corners of her mouth up, her voice dropping to a desperate whisper. "Ethan, please. Just finish the vows."

Ethan reached up and ripped the white boutonniere from his lapel. He threw the crushed flower onto the grass. "Donie is in the hospital."

The name hit Annabella's chest like a physical blow. Her lungs seized. Five years of swallowing her pride, five years of stepping aside for his childhood friend, rushed up her throat like battery acid.

She grabbed the cuff of his sleeve, her nails digging into the expensive fabric. "If you walk down that aisle right now, Ethan, we are done."

Ethan ripped his arm out of her grip. The sheer force of his movement threw Annabella off balance. Her ankle twisted in her high heels, and she stumbled backward, barely catching herself on the wooden altar rail.

"You are completely heartless," Ethan snarled, his voice carrying over the microphones. "She swallowed half a bottle of sleeping pills. She is going to die."

The bridesmaids surged forward, their faces flushed with anger,