I wasn’t supposed to be at this wedding.
That much was clear from the way people glanced at me, then leaned toward each other, whispering behind their champagne glasses as I walked into the grand hall.
The room was breathtaking—gold and ivory draped across tables, chandeliers sparkling like frozen rain, flowers arranged in perfect harmony. Every guest was dressed to impress, glittering gowns, sharp tuxedos, polished shoes.
But beneath all that beauty, something rotten festered.
Because this wasn’t just any wedding.
This was her wedding.
Erica.
My younger sister. The golden child of our parents. The girl who got everything handed to her while I had to fight for every scrap of recognition. And now? She had taken the one thing I thought was mine forever.
Stan.
My fiancé. My future. My love.
At least… he used to be. Until the night I came home early and caught him in my bed—with her.
The memory still burned in my chest. Stan had frozen, his guilt written all over his face. But Erica? She hadn’t even pretended to be ashamed. She had smirked.
“I won, Paige,” she’d said in the coldest, most satisfied voice I had ever heard. “Checkmate.”
A month later, the wedding I had spent over a year planning was canceled. My deposits were gone. My dreams were gone. And Erica? She didn’t have to sneak around anymore. She and Stan were free to play the perfect couple.
I left town after that. Checked into different hotels, worked remotely, tried to stitch my heart back together. Slowly, I healed. I even adopted a kitten, just to feel like something in my life was still mine.
And then the invitation came.
Now, a year later, I was standing in the middle of their big day—invited as nothing more than a trophy spectator to Erica’s “victory.”
I bet my parents had forced her to invite me. If Erica had her way, she would have cut me out completely. Or maybe she wanted me here, just to rub it in. That was exactly her style.
But what Erica didn’t know—what no one knew—was that I wasn’t here to mourn my loss.
I was here for payback.
I was here to ruin her “perfect” day.
The ceremony itself was a blur. I stood near the back, barely listening to the officiant drone on about “love” and “devotion.” Words that meant nothing to me anymore.
Stan looked at Erica with adoration, but I knew it was fake. She stared back at him like she had won the grand prize.
I sipped my champagne and almost laughed.
Enjoy it while you can, sweetheart.
When the reception began, the hall buzzed with laughter, the clink of glasses, the shuffle of heels across marble. On a giant screen, a slideshow played—Erica and Stan smiling, kissing, pretending to be picture-perfect.
To anyone else, they looked happy. To me, it looked like a joke.
And that was fine. Because the joke was about to end.
I moved carefully through the crowd, my sleek black dress hugging me like armor. I didn’t look like just another guest. I looked like a reckoning.
When I reached the laptop connected to the projector, my heart thudded. One deep breath. One flash drive slipped in. A few clicks.
Showtime.
At first, no one noticed. Conversations continued, people laughed, waiters carried trays of food. Then, a voice filled the hall.
“Please, don’t leave me!”
Stan’s voice.
The screen showed grainy footage from the security camera in my bedroom. Stan was crying on my bed, begging me not to walk out.
“Erica means nothing to me, Paige! Absolutely nothing!” he sobbed. “She was a mistake! I love you, Paige! I made a huge mistake!”
The room fell silent.
All eyes turned to the screen.
I turned to Erica. Her face had gone pale.
Stan froze, his eyes wide, his body rigid.
And then came more footage. My security cameras had caught everything—the sneaking, the kisses, the nights in my bed. Timestamp after timestamp. Betrayal after betrayal.
Then, the final blow. Erica’s smug laugh.
“She’ll never know…” she whispered.
Stan’s voice followed, mocking. “Paige who?”
Gasps echoed through the room. A glass shattered against the marble.
“Oh my God,” someone whispered.
My mother looked ready to faint. My father’s jaw clenched so hard I thought it might break.
Erica stumbled back, stammering, “This… this isn’t real! This is fake!”
But the screen said otherwise.
Stan’s voice cut through the chaos. His face twisted in anger.
“Erica, you told me you deleted the footage from Paige’s computer!”
I smirked. “Oh, so you knew the cameras caught you? Interesting.”
The crowd erupted in murmurs, disgust clear in their voices.
And then, out of nowhere, another voice broke through.
“Paige.”
I turned.
Jack.
He was dressed as a waiter, his crisp white shirt under a black vest. He set down his tray and stepped forward, his blue eyes locked on mine.
Weeks ago, when he saw the invitation sitting on my counter, I had told him everything.
“I want to go,” I admitted. “I want her to see that she can’t just walk all over me. But I need to make sure I get my moment.”
Jack hadn’t even hesitated. “Then I’ll be there. If I have to sneak in as a waiter, fine. But I’m not letting you face this alone.”
And now, here he was. My anchor in the chaos.
Gasps rippled through the crowd as he walked toward me. Then, he dropped to one knee.
The hall went still.
Jack pulled out a velvet box, flipping it open to reveal the most stunning ring I’d ever seen.
His voice was strong, clear, unwavering.
“I’ve waited long enough, Paige. Will you marry me?”
A collective gasp swept the room.
Erica screeched, “WHAT? At my wedding? Paige, are you insane?!”
She looked like she might explode, her face twisted with rage.
I smiled, my heart racing.
“Yes, Jack. Yes, I will.”
The hall erupted—cheers, applause, even tears from my mother.
Erica stomped her foot like a spoiled child. “This is MY day!”
I tilted my head, savoring the moment.
“Oh, honey,” I said sweetly, “you stole my wedding once. I just returned the favor—and stole the show.”
And with Jack’s hand in mine, I walked out, leaving her humiliated in front of everyone she had hoped to impress.
Later that night, Jack and I sat across from each other in a tiny 24-hour diner. My sleek black dress looked ridiculous in the cracked leather booth, and Jack still looked like he belonged in a magazine, not under flickering fluorescent lights.
But this—this felt perfect.
Jack slid a plate of fries toward me. “Eat. You’ve had a long day.”
I laughed and popped one into my mouth. “That’s an understatement.”
We sat in comfortable silence for a while, the hum of the diner soothing.
Finally, I asked, “So… how long were you planning that proposal?”
He smirked. “Months. But I wanted to wait until you were ready. Tonight… it just felt right.”
I studied him, my chest swelling with warmth.
“You chose the perfect moment,” I whispered.
And for the first time in a very long time… I felt like I had finally won.
