At the altar, in her dream weddjngdress was Ruby—her stepsister. Ruby gleamed like a vision spun from moonlight, her lips curled in a smile so poisonous it could kill.
And beside her, the man Saraphina loved, the man she had been promised, Christian Miller, turned his face to Ruby with a softness he had never shown Saraphina.
Her chest clenched so tight she could scarcely breathe.
Gasps scattered through the pews like sparks catching tinder. Then the whispers began.
"Who is that woman—dressed in a bridal gown?"
"My God… she's fat, isn't she? Look at the fit—it clings like punishment."
"Is she here to ruin their wedding?
Shameless creature!"
The words were not whispered softly enough. They stabbed, loud enough for her ears to catch every cruel syllable. A lady fanned herself quickly as though the very sight of Saraphina's trembling form was offensive. A man chuckled, shaking his head, murmuring something about desperate women.
Saraphina wanted to scream, to demand why Christian stood there with Ruby, why her gown—her gown—hugged Ruby's body when it was Saraphina's own design.
But when she searched Christian's face, there was no guilt. Only disdain.
The weight of every gaze crushed her.
Their eyes crawled across her like insects, picking apart her body, her gown, her very existence. She wrapped her arms around herself, fighting the instinct to run.
"So shameless."
The words cracked through the hush like a whip, sharp and merciless. Heads turned, eyes narrowed. The voice came from somewhere in the front—an older man, his tone brimming with outrage, as though Ruby herself had been dishonored.
"Christian!" he barked, gesturing toward Saraphina with trembling fingers. "Today is your wedding to Ruby. Why in God's name is another woman wearing a bridal gown in your hall?"
Gasps rippled. Guests leaned forward, fanning themselves with lace, pearls clinking as they whispered. Saraphina's face burned. Every muscle in her body screamed to flee, but her legs rooted her to the spot.
Then Christian stepped forward. His handsome face, once her safe harbor, now looked carved in ice. His jaw clenched as he raised his voice, every word chosen to cut.
"I'm so sorry, everyone," he said smoothly, with the practiced tone of a man spinning lies into truth. His arm curled protectively around Ruby, pulling her close. "My ex-girlfriend is… shameless. Obsessed. She cheated on me with other men, so of course I broke up with her. But here she is, delusional enough to ruin our wedding day."
The crowd gasped louder. Ruby lowered her head demurely, hiding her victorious smirk behind her veil, while Christian's words shattered what was left of Saraphina's pride.
Her lips parted. Her voice came out hoarse. "That's… not true."
But already, rustles moved through the crowd. Men in dark suits were passing folded papers down the aisles. Pages fluttered like falling leaves until they reached every guest. One after another, hands lifted to stare at glossy photographs.
Saraphina's stomach dropped.
It was her.
In a hotel hallway.
Her body, unmistakable in the shapeless dress she used to wear, caught in unflattering angles. One image of her entering a room with a man. Another of her leaving—hair tangled, clothes wrinkled, her face pale and frightened.
The whispers grew into sharp laughter.
"My heavens… she really did it."
"Look at her! Caught red-handed."
"No wonder Christian left her."
"No…" Saraphina's voice cracked. Her chest heaved as though a fist had lodged there. She staggered back a step, the edges of her vision blurring. She wanted to shout, to scream that it was a lie—that the figure in the photographs had Christian's broad shoulders, Christian's face pressed into her neck. But her throat closed tight.
Her fingers clawed at her gown. Her lungs dragged in shallow breaths. And all around her, the whispers spread like fire.
Ugly. Shameless. Obsessed. Trash.
Christian tightened his grip on Ruby, and for the first time he looked directly at Saraphina—cold, dismissive, final.
"Leave," he said, voice low but carrying through the hall. "You don't belong here."
The room spun. Saraphina's bouquet, forgotten at her feet, lay crushed on the marble, red petals scattered like blood.
Her knees weakened, her tears blurring Ruby's triumphant smile into something monstrous.
And then, as the last photograph slipped from someone's fingers to the floor, the hall filled with one united murmur, rising like a curse:
Crazy. Ex.
The words slammed against her chest, harder than any blow.
The chandeliers flickered, shadows stretching long across the polished floor. Saraphina swayed, barely upright, her body trembling under the weight of a thousand eyes.
For one heartbeat, silence.
And then—her father's hand pressed against Ruby's back as he guided her down the aisle to Christian.
The man who was supposed to walk her.
The doors loomed open behind her, heavy and dark, waiting like a grave.
"Security!" Christian's voice thundered, harsh and unyielding. His hand lifted from Ruby's waist to point straight at Saraphina like she was nothing more than filth. "Take this intruder away!"
The command cracked through the air like lightning.
Two guards in dark uniforms moved at once, heavy boots striking the marble floor, their faces hard and expressionless. Gasps followed them—half the guests recoiled in their seats while the others leaned forward, eager for the spectacle.
"Wait!" Saraphina's lips moved, but the word came out broken, drowned beneath the applause that had erupted for Christian and Ruby. Her protest dissolved into silence as rough hands clamped down on her arms.
She stumbled as they dragged her forward, her gown scraping against the polished floor, pearls snapping loose from her bodice and scattering like tears across the ground. Her hair fell loose, her veil torn from her head and left behind like discarded fabric.
Still, no one helped her. No one even met her eyes.
Not even her father.
The grand doors swung open, sunlight blinding her as the guards hauled her into the world outside. Her knees buckled, and they threw her down like garbage onto the hard stone steps of the hotel.
The air outside was colder, sharper, cutting through her thin breaths. Strangers passing on the busy street slowed their steps, pausing to stare. Some frowned in pity, others whispered, their gazes cruel and curious.
"Isn't that the bride?"
"No, the mistress. The shameless one."
"Look at her… thrown out like trash."
Saraphina sat slumped on the ground, her fingers trembling as they scraped against the cold pavement. She couldn't breathe. The world tilted. Her gown, once pure white, now carried a spreading crimson stain at her lap, dark and wet.
At first, she didn't notice.
But Hazel did. Hazel and Lily, who had been too stunned inside to speak, finally broke free of their frozen shock. They rushed down the steps, skirts flying, their cries sharp against the murmur of the crowd.
"Saraphina!" Hazel's voice cracked as she dropped to her knees beside her. Lily followed, her face drained of color as her eyes widened in horror.
The stain was growing, seeping through layers of satin and lace.
"Blood…" Hazel whispered, her hand shaking as she reached out but didn't dare touch. "She's bleeding."
Saraphina blinked at them, her lashes heavy, her lips pale. She opened her mouth as though to speak, but no sound came out—only a shuddering breath.
Her hands pressed weakly at her stomach, the truth dawning in a wave of pain she couldn't name.
And then—her body went limp.
Her head rolled to the side, her skin ashen. She collapsed fully onto the pavement, eyes fluttering closed.
Hazel screamed. Lily caught Saraphina's head in her lap, shaking her shoulders desperately.
"Call someone! Help!" Lily cried to the crowd, her voice breaking. "She's—she's dying!"
But the onlookers only stared. Some murmured, some turned away. The city noise seemed to swallow her cries, leaving only the image of a broken bride, her gown soaked red, her body lifeless in her friends' arms.
And in that moment, the whispers that once mocked her turned into something else entirely—fear.
Because no one knew if she would ever wake again.