When My Ex Gets Married and I Get the Bill

My wedding starts at 12:00 pm on the dot.

There are 58 tables, each table costing 8888 dollars.

120 bottles of premium liquor have been opened. 300 packs of top-tier cigarettes are unsealed.

At 2:30 pm, all the guests have left the scene, leaving nothing but a huge mess behind. That's when a server hands me the bill.

"It'll be 510 thousand dollars, miss."

I'm left gobsmacked. "I'm a wedding guest, not the organizer."

The groom is Charlie Humboldt, my ex-boyfriend. At the moment, he takes his pregnant bride, Sasha Fitch, by the hand while sneering at me.

"Since you're here, you might as well foot the bill. Think of it as your way of compensating for my youth."

Charlie's mother, Melissa Carlton, moves to block the door. "If you're not paying the bill, then you can forget about leaving. No one wants you anyway, so you might as well stay here and pay off your debt by working as a dishwasher!"

As I stare at the shameless family, I dig out my phone quietly.

What they don't know is that this five-star hotel is a gift from my dad to me.

"It will be 510 thousand dollars. Will you be paying by cash or card?" Charlie Humboldt, my ex, asked as he thrust the payment terminal in my face, nearly poking me in the eye.

He hadn't even taken off his boutonniere yet. The bright red color was glaringly obvious.

I scoffed and shoved his hand aside. "Do you have some loose screws in your head, Charlie? Why do I have to pay for your wedding?"

Charlie straightened his tie with a self-righteous expression. "You should be paying the bill, Lily Rosewood. We were together for three years. I've grown sick and tired of living like a pauper.

"To protect your pride, I gave up on furthering my studies in Volpena. I gave up on my future. I also missed the promotion interview at the company two years ago to take care of you when you were running a high fever."

Charlie held his hand up and counted how many times he made sacrifices for my sake on his fingers. Spit flew from his lips and spattered across my face.

"I lost so much because of you. I'm already giving you a discount by only asking for 510 thousand dollars."

I looked at Charlie.

Three years ago, I was the one who kept vigil by his bedside for three days when he was running a high fever and calling out for his mother. To pay for the astronomically-priced, imported cold medicine, I even pawned off the gold bracelet that Grandma had left for me.

And yet, he wanted to twist the truth and accuse me of holding him back now?

"And what if I refuse to pay?" I asked, glaring at him coldly.

Charlie scoffed and snapped his fingers.

A waiter—Larry Ford, according to his nametag—immediately fixed a smug expression on his face. "Your signature is on the booking