Betrayed Bride Wakes Before the Wedding

"Stop sulking. I promise no one will ever take your place as Mrs. Gibson."

Trevor Gibson's deep voice echoed throughout the bedroom. He gently patted my shoulder through the blanket to calm me down.

I kept my eyes closed and steadied my breathing. I didn't let even the slightest tremor slip through.

His footsteps gradually faded.

Then, the bedroom door clicked shut, and the room fell into dead silence.

I opened my eyes. My gaze drifted past the edge of the bed and landed on the shredded fabric scattered across the floor.

That had been the couture gown for which I had flown to Seine to finalize every detail over the course of two years. It embodied every fantasy I'd ever had about our ten-year relationship.

Now, it lay in pieces across the carpet.

I threw back the covers and got out of bed. My bare feet hit the cold floor.

On the nightstand sat a glass. A thin layer of milk still clung to the bottom.

Two hours ago, Trevor had handed me that glass and watched me drink.

"You've been exhausting yourself with the wedding planning lately, Helena. Drink some warm milk and get some sleep. You'll be a beautiful bride tomorrow."

His voice had been tender then, but now, the bitter aftertaste left in the glass felt painfully ironic.

I didn't cry. My eyes didn't even redden. I just felt sick to my stomach.

The pills were from a doctor he personally found to help with my insomnia before the wedding.

Instead, he used my defenseless, drugged sleep as an excuse to indulge his childhood friend's latest breakdown.

Despite knowing that Sophia Lynch hated me, he still let her walk into our bedroom and destroy my wedding gown.

I crouched down and gathered the torn strips of fabric together.

Without a moment's hesitation, I shoved them into the trash can in the corner.

After that, I picked up my phone from the nightstand and opened my contacts.

I scrolled all the way down before stopping on a black avatar I had blocked three years ago.

I left just one word as a note: Scott.

Three years ago, Trevor worked himself into the ICU with a stomach hemorrhage after pulling endless all-nighters to prepare for our engagement party.

I'd cried outside his hospital room for hours.

That was also the day I blocked Jordan Scott, the man who had always loved me and was willing to leave his status for me.

Back then, I thought that if Trevor could risk his life for me, how could I ever betray him?

Now it all felt like a ridiculous joke.

I stared at the black profile picture for a long time.

Suddenly, laughter drifted in from outside the door.

"Trevor, you were so mean just now. You actually yelled at me over her." Sophia's teasing voice slipped through the crack in the door.

"That's enough, Sophia," Trevor replied. "I'll let you get away with acting out over a dress, but don't push Helena too far. She's the only one who'll be my wife."

"And what if I caused more trouble tomorrow?"

"I told you that she's the woman I'm marrying. Pull something like this again, and even you won't get a pass."

"Hmph. I just hate how perfect and proper she acts. Besides, she stole you from me," Sophia huffed.

A cold smile curled at my lips. Trevor's greed had been laid bare.

He was so certain I would marry him that he felt free to trample all over my dignity just to satisfy Sophia's selfish demands.

I opened the blocklist and removed that black profile picture from it.

His last message from three years ago was still in the chat. "Helena Steele, if you ever change your mind, I'll be here."

I flipped my phone face down on the table.

Then I walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower, letting the water pour over my head.

I washed away the lingering scent of Trevor's cologne from my skin.

Tomorrow was the wedding. Since Trevor wanted to have it both ways so badly, I'd make sure he got exactly what he wanted.

After my shower, I changed into clean pajamas.

I sat down at the vanity and calmly applied skincare products to my face.

My reflection in the mirror looked pale, but my eyes were clear.

The bedroom door opened again. Trevor walked in carrying a glass of warm water.

When he saw me sitting at the vanity, he visibly froze. His eyes instinctively flicked toward the corner where the wedding dress had been.

It was empty. Only a scrap of lace peeked out from the trash can.

Trevor quickly walked over and set the glass down beside me. "Helena, you're awake."

"Yeah. I was thirsty," I said, lifting the glass before taking a small sip.

Trevor wrapped his arms around my shoulders from behind and rested his chin against the hollow of my neck.

"Why aren't you sleeping more? Did I wake you when I came in?"

The concern in his voice sounded so natural. It was as if the sleeping pills and last night's absurd livestream had never happened.

"No, I slept great." I looked at his reflection in the mirror. My voice was completely flat.

Trevor seemed to relax. He brushed a kiss against my cheek.

"I've already had another dress flown in from Seine on a private jet. It's the gown you kept looking at before.

"Just be my bride tomorrow, okay? Don't stay mad at me because of her."