Runaway Bride Marries a Millionaire Influencer

I was a photographer.

Recently, I got pulled into shooting a reality dating show featuring everyday people.

During one of the interviews, I saw someone I’ve worked with a lot—a popular influencer.

He was holding hands with his "crush" from the show, his gaze soft and affectionate.

Curious, I searched online and discovered their fans were already urging them to get married, shipping them as the perfect couple.

Everyone was gushing over their "beauty and talent."

Everyone except me.

Because in a month, that influencer—Patrick Pots—was supposed to marry me.

——

“Nina? What are you doing here?” Patrick spotted me on set, visibly startled.

He wasn’t expecting to see me there. Neither was I.

“If I hadn’t come, how would I know you’ve picked up a new girlfriend from the show?” My hands trembled with anger and I could barely keep a hold of my camera.

Patrick shot a cautious glance around. “It’s just work, all scripted. Let’s talk about this later, in private, where no one can see us.”

I wanted to say more, but at that moment, a woman walked in—Sara Morgan, the contestant paired with Patrick on the show.

I looked at him, hurt and betrayed. He avoided my gaze, his guilt written all over his face.

Before I could press him further, the crew came in, telling us to get ready to shoot.

“Rick, I just cut my hand while cooking,” Sara chirped as she skipped toward Patrick.

Patrick, playing the ever-charming boy-next-door, gently patted her head, his expression warm and doting.

I stood there, stunned, holding back tears, as the scene unfolded before my eyes.

"Why are you so careless? Hold on."

Patrick hurried off, returning with a band-aid from who-knows-where and carefully applied it to the girl’s finger.

The director's voice crackled in my earpiece, reminding me to get a close-up of the scene.

Suppressing the bitterness rising in my chest, I moved closer with the camera.

Patrick’s voice was gentle, his patience unwavering as he comforted the girl. Between the two of them, there seemed to be a sea of pink bubbles. Even through the lens, I could feel the spark in their gazes.

He told me it was all an act, just for the cameras. But even in our time together, Patrick and I never had this kind of charged intimacy. Then here they were, openly flirting right in front of my camera.

After three years of dating, Patrick had refused to go public with our relationship, afraid of losing followers.

I’d teased him before, saying, “You’re not even a celebrity; why so uptight about something as normal as dating?”

But now, it was clear—his reluctance to go public had only ever been about 'me'.

I held back my tears, plastering on a calm expression as I finished the shoot.

When it was over, Sara bounded over to me cheerfully. "You're the new photographer, right? Can you take a picture for me?"

Without a word, I nodded.

Then she turned to call out, "Rick! Come take a photo with me!"

Patrick glanced at me awkwardly, hesitation in his eyes. Still, he walked past me to stand by her side, avoiding any eye contact with me as if I wasn’t even there.

Sara, warm and bold as ever, wrapped her arms around Patrick’s neck, pulling him close.

My heart felt like it was being torn apart, but my hands worked on autopilot. I clicked the shutter, capturing the moment with professional precision.

I told myself over and over: it’s all just a script. Don’t overthink it. After all, Patrick and I were getting married next month.

Later that time, as I scrolled through videos online, I stumbled upon something that stopped me in my tracks—their fan-shipped couple had already gone viral.

Fans were gushing about their chemistry, urging them to get married as soon as the show ended.

Clips of the two together had been edited into montages: Patrick blushing, Patrick sneaking glances, Patrick showing unwavering favoritism.

I felt my confidence waver. How could anyone act this convincingly? Could it really just be a script?

After the day’s shoot, I returned to the hotel.

To my surprise, Patrick was already there, waiting by the entrance.

When he saw me, a flash of panic crossed his face.

All the hurt and anger I had suppressed all day finally erupted.