The night before my wedding, I couldn’t sleep.
I expected nerves, excitement, maybe a few happy tears. Instead, dread sat heavy in my chest. I lay in bed counting my breaths, then numbers, then minutes — nothing helped. By midnight, my head was pounding, so I slipped out of bed and crept downstairs for aspirin.
That’s when I heard my mother’s voice.
“Just listen to me. Please.”
I froze.
Then I heard Zachary.
My fiancé.
He was supposed to be at his hotel.
My stomach dropped as I edged toward the kitchen and peeked inside. What I saw didn’t make sense — my mother was kneeling in front of him. Not crying. Not hysterical. Calm. Controlled. Almost businesslike.
“Please don’t show up tomorrow,” she said quietly.
Zachary stiffened. “What the hell is this?”
Her next words sliced through me.
“I’ll pay you. Twenty thousand dollars. It’ll be in your suit bag. Just leave. Disappear.”
The room spun.
Zachary let out a short, bitter laugh. “You’re serious?”
“She loves you,” my mother continued, her voice steady. “But love isn’t enough. She deserves stability. Comfort. You can’t give her that.”
“And who can?” he snapped.
Her jaw tightened. “Someone successful. Someone established. Someone who can provide.”
There was a long silence.
Then Zachary shrugged. “Fine. Deal.”
I didn’t stay to hear another word. I ran upstairs, heart pounding so loudly I was sure they could hear it. Moments later, the bedroom door opened softly. Zachary sat on the edge of the bed.
“I know you heard everything,” he said gently. “But trust me — I’m not leaving.”
I stared at him, confused and shaking.
He explained it all. My parents wanted me to marry my father’s wealthy business partner instead. They’d planned it quietly. Carefully. And they’d offered Zachary $20,000 to disappear.
“So I said yes,” he said calmly. “I’ll take their money. And I’ll give them exactly what they asked for.”
My breath caught.
“Tomorrow, I won’t show up,” he continued. “But not because I’m running away. Because you and I are leaving together.”
Relief crashed over me. He wasn’t betraying me — he was exposing them.
The next morning, I slipped into my wedding dress. My mother knocked and entered, smiling warmly, fixing my veil with practiced hands.
“It’s time,” she said sweetly.
She had no idea.
The church was full. Guests whispered. Music swelled. I walked down the aisle alone, bouquet trembling in my hands. Zachary’s place at the altar was empty — exactly as planned.
My mother sat in the front pew, satisfied.
I turned to face the crowd.
“So,” I said clearly, “where’s fiancé number two?”
Gasps rippled through the church.
My mother’s smile collapsed.
I told them everything — the bribe, the secret deal, the marriage they tried to force on me. Whispers spread like wildfire. My parents went pale, frozen in their seats.
“I hope you’re happy,” I said coldly. “Zachary is gone. And now — so am I.”
I dropped my bouquet and walked out.
Outside, Zachary was waiting by his car, grinning.
I ran to him, dress billowing. He caught me and spun me around.
“You did it,” he laughed.
“We did,” I whispered.
As we pulled away, I spotted an envelope on the seat — crisp bills stacked neatly inside.
Zachary smirked. “Looks like your parents paid for our honeymoon.”
Driving away from the church, the guests, and the life they planned for me, I felt something I never had before.
Freedom.
