Troy stood at the altar, fingers drumming impatiently on the edge of the marble podium. The grand hall of the church, dripping in white lilies and gold ribbons, felt like a cage closing in on him. Camille was late—thirty minutes late.
He glanced over his shoulder for the hundredth time. The guests were starting to murmur, heads leaned together in polite but curious whispers. Some had their phones out already, slyly snapping pictures of the groom pacing at the altar like a trapped dog.
Trevor lingered at the side, brows furrowed. Even he was starting to look nervous, tapping his foot, shooting Jasmine an accusing glance. Jasmine only gave a thin smile, twirling a strand of hair around her finger as she leaned against a pew like she owned the place.
Troy pulled out his phone again, texting Camille for the tenth time.
Where are you? Hurry up.
Answer me.
You know what happens if you humiliate me.
Nothing. No delivered, no seen.
He dialed instead—voice low, teeth clenched as he barked orders to the security guard near the entrance. “Find her. I don’t care how. She can’t be far.”
One of the older guests, Troy’s uncle, leaned forward with a forced chuckle, whispering loudly enough for the people behind him to hear. “Maybe the bride got cold feet, eh? Shouldn’t leave a man like Troy standing alone.”
Trevor shot a glare in their direction, but Troy’s eyes never left the stained glass doors. “She wouldn’t dare,” he growled under his breath, though his gut twisted.
Beside him, Jasmine tapped her painted nails against her wine glass. “Maybe she’s just toying with us,” she said sweetly. “You know, dramatic flair—Camille always liked the attention.”
Troy’s head whipped around, fury flaring behind his eyes. “Toying with us? On our wedding day? Are you insane, Jasmine?”
Jasmine shrugged, pretending innocence. Trevor looked between them, a bead of sweat running down his temple. “She’ll come,” he muttered. “Just wait. She’ll come. She has to.”
But the whispers were turning to gossip. The violinist, seeing no bride, put his bow down. Someone from Troy’s family tugged on his sleeve, asking what they should tell the guests if she didn’t show.
No. She wouldn’t do this. Troy’s mind raced. There was no way Camille would humiliate him like this. Not after everything he’d done for her, not when she still needed him—she needed him.
But the longer he stood there, the more the certainty cracked inside him.
Without a word, he pushed Trevor aside, ignoring Jasmine’s protests as he stormed down the aisle. He didn’t even wait for the driver—he yanked his car keys from his pocket, his footsteps echoing through the hushed church.
He floored it all the way back to the house, heart hammering so loud it drowned out the engine’s roar. She wouldn’t dare. She wouldn’t dare. But in the pit of his gut, he knew—Camille was capable of anything now. That frightened him more than the humiliation.
He slammed through the front door, shouting her name. “Camille! Camille, where the hell are you?!”
Silence. Not even the echo of footsteps.
His voice rose to a snarl. “Camille! Come out, you coward. You think this is funny? You think you can make a fool of me—?”
He stopped short in the living room. His eyes darted around, taking in the emptiness. The shelves stripped bare of their framed photos. The drawers empty, the suitcases gone. Even the small vase her mother had given her—the one she’d sworn she’d never part with—was missing from its spot.
A piece of paper sat on the kitchen island next to a small cake, its candle already burned down to a stub of wax. He stepped closer, dread pooling cold in his veins.
The ring box sat there too—his grandmother’s ring. The one he’d used to bind her to him all those years ago.
His eyes flicked to the note, scrawled in her unmistakable handwriting:
I’m done with you. I’m marrying someone else. Be happy without me. Goodbye, my ex-fiancé.
The words blurred. He read them again. And again. They didn’t change.
“No…” he whispered, voice trembling. His fingers crushed the paper in his fist. “No. She wouldn’t. She wouldn’t—this is a joke.”
He grabbed the cake and hurled it at the wall. The splatter of frosting and crumbs did nothing to silence the screaming in his head. His phone was out before the frosting even hit the floor. He dialed her number. Straight to voicemail. Again. Again.
Finally, he called the lawyer. “Where is she? Where the hell is she?! She’s mine—she can’t do this. She can’t leave me.”
The lawyer’s voice was infuriatingly calm. “Mr. Troy, I’m afraid I can’t disclose anything. You’re not legally bound anymore. You have no authority over Ms. Camille’s affairs.”
Troy’s mouth went dry. “What are you talking about? I’m her guardian. I’m her fiancé! I own her company—”
“About that,” the lawyer interrupted, “you’ve been removed. The company ownership was transferred back to Ms. Camille this morning. You’ve been terminated.”
“That’s impossible—”
“It’s already filed,” the lawyer said flatly. “Good day, Mr. Troy.”
The line went dead.
Troy hurled his phone across the room, where it hit the wall and cracked in half. He stumbled back, gasping like a man drowning. She left. She left me. She left everything.
Footsteps. Trevor and Jasmine came through the front door, breathless.
“What the hell happened to the house?!” Trevor demanded, eyes wide as he took in the barren shelves, the half-packed boxes scattered by the door.
“Where are our things?” Jasmine shrieked, mascara smudged under her eyes. “What did you do, Troy?! Where’s Camille?”
Troy turned on them, eyes wild. “That bitch!” he roared. “She left us with nothing. She’s gone! She sold the house—she sold everything—”
He sank to his knees in the middle of the empty living room, fists pounding the floor. “She’s gone,” he whispered, voice ragged. “She’s gone…”
