He Designed A Dream Dress For Her, He Never Designed One For Me Chapter 02

He Designed A Dream Dress For Her, He Never Designed One For Me Chapter 02

Me: [Okay.]

I called a rideshare and headed to the airport.

On the flight, I suddenly noticed Julian’s flash drive still plugged into my laptop. When I opened it, more than two hundred photos filled the screen—all of Mia wearing wedding gowns.

For every gown Julian had designed, there was a photo of her wearing it. It was as if each one had been created as a gift for Mia.

There were pictures of her in his studio, on grassy fields, by the ocean, and in chapels. Everywhere he had never taken me, he had taken her instead.

In the final set of photos, Julian had lifted Mia into his arms, grinning like he’d just won the lottery.

They stood before a minister, recited their vows, exchanged rings, and held each other close. Julian looked at her with a tenderness so deep it was impossible to mistake.

Yet in all six years we had been together, he had never once asked what kind of wedding gown I wanted.

Whenever we passed a bridal boutique and I suggested going inside to try something on, he always said there was no point.

Nathan Hayes’s assistant was waiting when I landed. She picked me up and drove me straight to a bridal boutique.

Just then, a same-day courier Julian had hired arrived with a wedding gown.

Julian: [It’s just a wedding gown. Did you really have to leave over that? I had one sent over. It should be good enough.]

Inside the package was a pale pink, strapless gown covered in diamonds, with a nearly ten-foot train. It was dramatic and extravagant—and nothing like what I wanted.

When Julian and I first started dating, I had quietly told him that I wanted something simple, preferably with a shorter train and hardly any embellishments.

It had to be white because, to me, white represented a love that was pure and untouched.

I had even joked, “If you ever treat me badly, I’ll leave you at the altar.”

Later, I told him that the gown had to have long sleeves so it could cover my disabled arm.

When Julian began applying to design schools overseas, the cost of applying was more than we could afford.

I worked during the day and took night shifts at a garment factory. One night, my left hand was pulled into an industrial dyeing machine.

A deep gash split my arm open. Blood poured out, the bones in my hand were fully exposed, and the indigo dye in the machine instantly turned red.

To put as much of the compensation money as possible toward Julian’s applications, I accepted only the emergency treatment needed to stabilize my arm and refused reconstructive surgery.

My screams echoed through the hospital that night. The decision left me with a permanent disability and horrific scars.

I never told anyone what had happened. I simply stopped wearing short sleeves.

Now I was getting married, but Julian would not be the groom.

After I chose a gown, Nathan’s assistant drove me home.

I showered and sat alone on the couch when a new post suddenly appeared on Julian’s Instagram.

He and Mia had gone to a renowned chapel in Clinton and prayed beneath a crucifix.

His caption read, [They say couples who exchange vows here stay together for life.]

Julian slowly lifted Mia’s veil and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

The comments were filled with congratulations, as though I didn’t exist.

I fell asleep on the couch without turning off the living room light, but I still had another nightmare.

For years, I had been unable to sleep in the dark without remembering what happened before Julian was admitted to a design institute in Milan.

He had already received his acceptance letter when someone accused him of plagiarism.

The man threatened to have Julian’s admission revoked and keep him from going to Milan unless Julian paid him.

I didn’t want Julian burdened by it, so I decided to handle the problem alone.

That night, I claimed I had scraped together the money and agreed to meet them. When they realized I had come empty-handed, they dragged me into a dark alley.

By the time I reached the hospital, I had lost so much blood that surgeons spent eight hours saving my life.

I was left with a three-inch scar across my forehead and severe psychological trauma. But the people responsible went to prison, so I still believed it had been worth it.

Before Julian boarded his flight, he said coldly, “Don’t ever do something like that again. I won’t thank you for it.”

Back then, all I wanted was to keep his talent from going to waste and give him the chance to shine.

I had forgotten that there might never have been a place for me in his world.

In the middle of the night, I sat alone, unable to sleep, when Julian suddenly called.

“I knew you’d still be awake. Were you waiting for me to call?”

“All right, you got the gown. Stop making a fuss and ask the wedding coordinator to push everything back a few more days.”

“Mia wants to stay in Paris a little longer. I don’t feel comfortable leaving her here alone.”

A sudden, searing pain tore through my chest.

After a long silence, I said, “Okay,” and hung up.

I had spent so many years being understanding that Julian no longer thought my feelings mattered.

He knew I wouldn’t get angry or leave. He knew he could spend his time with another woman, and I still wouldn’t react.

This time, though, I was done with our relationship.