After My Fiancé Indulged His Intern's Wedding Crash, He Went Mad

The night before the wedding, my fianc suddenly informed me that the wedding had been switched to a company group wedding, run by his workplace.

Up on the stage, several other couples were happily exchanging rings.

And down below, there was one extra person who had no business wearing a wedding gown.

Amy Holland was only an intern who'd just been made permanent. She didn't even have a boyfriend, yet there she stood beside Curt Sanchez, dressed in a trailing white bridal gown of her own.

"Mrs. Sanchez, Curt said there was a company event today, so he made a point of letting me try on a wedding dress once, to see what it's like. And I wanted a photo with Curt to remember it by, to soak up a little of your good luck."

Curt explained it to everyone as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He said you had to look out for the new young people, help a young girl live out a dream.

Watching the two of them, I said nothing.

All afternoon, the other couples were taking pictures with their families, while I, the actual bride, stood alone in a corner watching my fianc and Amy Holland strike pose after pose for the camera.

Even the coworkers standing nearby couldn't stomach it, muttering under their breath about who exactly the bride was supposed to be.

I looked down at the wrinkled wedding gown on my body, then turned and walked toward the changing room.

If his mind wasn't really on the wine, I might as well let him have what he was after.

...

I walked into the changing room and pulled down the zipper of the main gown, custom-made over six months.

The heavy dress dropped to the floor, exactly like the eight years of my youth that had been trampled underfoot.

Out in the main hall, the emcee was enthusiastically herding the couples together for a group photo.

Through the door, I heard every word of it.

The photographer shouted through his bullhorn:

"Mr. Sanchez, lean a little closer to your bride! Arm around her waist, yes, smile a little sweeter!"

The bride he meant was Amy Holland.

Not me.

I changed into my regular clothes, pushed the door open, and walked straight out the hotel's back entrance to catch a cab.

Not one person stopped me.

And not one person noticed that today's real bride was gone.

I sat in the back seat of the taxi and watched the sky slowly darken.

For three whole hours, my phone was as quiet as if it had been switched off.

No messages, no missed calls. Nothing.

Curt was too busy toasting with his little protge, taking pictures, drinking in the experience, to spare a thought for me.

Not until eight that evening.

The dinner was about to begin when the screen finally lit up.

The moment I answered, there was no concern, and certainly no panic.

Only undisguised irritation.

"Nadia Quinn, where the hell did you disappear to?"

"Don't tell me you walked out on me just because Amy wanted to try on a wedding dress once. You're really going to make a scene over that?"

"It's just a dress, isn't it? Are you really so petty that you'd humiliate me in front of all those people?"

Every word of it blamed me for nitpicking.

He finished tearing into me, and right on cue, Amy Holland's voice came through the line, thick with tears.

"Mrs. Sanchez, I'm so sorry, this is all my fault."

"I only wanted to soak up a little of your and Curt's good luck, that's why I was shameless enough to wear it once. If I'd known it would upset you, I'd never have put it on, not for anything..."

What a sweet, understanding little flower.

I could even picture the way Curt was standing there now, aching with sympathy as he shielded her behind him.

Nausea rose in my stomach.

I cut through the guilt-tripping on the other end, my voice unnaturally calm.

"I'm a little tired. I'm going home first."

With that, I hung up on him.

The car went dead silent again.

Beyond the window, the neon lights flickered.

I looked down at the engagement diamond on my ring finger.

Curt had bought it when he proposed two years ago.

He'd gotten the size too small.

He said it was too much trouble to exchange, told me to just make do and wear it.

To prove that I loved him, I'd forced myself to wear it for two years, refusing to take it off even when it left my finger purple.

But now, I saw it clearly.

A size that didn't fit only hurt you the harder you tried to keep it.

I slid it off without hesitation.

And along with it, my eight years of feeling for Curt Sanchez, I threw out the car window.

I pushed open the door to the wedding suite, and all the red double-happiness decorations looked unbearably garish now.

I walked into the bathroom meaning to splash cold water on my face, and there on the counter I found a pink electric toothbrush.

Beside it, brazenly out in the open, sat a bottle of makeup remover.

My chest dropped hard. I turned and opened the walk-in closet.

Sure enough, right next to my custom coat, several pieces of Amy's cheap office wear were crammed in like they belonged there.

I let out a cold laugh.

I remembered last month, the first time I'd found a trace of Amy, and Curt's impatient explanation:

"Amy's rental is too far away. Sometimes she works late on company projects and can't make it home, so she crashes in the guest room for a night. What's the problem?"

"Stop being so petty all the time. Word gets out and people will say I mistreat my staff."

Crashing for a night?

Whose overnight guest washes their bras and underwear and stuffs them into the man of the house's closet?

I grabbed a black trash bag, swept everything off the bathroom counter, along with every piece of Amy's clothing in the closet, dumped it all in, and threw it out into the hallway.

At two in the morning, the lock turned.

Curt shoved the door open, reeking of liquor and that familiar perfume.

He saw the trash bag at the door, froze for a second, then stormed into the living room in a fury.

"Nadia, what the hell are you flipping out over now!"

He yanked his tie loose, irritated, and pointed down at me.

"The group wedding was today, and you just walked out without a word. Do you have any idea how that makes me look to my coworkers?"

"Amy thinks she upset you. She's been crying and blaming herself the whole time, couldn't even eat dinner! Did you really have to take it this far?"

I sat on the couch and looked at him quietly.

"So you left everyone behind to go drink with her and comfort her?"

Something guilty flickered in his eyes.

But there was no remorse. Instead he raised his voice and shouted, righteous as anything:

"Amy lost her parents young. She's out here in this city grinding away all on her own. I'm her boss. What's wrong with looking after her like an older brother would?"

"Do you have to be this mean? It's honestly nauseating!"

I curled my lip.

"You've taken pretty good care of her, then. You even worked her into your wedding. Don't tell me you took care of her all the way into bed, too?"

Curt's face went red in an instant.

"You... how can your mind be so filthy? If you insist on thinking that way, there's nothing I can do, but Amy and I are completely innocent!"

I looked steadily at the man in front of me, worked up and furious.

Eight years ago he'd had nothing, holding a bunch of discounted roses, swearing he would keep me cradled in his palm and never let me suffer the slightest wrong.

But now, for another woman, he hurled every vicious word he could think of at me without mercy.

Looking at that disgusted face of his, I suddenly felt like I was staring at a stranger.

The last bit of unwillingness in my heart just scattered away.

Calmly, I stood up.

"Who is that dead-fish look supposed to be for!"

Behind me Curt was still going at it, refusing to let up.

"Pick that stuff up off the floor right now and take it to Amy tomorrow!"

I ignored him, walked straight into the master bedroom, and locked the door behind me.

I let Curt pound on the door until it shook, cursing me for being unreasonable.

I went to the desk and pulled open the bottom drawer.

Inside lay a single document.

An offer letter from a top investment bank.

Six months ago, to prepare for this wedding he claimed to have looked forward to for so long, to settle in and be a good wife, I had painfully set it aside.

Now I took the letter out and gently smoothed it flat.

Then I picked up my phone and dialed HR overseas.

"Hi, Susan. If I accept the offer now, is there still time?"