On My Wedding Day, I Married Someone Else Chapter 04

On My Wedding Day, I Married Someone Else Chapter 04

“Derek. About the house. Is there something you should’ve told me a long time ago?”

I watched his profile, the sharp jawline. This was his last chance. His last chance to come clean.

He looked away. Pretended to check the left-side mirror. His voice came out dry.

“No. Whatever you want. I’m good with anything. I’m not picky.”

I dropped my gaze. My heart hit bottom. A stone sinking into frozen water.

Still lying. Couldn’t give me one honest word.

Even now, if he had just said it—just said I’m sorry, I screwed up, I needed the money—maybe I could’ve… No. Impossible.

I clenched my fists. Nails dug into my palms. So this was what my life was worth. Reckless betrayal. Careless lies.

Derek seemed to sense something. He rubbed his nose with his thumb, guilty, then turned on the radio. Country music. Filling the awful silence.

Next to the church was a high-end home store called Southern Living. I walked straight in. The custom table I’d ordered three months ago was finished. Handcrafted by local artisans. Reclaimed barn wood. It sat there, quiet, smelling of wood wax and oil.

I was reaching for my credit card when a syrupy voice came from behind me.

“Derek? Didn’t you say you were taking me to pick out a Murano chandelier today? For my new apartment’s foyer?”

Her again.

Tiffany saw me. Her empty hand flew to her mouth in exaggerated surprise. The other hand held the Himalaya.

“Oh! Savannah? Sorry, I didn’t see you standing there…”

“Wait, you two are furniture shopping too? This store has the most gorgeous crystal chandeliers. That one imported from Italy—like a waterfall. Perfect for a high-rise penthouse. Derek said he absolutely had to put one in my new entryway.”

My fingers tightened, knuckles white.

He’d already picked out a new home for Tiffany. And I was standing here like a fool. Guarding an empty shell he’d already sold. Waiting for an explanation that would never come.

Tiffany picked up a glossy brochure for a crystal chandelier and held it out to me.

“Savannah, look at this one. It’s called Venetian Dream. Imagine coming home to this every day. Derek says a woman should be surrounded by beautiful things.”

I stepped back. Away from the brochure she was pushing at me.

“No thanks. I’m done here. Take your time.”

Tiffany blinked. Her expertly lined eyes went instantly red. Mortally wounded.

“Do you… not want me here? Am I intruding? I should go. I can manage on my own.”

Derek lunged forward and grabbed Tiffany by the wrist. Hard enough to make her gasp.

“Go where? This isn’t about you. Savannah’s just in a mood.”

He turned on me. His stare was ice. A cold warning.

“Savannah. Can you try being civil? Tiffany just moved here. She’s having a hard time.”

I stood there, stunned. I had barely said a word to her.

Then it hit me. He’d sold our home without a word. What else would he ever need my permission for? My knowledge?

“That little damsel act of hers. You’re the only one buying it. If she wants to leave, leave. Why stand here performing the tragedy? Waiting for someone to yell cut?”

Both of them froze. They clearly hadn’t expected me to be this direct—in front of the store staff.

Tiffany’s tears trembled on the verge of falling.

“Fine. I’ll go. I won’t bother you anymore. Derek, don’t worry about me. Go be with your future wife.”

Derek pulled her closer. Shoulder tight against his chest. Like protecting a piece of fragile china.

“Savannah. We are about to stand before God and take our vows. Can you dial it back and act like a mature wife?”

“Since the engagement, when have you ever given me a pleasant day? That face, every day, like I owe you something. And now you’re dragging innocent Tiffany into it.”

Beside him, Tiffany tugged weakly at his sleeve. But her body pressed closer. Almost curled into him entirely.

“Derek, stop… You’ll hurt Savannah’s feelings.”

Derek erupted. His voice filled the entire store.

“I won’t stop! I’m done!”

“Go ahead, Savannah. Keep this up. Don’t come crying to me when your back wound opens again from all this stress. Then blame me. Say I didn’t warn you. Say I did this to you.”

The store went dead silent. Even the background music felt too loud. The sales associate dropped her gaze, pretending to straighten merchandise.

My heart. Tossed into liquid nitrogen. Flash-frozen. Then shattered.

So that was it. The scar that almost killed me. In his eyes, it was just my tool. For attention. For manipulation. For throwing irrational tantrums.

And I had actually hoped. Hoped he’d held those vows somewhere inside him. The way that scar would stay on my body forever.