I Cancelled The Wedding While He Paid For Her Dream Dress Chapter 04

I Cancelled The Wedding While He Paid For Her Dream Dress Chapter 04

I showed up at the rescue center the next morning, suitcase and all.

I changed into scrubs, and the smell of disinfectant hit me, sharp and familiar, like coming home.

I was adjusting the heat lamp over the last post-op puppy when a commotion erupted from the courtyard.

The director came in wiping his hands, face tight. “Maren, we’ve got a problem. Brielle showed up with her own PR team and pushed her way into the Nat Geo shoot.”

My fingers paused. “Who approved it?”

He dropped his voice. “A major corporate sponsor called last minute. Said Brielle needed footage to improve her image. Callum’s here too. Reid is livid. He’s got his crew standing off to the side watching this chaos.”

I stepped outside. Brielle was already set up in front of the kennels, in a pristine white dress, cameras surrounding her like she was the main attraction.

She crouched down and reached for a Golden mix puppy, one that had been spayed less than a day ago. I caught the kennel door and held it shut. “She’s not even twenty-four hours out of surgery. You can’t pick her up.”

Brielle looked up at me, all innocence. “Maren, I just want people to see how cute she is. That’s what brings in donations.”

Callum stood just off-camera, frowning. “Maren. Don’t do this.”

I didn’t look away. “Her incision isn’t closed. If something goes wrong, that’s on you.”

Brielle dropped her gaze, wounded. “Callum, just leave it. She’s probably still upset with me.”

One of Brielle’s PR guys holding a phone muttered under his breath, “Wow, she’s intense. No wonder people trash this place online.”

Callum’s hand closed around my wrist, not hard, just enough to pull me away from the kennel door. “Two minutes of footage. That’s it. Relax.”

The moment I let go, Brielle pulled the puppy out. It squirmed against her, whimpering, and its claws snagged the hem of her dress.

Irritation flickered across her face. Her fingers opened.

The puppy hit the epoxy floor. Its incision split open, and blood started pooling beneath it.

I dropped to my knees and pressed both hands over the wound. “Gauze. Hemostats. Now!”

Brielle screamed and stumbled back. The camera lurched sideways, and the livestream chat exploded before someone killed the feed.

Callum went white and reached for Brielle. “Did it scratch you?”

The director ran over with the kit. But the heartbeat beneath my palms was already gone.

I looked up at Callum, blood on both hands. “She’s dead, Callum.”

He wouldn’t look at me. His eyes went to the blood on the floor, then away. “We need to control this before it gets worse.”

Within half an hour, Brielle had a full statement up, portraying the rescue center as negligent and herself as a well-meaning volunteer caught in the middle.

The backlash came fast. Comments, messages, calls. The center’s phone lines went down within the hour.

I went to pull the security footage. Corrupted. The tech stared at the screen, face grim. “Someone accessed the system remotely.”

Callum called not long after, his voice perfectly even. “Maren, did you post the statement?”

I gripped the mouse. “What statement?”

A pause. When he spoke again, he had that patient tone, the one he used whenever he thought I was being difficult. “Brielle’s about to close a major endorsement deal. She can’t afford bad press right now. Just take the blame for her.”

I pulled up the center’s public account. There was already an apology posted, under my name.

It said I’d been negligent. That my rough handling had frightened the puppy and caused the fall that killed it.

“Once this blows over,” Callum said, “I’ll get you a condo downtown. The wedding goes ahead as planned. Your name back on the invitations. All of it.”

I switched on the call recorder. “Did you log into my account?”

“You cycle through the same three passwords, Maren. I posted it for you.” A beat. “It sounds better than anything you would’ve come up with.”

I laughed. “How thoughtful of you.”

He took that as a yes. His tone softened. “See? That’s my girl. When this is done, you’ll still be Mrs. Harcourt. Nothing changes.”

The story kept spreading. By afternoon, internet trolls had review-bombed our page. The windows were plastered with nasty signs. [Animal-abusing vet. Get out.]

The director walked me out through the back, one arm around my shoulders, his eyes wet. “Maren, lay low for a while. Let me figure this out.”

I grabbed my suitcase. Then I popped the SIM card out of my phone, snapped it in half, and dropped it in the trash.

I already had my ticket to Silverpine. The highland wildlife project the director had mentioned. That was the plan now.

The train rocked gently on the tracks. My phone buzzed. It had connected to the onboard WiFi.

In the dark of the cabin, a message from an account I didn’t recognize. A video file, high-res.