He Left His Dying Wife at the Wedding for His Mistress

My phone buzzed on the vanity.

I stared at the screen, the notification glaring against the soft lighting of the Plaza Hotel bridal suite.

*Celeste Hartwell, I won't bother your life anymore. Are you satisfied?*

The sender was Seraphina Vale. My cousin, adopted by my parents after hers died in a car crash. The Juilliard violinist. Adrian’s true love.

Before my heart could even process the dread, the door banged open.

Adrian Blackwood stood in the frame. The CEO of Blackwood Corp. My husband of five years. Today was supposed to be our vow renewal, the grand wedding he promised me because we never had one.

He stared at his own phone, his face drained of color.

"I have to leave," he announced.

"Now?" I asked. "The string quartet is playing our processional."

"Stop the music."

"Adrian, look at me." I caught his silk sleeve with both hands. "The quartet is playing our song. Everyone is waiting for us."

He tore his arm free without looking into my eyes.

"It's a party, Celeste. Not a real wedding. We've been legally married for five years."

The words struck harder than a slap.

"Then why did you spend six months planning it? Why the Vera Wang gown? Why the three-carat ring?"

"Because you wanted them," he snapped, his voice cold enough to slice through me. "And right now, someone actually needs me."

He turned on his heel.

I grabbed the heavy tulle of my Vera Wang strapless mermaid gown and chased after him. My foot caught on the hem. I stumbled forward, my bare knee smashing into the mahogany doorframe.

Pain flared hot and sharp up my thigh.

Adrian paused, glancing back at me crumpled on the carpet. He didn't offer a hand.

"Celeste, there's something important at the company. I have to go."

"Look me in the eye and tell me it's the company."

He wouldn't look at me. "I'll call you later."

"On our wedding day?" I asked, gripping the doorframe to pull myself up.

"It's an emergency."

"More of an emergency than this?" I pointed to the ballroom down the hall.

"Don't be unreasonable," he snapped, already walking toward the elevator.

I didn't expose his lie. I didn't scream that I knew Seraphina texted him. I just watched the elevator doors close, swallowing the bitter taste in my mouth. Swallowing was getting harder these days. Stage four esophageal cancer does that to you.

Through the hallway window, I watched his black Maybach speed away into the crisp October afternoon. He left me here. Just like that.

I stripped off the Vera Wang dress. I shoved the three-carat diamond ring—the one he placed on my finger just last week—deep into my purse. I pulled on a simple white Chanel suit and walked into the ballroom.

Six tables. That was it. Only our closest friends from London, San Francisco, and Chicago.

Ethan, Blackwood Corp's CFO, raised his champagne glass as I approached.

"Where's the billionaire?" Ethan asked, looking behind me.

"Making more billions," I replied, grabbing a flute from a passing tray.

"On a Saturday? Tell him to leave the stock prices alone for one afternoon."

"You know Adrian. The market never sleeps."

"Well, you guys really know how to play it," Ethan laughed, clinking his glass against mine. "Throwing a wedding five years late. Make sure you invite us to the golden and silver anniversaries, too!"

"Of course, Ethan. You'll be the first on the list."

I smiled. A golden anniversary. I wouldn't even make it to Christmas.

Jules intercepted me before I could reach the next table. She dragged me into the alcove by the ice sculpture.

"Give me your hands," Jules demanded.

"They're fine."

"Give them to me." She grabbed my fingers. "Why are your hands freezing? And where the hell is Adrian?"

"He's busy. The company called him in."

"You're lying."

"I'm not."

"I've known you since college, Celeste. You don't get this pale over a board meeting. Where is he?"

"He had to go, Jules."

"He left you? Today? After he spent six months booking this hotel?"

"An emergency came up."

"What kind of emergency trumps his own wife?"

"A Blackwood Corp emergency."

"I'm going to kill him," she whispered.

"Don't. Just... enjoy the food. Please."

"How can I enjoy the food when you look like you're attending a funeral?"

"Because it's my party, and I want you to eat."

I squeezed her shoulder and walked away. My chest tightened. I wanted to cry, to collapse right there on the polished dance floor, but I couldn't. I had to finish this. For myself. I just wanted one beautiful day.

Two hours later, the last guest departed.

I retreated to the bridal lounge and collapsed onto the velvet sofa. Every muscle ached. The silence in the room pressed against my ears.

My phone rang. The caller ID flashed: *Margaret*.

I answered.

"Do you have a heart?" my mother screamed through the speaker.

I pulled the phone an inch away from my ear. "Hello to you too, Mom."

"Your sister is dying, and you're hosting a wedding?"

"My vow renewal," I corrected softly.

"She slit her wrists!" Margaret shrieked. "On the roof of her school! She's in surgery right now, and you're drinking champagne?"

So that was the emergency. Seraphina's depression acting up again.

"Adrian is with her," I said.

"He barely made it in time! She was bleeding out, Celeste."

"She'll survive. She always does."

"How can you be so cruel? She did this because she couldn't handle watching you flaunt your stolen happiness!"

"Stolen?" I asked.

"You know he always loved her. You just had to force this marriage. You just had to rub this stupid party in her face."

"I didn't force him to propose five years ago. I didn't force him to book the Plaza."

"You manipulated him! You knew she was fragile!"

My throat burned. A sharp, searing pain radiated down my neck.

"Didn't the groom already go save her?" I rasped.

"You cold-blooded—"

"What else do you want me to do, Mom?" I interrupted, my voice cracking. "Kill me to vent her anger? Will that cure her illness?"

"If you had an ounce of decency, you would come to the hospital right now and beg her forgiveness."

"Forgiveness for what? Being his wife?"

"For ruining her life!"

"I'm not coming to the hospital."

"You won't be happy until she's dead!"

"I have to go," I said.

"Celeste, don't you dare hang up on—"

I ended the call. A violent cough ripped through my chest. I doubled over, clutching my stomach as the spasm shook me. It felt like swallowing ground glass.

I dragged myself to the vanity and looked in the mirror.

Pale skin. Hollow cheeks. Dead eyes.

I looked like a ghost.

Whenever Seraphina wanted something, she got it. She wanted my parents' affection, she got it. She wanted Adrian's heart, she kept it. Now she wanted my wedding day, and she ruined it with a single text message.

I wiped a smudge of lipstick from the corner of my mouth.

My phone buzzed again. A picture message from an unknown number.

I opened it.

It was a photo of Adrian's hand holding Seraphina's on a hospital bed. His platinum wedding band caught the harsh fluorescent light.

Beneath the photo was a single line of text.

*He told me he never wanted to marry you.*