He Chased Me to Spite His Enemy. So I Left Him at the Altar Chapter 12

He Chased Me to Spite His Enemy. So I Left Him at the Altar Chapter 12 – Dorian Thorne Bonus Chapter 

The day before the wedding, I felt this weird unease. 

A message popped up in the group chat: **So, Thorne–you actually going through with it tomorrow? Give us the word.** 

**Yeah, we were gonna come watch the show and film Evelyn 

Blackwood’s face for you. Bet it would’ve been hilarious.** 

I kept opening and closing my phone. Evelyn Blackwood hadn’t sent a single message. 

I was getting annoyed. 

I typed in the chat: **Do brides usually not contact the groom the day before?** 

**Bro, none of us have ever been married. How would we 

know?** 

**But if we had to guess–she’s probably too excited to sleep, blowing up your phone with late–night videos, right?** 

**Or maybe she’s just shy?** 

**Hey Thorne–the fact that you’re asking… does that mean you *want* to get married?** 

Did I? 

Everything Evelyn and I had been doing lately kept flashing through my mind. 

My heart pounded. 

And a clear, undeniable voice in my head said: *I want to marry her.* 

I’m not just playing around. 

I meant it. 

Because all these years–I’d put my real heart into it too. 

I wanted to see her curled up on the rug in her cozy sweater watching movies. 

I wanted to hear her pout and say, “I don’t know how to cook, Dorian. Come help me.” 

I wanted her small and warm in my arms, her face turning pink when I said something dirty, calling me a horndog. 

Vivid. Real. Beautiful. 

Evelyn Blackwood. 

In *our* home. 

I wanted forever with her. 

I called her right then. The phone went straight to voicemail. 

Something felt wrong. 

The guys in the group chat said she was probably just tired 

from all the wedding prep. 

Maybe. 

I typed: **Everyone better be at my wedding tomorrow.” 

*So you’re not bailing, bro?** 

** 

**Ah, Thorne’s just running his mouth. No way he’d actually miss it. His pride couldn’t take it.** 

I put down my phone and thought about what Evelyn would 

look like in her wedding dress. Beautiful. 

Too bad the custom one got ruined. 

But it was fine–whatever she wore, she’d be the most 

beautiful bride in the world. 

And I thought–Dorian Thorne, it’s time to put those petty, 

bitter thoughts away. Give them up. And just be good to her. 

Something felt wrong on my wedding day. 

I can’t explain it. 

Everything was going according to plan. The emcee was on 

stage. But I wasn’t really there. 

I didn’t see Evelyn Blackwood. 

My heart was racing. That feeling like something terrible was 

about to happen. 

When the emcee said, “Let’s hear from the groom,” I snapped 

to attention that wasn’t part of the plan. 

But then the room–filling surround sound started playing. 

I almost fell over. I couldn’t stop shaking. 

It was my voice from the yacht that day. 

“I only chased Evelyn Blackwood to piss off Cassian 

Greymoor.” 

“Once I actually got her, it stopped being interesting.” 

“But I still wasn’t satisfied, so I figured I’d ditch her at the 

altar and humiliate her–isn’t that fun?” 

The crowd gasped. 

And then the big screen started showing videos- 

That girl kissing me–I’d pulled away, but the photo caught 

the kiss. 

The hotel room photos she’d posted—the ones with me 

walking in. 

And the messages about her wanting to kill herself–I went to see her because I didn’t want her to do something stupid. I felt 

bad for her. 

A kindred spirit. I understood what it was like to love someone 

who didn’t love you back. 

And the photo of her crying in my arms outside the hospital- 

that was when she finally gave up on me. I didn’t have the 

heart to push her away. 

Nothing even happened. 

So why did it feel like my heart was shattering into a million. pieces? 

Evelyn Blackwood knew. 

She knew everything. 

She knew I didn’t want to get married. And she pretended 

anyway. 

And then I remembered all of it- 

She’d given me so many chances. 

And finally, she’d just had enough. 

Dorian Thorne–you did this. You ruined everything. 

You should die. 

I got into a fight with Cassian Greymoor. 

“You’re a fucking monster,” he said, punching me in the face. 

I was so full of rage I needed to hit something. I swung back. “And you’re so much better?” 

Cassian laughed coldly. “Yeah. I’m a piece of shit too. I still want her. I lost my chance with a good girl for ten years, and I regret it. So what?” 

“Dorian Thorne–you know how jealous I was of you? I never got her. I hurt her. I thought *you* were different. But you’re 

even worse than me.” 

“She was with you for three years–not three days–and this is how you treat her?” 

I sat on the floor, broken. 

I couldn’t imagine how she must have felt when she heard me 

say those things. 

She must have died inside. That’s why she left without a word. 

Didn’t leave me a single thing. 

As I wandered away from the wedding, dazed and numb, I got 

a package. 

A painting from my favorite artist. Commissioned three years 

ago. 

It showed a young girl crouched in the rain, tears in her eyes, looking up at a boy holding an umbrella over her. 

That was us at twenty–three. 

Evelyn Blackwood had commissioned it the day we became 

official. When she was twenty–five. 

It had taken three years to reach me. 

The note said: **From the Evelyn Blackwood of twenty–five, to the Dorian Thorne of the future. Maybe in that moment–I heard my heart fall.** 

I held the painting and sobbed. 

Would twenty–three–year–old Dorian Thorne want to kill 

twenty–eight–year–old him?