The floral arrangements formed a symphony of white and blush, cascading from every conceivable surface in the grand ballroom. Grace watched, a faint smile playing on her lips, as the florist meticulously adjusted a particularly stubborn rose. It was perfect. Everything was perfect. Or, at least, it was meant to be.
Months of planning, countless decisions, and an enormous amount of money had culminated in this: the picture-perfect wedding. The venue, a sprawling estate nestled in the rolling hills of Napa Valley, radiated rustic elegance. The invitations, hand-calligraphed on thick, cream-colored paper, were dispatched weeks ago. The dress, a breathtaking creation of silk and lace, hung in her closet, ready to be unveiled.
Dillon, meanwhile, was on a “crucial” business call, pacing back and forth on the veranda, his voice a low murmur that barely reached where Grace stood. She tried to ignore the knot of unease tightening in her stomach. These calls had become increasingly frequent over the past few weeks, always hushed, always urgent, and always pulling him away from her.
She occupied herself with the seating chart, rearranging names and place cards in a futile effort to distract herself from the nagging feeling that something was wrong. Aunt Mildred is beside Uncle George. Perfect. Little Timmy is away from the champagne flutes. Sensible.
Then his phone buzzed—a text message. Dillon swore softly under his breath, and Grace’s heart sank.
“Sorry, babe,” he said, returning to her with an apologetic expression, though his eyes revealed something different. “That was work. Apparently, there’s a crisis brewing. I need to take this.”
“Of course,” Grace replied, her voice carefully neutral. She watched as he retreated back to the veranda, the phone pressed to his ear. This time, she didn’t try to ignore the unease; it had morphed into a cold, hard certainty. She needed to know.
The opportunity presented itself when Dillon, after an hour, finally went to the bar to grab a drink, leaving his phone unattended on the table. Her hands trembled slightly as she reached for it. She knew his password – their anniversary date. It felt like a lifetime ago when that had once seemed special.
The phone sprang to life, revealing a string of messages. Her breath hitched in her throat as she scrolled through them; each word felt like a hammer blow to her carefully constructed world. The messages were explicit, filled with promises and innuendo, directed at someone named “Lexi.”
A picture followed. It was Lexi, posing provocatively and wearing a necklace that Grace had gifted to Dillon the previous Christmas. He had told her he appreciated the gift, but he never wore it.
The world seemed to tilt on its axis. The meticulously planned floral arrangements blurred into an indistinguishable mass of color. The gentle murmur of the staff preparing for the reception gradually gave way to a dull roar. She felt a wave of nausea wash over her, followed by a chilling sense of detachment.
This wasn’t a business trip. This wasn’t a late night at the office. This was betrayal, raw and ugly, laid bare on the screen of his phone. Everything she thought she knew, everything she had built, crumbled into dust before her eyes.
The initial shock gave way to a numbness that spread through her limbs. She felt strangely calm, almost detached, as if she were watching a movie of someone else’s life. The naive, romantic Grace, the girl who had dreamed of a fairytale wedding and a happily ever after, had vanished. In her place stood something else- something colder and more calculating.
She deleted the messages, erased the picture, and carefully returned the phone to the table, just as she had found it. When Dillon returned, she was smiling, the picture of serenity.
“Everything alright, darling?” he asked, his eyes searching hers.
“Perfect,” she replied, her voice smooth as silk. “Just finalizing the seating arrangements. You know how Aunt Mildred gets.”
He chuckled, unaware of the storm raging beneath her calm facade. “You’re incredible, Grace. You manage everything so effortlessly.”
She smiled once more, a tight, brittle smile that failed to reach her eyes. “Someone has to, darling.”
The gears in her mind were already turning, the seeds of a plan taking root. She wouldn’t break down. She wouldn’t cry. She would make him pay. He would regret ever betraying her.
The wedding would still happen. But it wouldn’t be the fairytale he expected. It would be something far more… interesting.
Later that afternoon, Grace found herself dialing a number she hadn’t called in months: Roman, Dillon’s best friend—the man who had always been a quiet, steady presence in their lives. The man she knew held a secret longing for her.
He answered on the third ring, his voice a low rumble. “Grace? Is everything alright?”
“Roman,” she said, her voice steady. “I need a favor.”
Meanwhile, Roman was in his workshop, the scent of sawdust and varnish thick in the air. He was adding the finishing touches to a custom-made bookshelf, a project that required meticulous attention to detail. This focus helped to quiet the constant hum of thoughts in his head.
His phone rang, the caller ID flashing Grace’s name. His heart skipped a beat. It wasn’t unusual for Grace to call, but there was always a certain formality in their interactions, a carefully maintained distance. This felt different.
“Grace? Is everything okay?” he asked, his voice revealing a trace of concern.
“Roman,” she said, and he could hear a tremor in her voice that he couldn’t quite place. “I need a favor.”
He paused, tightening his grip on the phone. “What is it? Anything at all.” He instantly regretted his words. *Anything?* He knew what he desired, but he understood he could never have it.
“Can you meet me at the venue? Tonight? It’s… complicated.”
“Of course,” he said without hesitation. “I’ll be there.”
He hung up, his mind racing. What could Grace possibly need his help with, especially the night before her wedding? He pushed the thought aside. Whatever it was, he would be there for her. He always had been.
He glanced at the half-finished bookshelf, a pang of resentment twisting in his gut. Dillon, the golden boy, always got everything he wanted: the beautiful wife, the successful career, the effortless charm. Roman had always been the reliable friend, the one who faded into the background, content to watch from the sidelines. But beneath the surface, quiet resentment simmered. He had always felt he was more deserving; he would treat her with greater respect.
He knew he shouldn’t feel this way; Dillon was his friend. Yet, he couldn’t deny the feelings that had been buried for so long—emotions that Grace’s phone call had stirred to life.