Chapter 1

That day was supposed to be my thirty-third wedding rehearsal with Julian Thorpe. This time, to avoid embarrassment, I hadn’t invited a single friend; only our immediate families were present.

Although I was shivering from a severe flu, I forced myself to stand before the altar. Meanwhile, Julian was in the lounge, speaking in hushed tones to comfort Bella Hart. She was a new intern who claimed that looking at complex structural drawings had triggered a severe panic attack.

My parents sat in the pews, watching the scene unfold, their eyes filled with thinly veiled heartache.

"Elena, after all the humiliation he’s put you through, has he ever, even for a moment, put you first?"

Everyone knew what this wedding meant to me. Yet, just as the priest was about to begin the proceedings, Julian called a halt to the rehearsal once again.

I turned to leave, but he grabbed my wrist. "Bella is in a bad state. She’s hyperventilating. I have to drive her to the ER."

"It seems today's rehearsal is rescheduled again. Next time, I swear, there won’t be any surprises."

Without waiting for my response, he released my hand, guided the trembling Bella to his Audi, and ushered her into the passenger seat.

In seven years, this was the thirty-third time Julian had abandoned me for Bella.

If this were the past, I would have screamed, demanded answers, and hysterically asked why I was always the one being sacrificed. But now, I stood rooted to the spot, a faint smile touching the corners of my lips. "It’s okay. Bella’s health matters most," I said.

Julian paused, clearly stunned by my unexpected reasonableness. "I’m glad you understand. When I get back tonight, I’ll bring you your favorite blueberry pie," he said.

"Okay," I replied softly.

However, as his taillights vanished around the street corner, the smile on my face instantly congealed.

He had forgotten. I am severely allergic to blueberries, and I never eat sweet pies. The person who loved blueberry pie wasn't me.

Once, to celebrate a winning bid, he bought a blueberry pie. Not wanting to ruin his mood, I took a single bite and ended up in the emergency room that night. He had been full of guilt then, swearing he would never remember incorrectly again. But in just two years, that vow had become a joke.

The afternoon sun was blinding, making me dizzy, yet my heart felt as cold as if it had plunged into an ice cave.

A soft chuckle rolled from my throat. After calling to cancel the wedding venue, I took a pair of scissors and shredded the wedding dress that had been altered thirty-three times.

It was time to bring the curtain down on this one-woman show I had struggled to maintain for seven years.