Chapter 2He Gave My Wedding Dress to His First Love

The air conditioning in the room suddenly felt too cold, chilling me to the bone.

Jason stepped forward, reaching for my hand, but I pulled away.

“Bring the dress back,” I said, my voice low but firm. “I don’t want her wearing it.”

Jason frowned. “Don’t be ridiculous, Carol. It’s just a ceremony. We can always have another one.”

The irritation in his tone, the way his lips tightened—like I was the one being unreasonable—stabbed at me.

I stared at him, my voice sharp.

“She can have the dress. But does her ceremony have to include you as the groom?”

Was this her wielding her illness to manipulate him? Or had Jason already checked out of our relationship, using this as an easy way to slip away?

My words hit a nerve. Jason’s face darkened, and he turned toward the door.

“You’re impossible to deal with,” he snapped. “You never care about my image. You always have to make everything a spectacle.”

The door slammed shut behind him, and I heard the lock click.

I stared at the door, stunned, before the reality of the situation hit me.

He had locked me in.

I threw the skirt of my dress aside and banged on the door.

“I don’t agree to this! I’ve spent months preparing for this wedding, and it’s not just some meaningless ritual to me—”

His voice came from the other side, cold and impatient.

“Can you stop being so heartless? She’s dying. What’s the harm in letting her have this?”

I froze, my hands still on the doorknob.

She’s dying.

Because of her illness, I had already given up so much. Now I was expected to hand over my wedding, my husband, my dignity.

But was it my fault she was sick?

I took a deep breath and steadied my voice.

“Jason, think carefully. Don’t do something you’ll regret.”

There was a pause, then the sound of his footsteps fading away.

I sank to the floor, my dress pooling around me like a cage. My mind was blank, my heart hollow.

She had done it. Rebecca had destroyed my wedding.

My phone buzzed on the vanity. It was my parents calling.

Before I could answer, the call disconnected.

The bridal suite was just behind the main hall, separated by a single door. From here, I could hear the commotion outside—the sound of a crowd murmuring in surprise, followed by applause.

Another message from Rebecca popped up.

It was a video.

The camera panned to the screen in the hall. All the engagement photos Jason and I had spent hours taking had been digitally altered—my face replaced with hers.

Every outfit, every smile, every moment of discomfort in the blazing sun—given to her.

I trembled with rage, but I still tapped on the next video.

This time, I saw Rebecca walking down the aisle, the spotlight following her as she approached Jason.

In the shadows behind her, I saw my parents—faces pale, frantically searching for me—held in place by two security guards.

Tears blurred my vision and fell onto the screen.

Why had I chosen Jason? Why had I dragged my parents into this humiliation with me?

I didn’t watch the rest of the videos.

As the sounds of celebration continued beyond the wall, I stood in front of the mirror, staring at my reflection.

Slowly, methodically, I removed the ill-fitting wedding dress. I wiped away the makeup. I changed back into my own clothes.

For the first time that day, I felt relief.

At least I had seen Jason’s true colors before signing the marriage certificate.

Better late than never.