I washed my face with cold water, reapplied my makeup with shaking fingers, and walked back out into the venue with complete, razor-sharp clarity.
I grabbed the bridal bouquet from the prep room—a stunning arrangement of white roses and eucalyptus that I had meticulously crafted just hours earlier.
Instead of handing it off to the bridal coordinator, I carried the flowers down the grand hallway directly toward the chapel doors.
The organ music began to play, and the guests took their seats as the bridal party made their way down the aisle.
Through the stained-glass entrance, I watched Adrian stand at the altar, looking handsome, relaxed, and completely unbothered by the trail of devastation he had left behind.
His mother, Colleen, sat in the front row, wearing her wrist corsage and dabbing away fake tears of joy.
Just as the officiant asked the crowd to stand for the bride, I pushed open the double doors and walked straight down the center aisle.
The entire church fell dead silent as the guests turned to stare at the florist marching toward the front with the bride’s flowers.
Adrian’s smile completely evaporated the moment his eyes locked onto mine, his face draining of all color in an instant.
Colleen gasped loudly, clutching her pearls as she shrank back into her seat in sheer terror.
Read Part 3 to see how Adrian tried to explain himself in front of his new bride! ➡️📜👇
