My father's face was ashen. He wanted to flip the table more than anyone in the room, but he was more afraid of embarrassing me further.
“Carina, why don't we……just go?”
Gladys Pruitt, my bridesmaid, leaned in close and whispered, “Sitting here waiting like this isn't going to help.”
“Stephen's already over there doing a mock wedding with someone else. He's not coming back……”
“Give me your phone.”
I held out my hand. Gladys hesitated, then passed it over.
A news alert was already sitting on the screen.
【Sanchez Group CEO Stephen Sanchez drops fifty million on a mock riverside wedding for his secretary, complete with a romantic kiss】
In the photo, Stephen stood in a tailored suit with Rebecca Butler in his arms, wrapped in a white wedding gown.
Behind them, the river sparkled with lights and drifting petals.
Rebecca's eyes were red-rimmed as she nestled against his chest, the picture of fragile beauty.
The comment section blew past a thousand replies within seconds.
“Holy shit, what kind of fairy-tale romance is this? The CEO ditched his own wedding to save his little secretary?”
“I thought this was a tragic love story between a CEO and his secretary. Turns out the bride was just collateral damage.”
“One second of sympathy for the bride, the rest goes to the secretary. Finding a man like that? Worth it.”
“Honestly the bride is kind of pitiful, but she's not the one who saved his life, so what can you do?”
I scrolled through the comments, my expression as calm as if I were reading someone else's news.
Rebecca Butler really had saved Stephen's life.
Three years ago, Stephen was in a car accident during a business trip. Rebecca donated a large amount of blood for him.
She let the nurses draw so much that she passed out on the spot.
When Stephen woke up and heard what she'd done, his eyes went red with gratitude.
He swore he would repay her.
He even stood in front of the entire company and promised that for the rest of his life, whatever Rebecca asked for, the answer would be yes.
Those words still hung in the air.
So today, one text saying she “wasn't feeling well,” and he dropped the whole wedding and ran.
“Miss Sullivan.”
The wedding planner rushed over, drenched in sweat. “What would you like to do……postpone, or some other arrangement? The photographer's asking too, whether to keep shooting.”
“No need to postpone.”
“Then do you want to……”
I glanced down at my phone. The call I'd made earlier: eleven seconds.
That was enough.
He said he'd come.
Gladys was still beside me, practically stamping her feet：“Carina, who did you even call? Who's coming? Talk to me!”
I looked toward the ballroom doors.
They were closed.
But I knew it wouldn't be long before he walked through them.
“Everyone, please bear with us. The ceremony will resume in twenty minutes.”
I held my smile, perfectly composed, and addressed the guests.
What came back wasn't respect—just whispers and laughter.
“Has she lost it? Her husband ran off and threw a mock wedding for his secretary, and she's asking for twenty more minutes? She can still smile?”
“Probably a stress response. Shock hit too hard, something snapped.”
“Please. Twenty minutes? What's she going to do, find a stand-in and put on a show?”
Through the laughter, a man in his fifties walked over and held out a glass of wine.
“Miss Sullivan, don't be upset. Since the groom's not coming, how about I step in for him?”
I didn't take it.
He laughed, pressed the glass into my hand, and patted the back of it.
“No need to be shy. Your husband doesn't even want you anymore. What are you playing hard to get for?”
Wine sloshed over the rim from the force of his hand and splattered onto the hem of my gown.
I set the glass on the nearest table.
“Thank you. I don't drink.”
