Dying at His Wedding

Will you marry me?

It was a slip of the tongue. A nervous, unscripted flub by Kayla, the wedding officiant.

Laughter rippled through the pews. The guests thought it was a joke.

But my groom didn't laugh.

Hunters eyes rimmed with a sudden, violent red. His entire frame trembled, a leaf in a storm. I do.

The next second, he shattered the world.

In front of everyoneour families, our friends, the watching camerashe grabbed Kaylas wrist. He didn't look back. He didn't look at me. He dragged the woman who looked seventy percent like me out of the chapel doors.

And then, the mechanical, genderless tone of the Voice echoed in my skull:

"Seduction Mission: Failed. Host slated for termination. Life expectancy: Three days."

Chapter 1

"Will you marry me?"

"I do."

When Hunter choked out those words, the red in his eyes looked like an open wound. The silence in the hall was absolute. A vacuum where oxygen used to be.

He didn't care.

He turned his back on me. He gripped the hand of the woman in the white dressthe officiant who wore my face better than I didand walked out.

It was my wedding.

But I stood there like a statue in a museum, watching a tragedy happen to someone else. My blood slowed to a sludge. Despair didn't hit me all at once; it seeped in, cold and heavy.

[It is over.]

The Voice sounded almost human. Almost regretful.

[That is Chloe. Hunters first love. The one that got away. She left him ten years ago to study abroad.]

[Now, she is back.]

[Your mission has failed.]

The vacuum broke. The hall exploded into chaos.

Guests whispered frantically. The other staff shouted for order. My friends screamed curses at the empty doorway.

Scumbag. Bastard. How could he?

But to me, the world was underwater. Muffled. Dead.

Yeah.

Its really over.

My mission failed. And now, Im going to die.

I spent ten years conquering Hunter. Ten years carving myself into the shape of a woman he could love.

I stayed by his side when he was a nobody with empty pockets and a head full of dreams. I watched him climb from the gutter to the boardroom, becoming the Chairman of the largest conglomerate in the country.

When he was broke, I simmered porridge for him in the middle of the night to soothe his stomach. I picked him up when he was blackout drunk after brutal business dinners. We shared a single cup of instant ramen because we couldn't afford two.

I thought presence was the ultimate form of love.

I thought I had finally forced my way into his heart.

But looking at the empty aisle, those ten years felt like a punchline. A sick, twisted joke.

The "first love" is invincible.

She didn't have to cook. She didn't have to suffer. She just had to stand there, extend a hand, and Hunter followed like a dog on a leash.

[I am sorry, Eden.]

The Voice carried a frequency of inexplicable melancholy.

[You have seventy-two hours remaining in this world.]

I tried to inhale. My lungs felt like they were filled with wet concrete. Heavy. Solid.

A hand gripped my arm. My best friend. She rubbed my back, her face twisted in fury and pity. "Eden, its okay. That piece of trash doesn't deserve you..."

I shook my head. I couldn't speak. If I opened my mouth, I would scream, and I knew I wouldn't be able to stop.

I signaled for the guests to leave. I pushed away the comfort of my family.

I needed to be alone.

I walked out of the venue, the hem of my pristine, white custom gown dragging through the dirt of the parking lot. I raised a hand and flagged down a yellow cab.

Earl, the driver, looked in the rearview mirror, his eyes widening as he took in the bride without a groom. The ruin in my face.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. It tasted like iron. "Earl. Take me to Pigeon Point."

Pigeon Point.

That was where I met Hunter. That was where we started everything.

Theres a dilapidated rental apartment there. A shithole with peeling paint and drafty windows. It holds every beautiful memory I have left.

My clock is ticking. Seventy-two hours.

I want to die there.

Chapter 2

Earl didn't say a word for a long time. Maybe it was the sight of a bride fleeing a church, her white dress acting like a beacon of disaster in his rearview mirror.

When the cab crunched to a halt at Pigeon Point, I reached for my phone to pay him.

Earl covered the meter with a calloused hand. "Put it away."

He turned, his face etched with a rough, fatherly pity. "Listen, sweetheart. Don't let it eat you alive. As long as youre still breathing, theres nothing you cant survive. Its not the end of the world unless youre six feet under."

I didn't cry when Hunter dragged his first love out of the chapel.

I didn't cry under the suffocating weight of three hundred staring guests.

But this strangers kindness? It was a sledgehammer.

Earl drove off, tires kicking up dust.

My knees hit the gravel.

The air left my lungs in a sharp, jagged gasp. My chest seized. It wasn't just sadness; it was a physical blow, a cramping spasm deep in my solar plexus. I clawed at the fabric of my dress, trying to manual-start my heart.

He said theres nothing I cant survive.

Hes wrong.

Im already a walking corpse.

I forced my legs to work. I stumbled down the muddy path until the familiar concrete skeleton loomed out of the fog.

Building B. Second floor. Apartment 203.

The architecture of our struggle. This was where Hunter and I survived our hardest three years.

I dragged the hem of my Vera Wangnow heavy with brown sludgeup the stairs. I jammed the key into the lock. It fought me.

Click. Grind.

The rusted metal screamed as I forced the bolt back.

The door across the hall swung open.

A head popped out. Grey rollers in her hair, suspicious eyes narrowing. Then, recognition flared. "Eden?"

I forced the muscles in my face to contract into something resembling a smile. I nodded.

The door flew open. Mrs. Miller rushed out, wiping floury hands on her floral apron. She grabbed my freezing hands in her warm ones. "Lord have mercy! You remember me? Mrs. Miller! I used to live right next to you two kids..."

How could I forget?

Back then, Hunter and I worked until we were zombies. Wed stumble home at 2 AM, too exhausted to boil water. Mrs. Miller would catch us, drag us into her kitchen, and force-feed us leftover casserole until we felt human again.

She held my hands tight, launching into chatter. "Wheres that handsome boy of yours? Hunter? You two finally tie the knot today?"

She stopped mid-sentence.

Her eyes dropped to the mud-caked lace of my dress. Then up to my ghostly skin. The bloodshot sclera of my eyes.

The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable.

She blinked, then patted my back with a heavy, grounding rhythm. "Its alright, baby. Its alright. Men... there are plenty of fish in the sea. You just rest. Ive got nephews. Good boys. Accountants. Ill introduce you."

I swallowed the scream building in my throat. It tasted like bile.

I managed a weak nod, mumbled a goodbye, and escaped into Apartment 203.

I closed the door on the world.

The room was exactly as we left it. Tiny. Suffocating.

A double mattress on the floor. A desk coated in a thick layer of gray dust.

And him.

A giant, human-sized panda plushie slumped in the corner.

This was it. The sum total of everything Hunter ever gave me.

I sank onto the bare mattress. My fingers brushed the synthetic fur of the panda.

The dam broke.

I gripped the toys paw, my knuckles turning white. I squeezed the internal trigger.

A voice box, slightly distorted by time, crackled to life.

"Don't cry, Kitten. Hunter was wrong."

"Don't cry, Kitten. Hunter was wrong."

The loop played over and over, mocking me with a ghosts apology.

Chapter 3

The plushies LED heart stuttereda cheap, dying strobe light. The mechanical voice ground out its loop, distorted by static and time.

I remember when I got this thing.

Our first birthday together.

I had spent six hours hand-rolling pasta, the flour settling into my pores. I sat at the table, watching the candles burn down until they were just puddles of wax.

He didn't come home.

He stumbled in the next afternoon. His eyes were red-rimmed, his suit rumpled, carrying the exhaustion of a man who had run a marathon.

He shoved the panda into my arms. An apology gift. "For you," hed mumbled.

I was so happy. I hugged that synthetic fur like it was spun gold.

I was an idiot.

I didn't know then.

The recording didn't say "Don't cry, Kitten" or whatever pet name I convinced myself I heard through the static.

It said: "Don't cry, Chloe."

That day wasn't just my birthday. It was hers, too.

He hadn't been working late. He had spent the entire night running from courier to courier, trying to air-freight this panda overseas to her.

But the cheap voice box ran on a lithium battery. Hazardous material. No air cargo allowed.

He failed.

So he brought the rejected cargo back to the apartment and dumped it on me.

A regifted mistake.

The panda was pitiful, treated like trash.

And so was my love.

I curled up on the mattressthe same narrow twin bed where we used to tangle our limbs together. I tossed and turned, fighting the memories.

Seven years. It had been seven years, but the mattress still held a ghost.

A faint, lingering scent of lemon detergent and cedar. His scent.

Once, that smell was my oxygen. I used to bury my face in his pillow and inhale until I felt safe.

Now?

Bile rose in my throat. My stomach clenched, threatening to purge everything.

I grabbed my phone. The screen lit up the dark room, burning my retinas.

The chat history was still open. The last messages were from last night.

Hunter: [Baby, Im freaking out. Wedding jitters. I can't sleep.]

Hunter: [Just remember, once were married, youre the boss. My wallet is yours. Ill even scrub the floors.]

Hunter: [I love you.]

I let out a dry, broken laugh. It sounded like sandpaper.

Pathetic.

Twelve hours ago, he was roleplaying the nervous, devoted groom.

Today, he left me at the altar without a backward glance.

He didn't even look at me. Not once.

But why would he? You don't say goodbye to the placeholder when the real thing comes back. I was just the seat filler. Now that Chloethe main characterhad returned, I was just clutter to be swept away.

Right now, hes probably with her. Holding her. Whispering the vows that were written for me.

My thumb hovered over the screen, trembling.

Suddenly, three new bubbles popped up. The timestamp mocked me: Just now.

Hunter: [Eden! Where the hell are you?]

Hunter: [Stop being dramatic. So we didn't get married. Big deal.]

Hunter: [Are you seriously pulling a disappearing act? Trying to guilt-trip me with this suicide bait? Grow up.]

My breath hitched. A sharp pain stabbed behind my ribs, as if hed reached through the screen and twisted a knife.

Then, the final blow.

Hunter: [Lets be real. You know I never loved you.]

Ping.

A bank notification slid down from the top of the screen.

Deposit Received: $5,000,000.00.

Hunter: [I wired you five mil. Take the money and get lost. If you want to die so bad, go ahead. Do us both a favor.]

I stared at the glowing letters.

His tone was exactly the same as the day we met. Cold. Transactional. Cruel.

He didn't even have the decency to type the words I'm sorry.

Chapter 4

Five million dollars?

I spent ten years building an empire with this man. I stood by him in the trenches while he transformed from a broke visionary into a tech mogul. The equity I sweated for, the deals I closed, the nights I spent analyzing market trendsthat was worth billions.

And...

For someone who truly loved, does money really matter?

"If you want to die so bad, go ahead."

The words were black ink in water, clouding my mind, refusing to dissolve.

Hunter, I really am dying.

The tears threatened to breach again. I bit my lip until I tasted copper, forcing them back. I wouldn't cry for him. Not anymore.

My thumb hovered over the keyboard. I wanted to type a paragraph. A manifesto of my pain. A final curse.

But my fingers froze.

There was nothing left to say. The silence between us was already louder than any scream.

I shifted my thumb. I didn't type.

I tapped the red icon.

Delete Contact.

Confirm.

Goodbye.

Goodbye, Hunter. Goodbye to the decade I wasted loving a ghost.

Night fell like a hammer.

The wind whistled through the warped frame of the window, cutting through the room. It was a physical assault, biting into my skin.

Ten years ago, this draft didn't matter.

Back then, Hunter was my furnace. He would wrap his limbs around me, pressing his chest against my back, transferring his body heat until I was burning up. We were a tangle of legs and friction. Even in the dead of winter, with snow piling up on the windowsill, I felt like I was living in the tropics.

Now?

I lay alone on the freezing mattress. The cold wasn't just in the air; it seeped into my marrow.

My heart gave a wet, agonizing lurch. Thump... pause... thump.

I stared at the ceiling.

Maybe this is it.

Maybe Ill just freeze here. And while my body goes into rigor mortis, turning stiff and cold, Hunter will be sweating between high-thread-count sheets with his first love. Hes probably whispering the same promises against her neck that he used to whisper to me.

Buzz.

The phone on the pillow lit up. A harsh, blue strobe in the dark.

Adrenaline spiked. Hunter?

I grabbed it.

New Friend Request.

The name wasn't Hunter.

The message attached was three words.

[Its Chloe.]

Chloe.

The woman who owned the name "Baby" in the pandas voice box. The woman who held the deed to his heart while I just paid the rent.

I stared at the screen. My finger trembled over the Accept button.

I had to know.

I needed to see the variable that ruined the equation. Why her? Why, after I stripped myself bare and gave everything, did she win without lifting a finger? What did she have that I didn't?

I tapped Accept.

I clicked on her profile.

The first post was fresh. Posted twenty minutes ago.

A photo carousel.

Slide 1: Hunter.

He wasn't looking at the camera. He was looking at her.

His expression was soft. Liquid. Terrified, as if he blinked, she might vanish. His hand gripped her waist, fingers digging into the fabric of her dress, possessing her.

And he was still wearing it.

The custom tuxedo. The one I picked out. The one he wore standing at the altar waiting for me, hours before he ran to her.

They looked perfect.

They looked like the ending of a movie.

They looked as if I had never existed.

Then my eyes dropped to the caption. It wasn't just text. It was a serrated blade, coated in poison, driven straight into the center of my chest.

Chapter 5

[Ten years. You haven't changed. I haven't changed. (Side note: Were getting married in three days! ~)]

Ha.

Married in three days?

A bubble of hysterical laughter expanded in my chest.

Three days from now is my deadline. The day the mission officially fails. The day the System deletes my existence.

And its the day Hunter marries his first love.

[Disgusting.]

The Voice cut through the silence.

It wasn't the usual monotone. The algorithm sounded... offended. Even the AI couldn't process the audacity.

I shook my head, feeling the heaviness in my neck.

[Eden, I have analyzed the data. You fought hard for ten years. You did enough.]

[I will grant you a final user privilege. You may choose the method of your termination.]

Choose how I die?

I exhaled, a long, shaky breath.

Does it matter? Dead is dead.

Buzz.

My phone vibrated again. Another notification from Chloe.

She sent a location pin. A high-end resort.

Chloe: [Three days. Our wedding. I really hope you can make it.]

I stared at the screen. A sudden, twisted idea took root in my brain.

Chloe: [Im sorry, sweetie. But you know Hunter has always loved me. Even if he married you, he would have been miserable. Im doing you a favor.]

Then, an image loaded.

A close-up of a hand. Manicured nails.

And a ring.

It was exquisite. A silver band crowned with two diamond butterfliesone blue, one redcaptured in an eternal, frozen dance.

A tear broke free from my lash line. It tracked down my cheek and landed with a soft tap on the screen, distorting the image of the diamond butterflies.

Chloe: [Hunter bought it for me. Do you like it?]

Chloe: [He promised me this specific ring years ago. Before you even came into the picture.]

My brain short-circuited. A grey fog descended, blinding me, choking me.

That ring...

I remembered last week.

Back when Chloe was still a memory. Back when Hunter hadn't left me yet.

I was happy. I was a bride.

I dragged Hunter to every jeweler in the city. We tried on hundreds of bands.

And then I found it.

The sales associate called it "The Butterfly Lovers." She said it was inspired by an ancient legend, symbolizing a couple flying together, lasting forever.

I fell in love with it. I begged Hunter for it.

He refused.

He didn't just say no. His face went cold, a mask of absolute ice. He frowned, pulled me out of the store without an explanation, and bought a generic diamond with a higher carat count at the next shop.

I didn't think twice about it then. I thought he just didn't like the style.

Now, the truth hit me like a physical blow to the gut.

He didn't hate "The Butterfly Lovers."

He hated the idea of giving it to me.

He is the tragic lover. But I was never his soulmate.

Chloe is.

Chapter 6

Me?

Im nobody.

Im the extra. The background character who doesn't even get a name in the credits. Im the prop used to flesh out the heros tragic backstory.

My fingers trembled so hard the phone almost slipped from my grip. Chloe wasn't finished.

Chloe: [Don't hate me, sis.]

Chloe: [He never loved you. Why force it? You can't force a heart to love.]

Chloe: [Honestly, I did you a favor. I woke you up.]

Then, she dropped the nuke.

[Image Sent]

It was a screenshot of her chat with Hunter.

The voice-to-text transcription laid his soul bare in black and white. Seeing his familiar avatar next to those words felt like watching a car crash in slow motion.

Hunter: [Babe, you know its always been you. I only looked at Eden because she has your eyes. Shes a shadow. A poor copy. Every day I spent with her, I was just missing you.]

Ha.

That was it.

That was the straw that broke the camels back. The structure of my love, built brick by brick over ten years, collapsed into dust.

I wasn't a partner. I wasn't even a person to him. I was a placeholder. A sex doll with a heartbeat, designed to look like the woman he actually wanted.

Chloe fired off one last shot.

Chloe: [So, three days. The wedding. Youll be there, right?]

Chloe: [I really want you to witness our happiness. It wouldn't feel complete without you.]

I stared at the blinking cursor. A cold, dark resolve settled over me, freezing the tears in my ducts.

I typed three words.

Eden: [Ill be there.]

I have a plan.

The Voice said I could choose my exit. Fine.

Im not dying in this roach-infested apartment. Im going to die at his wedding.

Im going to die right in front of him, at the exact moment he says "I do." I will stain his perfect day with my blood.

Because there is only one thing more powerful than a living first love.

And that is a dead first love.

I will be the trauma he never heals from. I will be the ghost standing in the corner of his bedroom for the rest of his life.

"Voice," I whispered to the empty room. "I want to die at the wedding. Cause of death... acute heart failure triggered by the viral myocarditis I contracted three years ago."

I lay back on the mattress