"Miss Layla, here’s the agreement form," the woman said, sliding the papers across the desk with a neutral expression. "Once you sign, the arrangements will begin immediately."
I picked up the pen but didn’t move, my eyes fixed on the neat, printed words: Declaration of Consent to Disappear. The gravity of the situation hadn’t hit me until now. I wasn’t just signing papers—I was signing away Layla Reid. The thought made my stomach churn, but the memory of why I was doing this quickly hardened my resolve.
Colton.
For four years, I had clung to the image of him as my protector, my childhood sweetheart who swore he’d love me forever. But forever wasn’t part of his vocabulary. While I had smiled for the cameras, believing we were a picture-perfect couple, he had been sneaking around with Georgia Green, an internet celebrity who became famous for a viral lip-syncing video. For two years, I had lived in the shadow of their affair, pretending not to notice the late nights, the sudden work trips, the lipstick smudges on his shirts that weren’t mine.
I told myself I could handle it. That I’d confront him. But I never did. I just smiled, played the part of the doting fiancée, and let the lies stack higher and higher until they suffocated me.
No more.
I clicked the pen and scrawled my signature across the bottom of the page, the ink drying as quickly as my old life dissolved.
"Thank you, Miss Reid," the woman said, her tone professional but oddly compassionate. "Or... should I say Savannah?"
Savannah Jones. The name felt strange, foreign, like trying on a dress that didn’t fit yet. But I’d make it fit.
I stood, smoothing the front of my coat. "When will the arrangements be finalized?"
"Within three days," she replied. "Your car will be placed at the riverbank, along with personal items. Authorities will assume a drowning. From there, you’ll start fresh."
I nodded and left without another word. My heels clicked against the marble floor, each step distancing me from Layla, Colton, Georgia, and everything else tying me to my past.
---
The bridal boutique was too cheerful for my mood, its air heavy with the scent of roses and vanilla candles. A sales associate greeted me with a bright smile, her clipboard in hand.
"Miss Reid, welcome! Your gown is ready for fitting," she said, leading me to a plush chair near the dressing rooms.
"Thank you," I replied, forcing a polite smile as I sat. I glanced at my phone. Colton was late, as usual.
The gown was everything I had dreamed of: intricate lace, a flowing train, a fitted bodice that made me feel like a queen. Except queens didn’t get stood up by their kings.
Ten minutes passed. Then twenty. The sales associate checked on me a few times, but all I could do was shake my head and scroll through my phone, waiting. At the forty-minute mark, I caved and texted Colton: Where are you?
His reply came quickly: Sorry, lost track of time. Busy at work. Go ahead without me.
I stared at the message, my jaw tightening. Lost track of time? He knew how important this was to me, and yet, work—or maybe Georgia—always seemed to matter more.
"Miss Reid," the associate said gently, "would you like to try on the gown now?"
I stood abruptly, brushing invisible lint off my coat. "No, I’ve changed my mind."
Her brows furrowed. "Are you sure? It’s stunning, and we—"
"I said no," I cut her off, trying to keep my voice steady. "Thank you, but I won’t be trying it on."
The associate gave a hesitant nod and stepped away, leaving me alone in the boutique. I turned toward one of the full-length mirrors, catching my own reflection. For a moment, I didn’t recognize the woman staring back.
She looked tired, worn, as though the years of betrayal had carved trenches beneath her eyes. I placed a hand on my chest, feeling the faint rhythm of my heartbeat. It was still there, barely, but it wasn’t enough.
There would be no bride on my wedding day. Only a corpse.
