He Turned Our Wedding Into a Bet So I Married Another Man Chapter 04

He Turned Our Wedding Into a Bet So I Married Another Man Chapter 04

He started to say something, but Grant was already in the elevator, holding the door.

“Quinn, let’s go.”

I walked in and left with him.

The next morning, I woke to my phone buzzing nonstop.

“Quinn, what’s the hotel saying?”

“Your uncle wants to know if he should still book his flight.”

“How could you just cancel without talking to us? Call me.”

My head throbbed.

I lay there for a moment, trying to process that last night wasn’t a nightmare.

Seven years of waiting, gone because Chase couldn’t say no to a bet, or to Lena.

I rubbed my temples and opened WhatsApp.

99+ unread messages.

I clicked on Lena’s voice note.

“Quinn… I meant what I said last night. No take-backs. Get ready.”

Below that, a message from Grant.

[Washed apples on the counter. Eat one—helps with the hangover. And don’t forget: a bet’s a bet.]

Chase’s chat, however, was empty.

On Instagram, someone had posted a group photo from last night with the caption [Happy birthday, forever squad].

Warm-toned filter. Everyone smiling.

I stood in front of the cake, candlelight on my face—I actually looked happy.

Someone commented: [When’s the rescheduled wedding?]

The poster replied: [Haha, no comment!]

I took a deep breath and called Chase.

“Quinn?”

In the background, I heard Lena’s voice. “Chase, my head hurts…”

Before I could get a word out, Chase cut in.

“Can you tell my parents? And handle the hotel cancellation, I’ll cover the penalty. I’m stuck right now. Lena’s been throwing up, her stomach’s bad. I’m taking her to the ER for fluids.”

Not a single apology.

He assumed, as he always had for the last seven years, that I’d support him without question.

“Okay,” I said softly, and hung up.

I found a cardboard box and started gathering everything that reminded me of Chase.

The love journal he’d handwritten for me in college, filled with late-night confessions and dried rose petals from our junior year. They turned to dust the moment I touched them.

The first pair of mugs we’d painted together. On the bottom, he’d scratched [C & Q], now faded.

And a special emerald bracelet. Senior year, the whole friend group had gone to a rough stone auction.

He’d insisted on buying a dark, heavy rock everyone else thought was worthless. I gave him all my savings.

When they cut it open, he was so ecstatic he lifted me up and kissed me.

“It’s going to be the most beautiful bracelet,” he said. “And it’s yours. Because you’re the only one who believed in that stone when no one else did.”

Seven years. Over two thousand days and nights.

I thought we’d already won.

I never thought he’d gamble away our future.

I tossed everything into the box and dragged it downstairs.

The recycling lady gasped.

“Miss, are you sure? This is all such nice stuff!”

I gave a calm smile.

“I’m sure.”

“It’s all yours if you want it.”

She thanked me profusely and took the box.

I slipped off my engagement ring and placed it on top.

“Here, this too.”

She stood there stunned.

I called an Uber to the hotel.

The manager saw me walk in alone.

“Ms. Hart, you’re by yourself?”

“Oh… my fiancé’s busy notifying relatives about the date change.”

His face lit up. “Change of date! I thought it was canceled. What date are we rescheduling to?”

“The day after tomorrow. Thanks.”