Wedding Eve I Found Cruel Truth

The mirror reflected perfection—or what I had convinced myself was perfection. The wedding dress hugged my figure flawlessly, its intricate beadwork catching the warm light of the hotel suite's crystal chandelier.

Tomorrow, I would walk down the aisle to Peter Wright, the man who had rescued me from the shadows of my past and promised me a future filled with love and security.

I smoothed my hands over the silk bodice, my engagement ring catching the light. Three years of planning had led to this moment. Three years of believing I had found my fairy tale ending.

The suite door burst open with a force that made me jump. Leny stood in the doorway, her usually composed face pale and drawn. Her dark hair was disheveled, as if she'd been running her hands through it repeatedly, and her breathing came in short, sharp bursts.

"Leny?" I turned from the mirror, concern immediately replacing my bridal euphoria. "What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."

She stepped inside, closing the door behind her with trembling fingers. In her hands, she clutched something that made my heart skip—a small, worn plush bunny with faded pink fur. I recognized it immediately. It was the recording toy we'd played with in high school, a silly gadget that could capture and replay short messages.

"Sharon, I..." Her voice cracked. She held the bunny like it might explode. "I was packing my old boxes today, getting ready for the move with Mark, and I found this. I accidentally pressed the playback button, and..."

The words died on her lips. She looked at me with an expression I'd never seen before—a mixture of anguish, fury, and something that looked almost like pity.

"Leny, you're scaring me." I took a step toward her, the train of my dress rustling against the plush carpet. "What is it?"

She held up the bunny, her hand shaking so violently I thought she might drop it. "You need to hear this. I'm so sorry, Sharon. I'm so fucking sorry."

Before I could protest, she pressed the worn pink button on the bunny's belly.

The sound that emerged was tinny and distant, filtered through years of dust and neglect. But the voices were unmistakably clear. Young voices, filled with cruel laughter.

"Dude, you actually think you can make Sharon Chilton fall for you?" The first voice belonged to Adam—Adam from high school, the boy who had made my life hell for four years.

"Please. Have you seen how she looks at me when I'm nice to her? She's so desperate for attention, it's pathetic." The second voice hit me like a physical blow. It was Peter. My Peter. But younger, crueler. "She'll be eating out of my hand within a month."

"What's the bet again?" Adam's laughter was sharp, cutting.

"If I can get the pathetic loner to fall in love with me—really fall in love, like write-me-love-letters, plan-our-future-together love—you owe me five hundred bucks." Peter's voice was casual, as if he