Chapter 1Guest at My Own Wedding

When the wedding march swelled through the cathedral speakers, two grooms stood at the altar.

One was me.

The other was Damian Greer.

Lillian smoothed the lace of her train, stepped past me toward Damian, and offered me an airy, practiced explanation.

"Adam, our astrological charts are in violent opposition today. The planetary transits are catastrophic. Damian is going to walk through the ceremony in your place so we don't invite bad luck. Go take a seat at Table One and watch from there."

A low rustle of whispers rippled through the pews.

"If the stars are that cursed, why get married at all?"

"Look at him just taking it. What kind of man sits in the audience while another guy weds his bride?"

My mother bolted upright, her face pale with indignation. "Lillian, what kind of sick, disrespectful nonsense is this?"

Lillian didn't flinch. She wore the cool, patronizing expression of someone humoring a child. "Mrs. Vaughn, families in our tax bracket take these spiritual alignments seriously. It’s about securing our fortune. It’s just tradition."

Damian folded his arms over his chest and let out a dry, condescending snicker. "Relax, Mrs. Vaughn. I’m only standing in for the vows. I won’t stand in for the honeymoon."

The bridesmaids broke into muffled giggles.

Lillian slipped her arm through Damian’s, turning toward the crowd.

"Lillian," I called out, my voice cutting through the soft murmur of the hall. "Are you certain you want to marry him?"

She paused, her brow knitting in a flash of thinly veiled irritation. She didn't want a scene; she wanted compliance.

I caught the message in her eyes, and a quiet, razor-thin smile touched my lips.

"All right," I said softly. "Then I have a wedding gift for you today."

* * *

Lillian clearly assumed I had folded. She gave me an approving, soothing smile, the kind one gives an obedient pet, before lifting two fingers toward the wedding coordinator.

The organ roared to life once more. The white spotlights drifted away from me and settled square on Damian, illuminating the bespoke cut of his tuxedo.

Lillian tucked her hand deep into the crook of Damian's elbow and glided up the steps toward the floral arch.

A banquet coordinator ushered me down the aisle and guided me into a seat at the primary family table. The moment I pulled out the chair, Lillian’s mother, Catherine Bradford, cut her eyes at me.

"The Bradford family built its construction empire on good instincts and divine timing," Catherine said, pitching her voice just loud enough for the neighboring tables to hear. "I consulted our reader weeks ago. Your chart is a black hole, Adam. If my daughter hadn’t begged on her knees to marry you, I would have dropped dead before letting you through our doors."

I kept my head down, typing rapidly on my phone. I didn't offer her a single word.

Catherine scoffed, slamming her crystal water goblet down onto the linen with unnecessary force.

I glanced up.

"Once you're legally tied to this family, you'd better start taking notes," she hissed, nodding toward the altar. "Look at Damian. The way he carries himself, the etiquette, the pedigree. If you managed to absorb even a tenth of his grace, you wouldn't be such an embarrassment to our name."

Up at the altar, Damian waved at the crowd like a conquering heir. To everyone in the room, he was the sole protagonist of the day.

Then came the vows.

Damian took the microphone from the officiant.

"Every step that brought us closer was never just about proximity; it was the inevitable collision of two souls."

My fingers froze against my phone screen. I looked up at Lillian.

"From the day we chose to face the world side by side, I never once considered letting go of your hand."

The words detonated in my chest like a dull thud.

Those were my vows.

Every syllable, every cadence. A draft I had revised ten times over, a labor of love I had shared with only one living person: Lillian.

My knuckles tightened against my knees.

Three hundred and thirty-three words. Written late into the night, tailored as a surprise to celebrate the three years we had spent together.

And right on cue, Damian delivered the final line.

"Three hundred and thirty-three words, one for every day I spent falling in love with you. Lillian, you have my heart."

The ballroom erupted in thunderous applause.

My heart sank into a cold, bottomless quiet.

At the altar, Damian lowered the microphone, his eyes seeking me out in the front row. A smug grin curled the corner of his mouth.

"Adam," he called out into the mic, his tone dripping with mock camaraderie. "Incredible vows, man. Truly poetic. I figured they fit Lillian and me just as well—you don't mind sharing, do you?"

A brief silence fell over the room.

Then someone from the groom’s party shouted, "He already gave up his bride! What's a few words between friends?"

A wave of snickering rolled across the room like grease on water.

I tightened my jaw, fixing my gaze on Lillian. She deliberately avoided my eyes, turning instead to take the velvet box from the flower girl.

Damian was already extending his left hand.

The platinum band slid over his ring finger. He held it up against the chandelier light, admiring the sparkle, then flicked his wrist casually toward me.

"Ceremonial protocol," he mouthed with a smirk. "I'll give it back later."

Next came the parental blessing.

Both the Bradford parents and the Greer parents ascended the stairs, dressed in matching silver-and-charcoal formal wear. A cold clarity settled over me: everyone had known. The Greers, the Bradfords, the bridesmaids, the coordinator.

The only people kept in the dark were me and my mother.

After the toasts, Catherine didn't return to her seat. Instead, she took Damian’s hands into hers, beaming.

"Damian is a boy I’ve watched grow into an exceptional man. I always dreamed of calling him my son-in-law. This ceremony today—well, it heals an old regret of mine."

Her assistant stepped forward, presenting a gilded leather folder. Catherine opened it before the crowd, revealing a certified check for one million and one dollars.

"They say a good man is one in a million," Catherine declared into the hall. "Our Damian is one in ten million."

She pressed the check into his palms, patting the back of his hand with maternal warmth. "Ten times the caliber of certain people who managed to sneak into our lives. My Lillian’s only flaw has always been her poor eyesight."

The room roared with laughter and applause.

The bridesmaids surged onto the stage, swarming the bride and the stand-in groom.

"Kiss her! Kiss her! Kiss her!"

Damian laughed, waving them off before tilting his head toward Lillian, his eyebrows arching in challenge. "Well, Mrs. Greer? Do we seal the ritual, or do we want bad luck hanging over the marriage?"

Lillian bit her lip, leaning in to press a modest, polite peck against his cheek.

Before she could pull away, Damian’s hand hooked around the back of her neck.

He pulled her in, crushing his mouth against hers.

It was not a stage kiss. It was deep, possessive, and lasted a full two minutes.

When he finally released her, his thumb grazed the smear of plum lipstick at the corner of her mouth. He laughed, wild and arrogant. "Now that's a kiss. What, did your boy never teach you how to use your tongue?"

Lillian’s cheeks flushed scarlet. She glared at him playfully, but her hand never left his waist.

Beside me, my mother began to tremble with rage. She gripped the edge of the table, preparing to storm out.

I reached over, gently pressing my hand down over hers.

"Mom," I whispered. "Just a few more minutes. Don't rush."