He Chased Me to Spite His Enemy. So I Left Him at the Altar Chapter 06

He Chased Me to Spite His Enemy. So I Left Him at the Altar Chapter 06

The next day, we went to pick out a new wedding dress. Ready–made gowns never fit quite right–the last one had been custom–made with seventeen different measurements, every inch of it hugging my body. 

I made Dorian Thorne spend all day helping me look, and we didn’t find a single one that worked. 

On the drive back, I sighed. “What a shame. All my fault for being so careless.” 

Dorian Thorne smiled. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll find something.” 

I stared into his eyes. “Dorian Thorne… what if the dress is ruined and we just don’t get married?” 

He slammed on the brakes. My body lurched forward and landed against Dorian Thorne’s arm–one hand on the wheel, the other moving impossibly fast to catch me. 

“You okay?” he asked. 

I shook my head. 

I pretended to ask: “What’s wrong? I was just joking.” 

He grabbed my hand, squeezing tight, then pulled me into a hug. “Baby, I can’t take jokes like that. You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this day.” 

Do I? 

But Dorian Thorne… wasn’t this exactly what you and your friends planned? 

Go with me to pick out the dress, write the invitations with 

me, help me make all these happy memories-*then* stab me 

in the back. 

I’m just helping you set the stage. 

What are you so afraid of? 

That night, we got home. The door had barely closed–I hadn’t even taken my shoes off–when Dorian Thorne pushed me against the entryway cabinet and kissed me. 

His burning body pressed against mine, kisses falling 

everywhere. 

Desperate. Needing to let something out. 

I pulled away, pushing him back gently. “Dorian Thorne… I don’t feel good. I don’t want to.” 

His whole body went stiff at my buzzkill. 

Like he was searching my face for something. 

After a moment, he sighed and pulled me into a hug, his hand sliding down to rub gentle circles on my stomach. “Is your stomach still hurting?” 

I didn’t nod. I didn’t shake my head. 

He kissed the top of my head. “Go sit down. I’m gonna take a 

shower and then I’ll make you dinner.” 

His phone buzzed on the counter. 

I unlocked it and saw messages from that girl. 

**Dorian, I still haven’t gotten my invitation. [winky face]** 

**Oh, and Mrs. Thorne told me to come by your company tomorrow–my resume got accepted! I’m amazing, huh~** 

**I hope everything goes smoothly. That way I can see you every day, and I can bring you lunch. I’ll make it myself.** 

I put the phone back quietly. 

Then I opened my wedding–planning journal and wrote: 

[19 days until the wedding. Went dress shopping with Dorian today. Too bad nothing fit–probably because I’ve lost so much weight looking for him lately. But that’s okay. Just thinking about becoming his bride makes me so happy. He feels the same way, right?] 

I scrolled back and filled in some of the smaller things that had 

happened. 

[30 days until the wedding–Dorian is missing. I can’t find him. I spent the night watching videos of our wedding plans on my tablet, crying until my eyes swelled shut.] 

[20 days until the wedding–Dorian came back. I’m so pathetic. Was I pushing him too hard? Did I give him cold feet? It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have acted that way. I just love him 

too much.] 

Someday, this would be the most devastating gift I could ever 

give him. 

In the end, Dorian Thorne was the one who picked out a dress. 

He said this one would have to do for now, and that he’d 

already commissioned a rush–order custom gown for the 

ceremony on the island. 

Oh, that island. The one he’d bought when he proposed. The one he’d named after me–Blackwood Island. 

So ironic. 

Back when he proposed, he acted like he’d finally gotten everything he ever wanted. 

Now, right before the wedding, he wanted to humiliate me by 

leaving me at the altar. 

Dorian Thorne, you tell me how hard is it to find a real, 

honest heart in this world? 

I saw the girl’s latest update: **Work stuff worked out perfectly! Dorian is keeping me close–one step closer to my dream guy, hehe.** 

The photo was a candid shot of Dorian Thorne in a meeting- sitting in the Shadowpine Group’s executive office, paperwork spread out in front of him, his brow furrowed just slightly. He looked exactly like the first time I ever saw him. 

I screenshotted everything. 

And I wrote: [17 days until the wedding–You are my today and all of my tomorrows.] 

But I knew it was all fake. We didn’t have a tomorrow. 

I was going to spin him a beautiful dream–and then shatter 

1. it. 

So for the past week, I’d made Dorian Thorne do so many things with me. 

I left him completely in charge of the wedding details this 

time. I made him coordinate with the planning company 

himself. 

I wanted him to know every single part of it. 

Even the smallest flower arrangement–I made sure he knew 

where it came from. 

I made him memorize the entire schedule, down to what was happening every single minute, until he knew it better than I 

did. 

He hugged me and whined: “Baby, marrying you is a huge 

project.” 

I laughed. “Dorian Thorne–after all that work, all that effort… you’re not going to run away on the big day, are you?” 

He went quiet for a second, didn’t answer. 

Then he hugged me tighter. “Baby, why would I ever run away? I’m crazy in love with you.” 

But even as he said he loved me like crazy, he was posting in 

his group chat with the boys: **Weddings are such a pain in 

the ass. But that just makes it more satisfying when I bail, right?** 

Leave behind a giant mess. 

Let everyone close to me get humiliated. 

That was the revenge Dorian Thorne wanted. 

I didn’t say anything. I made him write out invitations with 

me. 

We’d already sent most of them, but I suggested we send 

some extra ones to our closest friends. 

He wrote the words himself, I sealed each envelope with wax. 

I made him write: **From this day forward, I will greet each morning with you and rest each night in your arms.** 

I smiled at him and said: “That’s the life I want.” 

He didn’t answer me–because I saw him texting the girl: **I’ll give you the invitation tomorrow.** 

She sent back a happy emoji. 

I wrote in my journal: [Eight days until the wedding… Will there be a happy ending?1 

Of course not.