Not His Bride Anymore Chapter 01

Not His Bride Anymore Chapter 01

One week before the Ireland wedding, my best friend called me.

“Eden, is the wedding in Ireland or Iceland?”

I blinked. “Ireland. Obviously.”

She shrieked.

“I won!”

“I knew Eden wouldn’t notice the venue changed to Iceland! Don’t forget my prize—”

Callan laughed softly and took the phone.

“Unreal, Eden. The wedding’s in a week. You didn’t know the venue changed?”

“Fix your flight. How else are we getting married?”

The call ended. I stood there. My hands were ice.

Last month, they bet on how long it would take me to notice my wedding dress had been swapped for Celeste’s favorite vintage court style.

Six months ago, they bet on whether I’d notice the heirloom sapphire bracelet—the one Callan’s family gives to daughters-in-law—was on Celeste’s wrist instead of mine.

Now even the wedding venue was a game.

I picked up my phone. I didn’t fix my flight.

I replied to an old message buried deep in my inbox.

“One week from now. Ireland wedding. You in?”

Now it’s my turn to bet.

How long until they notice the groom’s been swapped.

***

I closed the messages. The wedding planner sent me a photo.

The welcome sign for the ceremony.

Celeste in a lavish vintage court gown, sharing a private smile with Callan.

And me. In a dusty old shirt. Fixing her train. Like a maid.

My phone rang. The planner’s voice was apologetic. But mostly fed up.

“Eden, I’m sorry. Callan told me not to tell you about the venue.”

“And just now, he asked me to swap your couple photo for this one. Said he and Celeste had a bet on how long you’d take to notice.”

“Honestly? This is beyond disrespectful. I’ve done hundreds of weddings. I’ve never seen a groom treat his own wedding like this. Are you sure you want to go through with it?”

I stared at the screen. At their fingers laced together.

She was right. It wasn’t disrespect to the wedding.

It was disrespect to me.

And I’d put up with it for so damn long.

“Don’t swap it back. Use this photo. And for everything else—do whatever Callan says.”

“What? I… alright.”

The planner hesitated. But she didn’t push.

I hung up. I pulled out the original Ireland wedding proposal.

Every page was covered in notes. The chapel. The bouquet. Every detail.

All confirmed by me. One by one.

A month ago, when I signed off on the final version, Callan had laughed at me.

“Why so serious? Afraid I’ll make another bet with Celeste? Relax. The wedding’s a big deal. I’d never let you get hurt.”

I’d felt a warmth in my chest back then. I was swamped with wrapping up a project anyway. So I stopped checking.

It never crossed my mind that he’d be the one doing all the hurting.

I picked up a pen. I scratched out the groom’s name. Line by line.

I wrote a different one.

The door swung open.

“What are you doing?”

Callan wrapped his arms around me from behind. He rested his chin on my shoulder.

Like a needy puppy.

I lifted the proposal so he could see it. And slipped out of his arms.

“Groom’s name was wrong. Fixing it.”

“The groom’s name? How do you get that wrong?”