Isla's POV
My hands won't stop shaking.
I stare at myself in the boutique mirror, wearing a wedding dress that costs more than I used to make in a year. The dress is gorgeous—everyone says so. Layers of silk and lace that make me look like a princess from a fairy tale.
But it doesn't feel like my dress. It feels like a costume.
"You look absolutely stunning, dear," Mrs. Patterson, the seamstress, says with a warm smile. She's been pinning the hem for the last twenty minutes. "Mr. Blackwell has excellent taste."
That's the problem right there. Ethan picked this dress. He picked the flowers too. And the venue. And the cake flavor. He picked everything for our wedding while I just... nodded and smiled.
Like I always do.
"Four more days until you're Mrs. Blackwell!" Mrs. Patterson claps her hands together. "You must be so excited!"
I force a smile onto my face. "Yes. Very excited."
The lie tastes bitter on my tongue.
I should be excited. I should be the happiest woman alive. I'm marrying Ethan Blackwell—handsome, rich, powerful. The man every woman in New York wants. Three years ago, I never dreamed someone like him would look at someone like me.
But that's exactly the problem, isn't it? He looked at me because I was... convenient.
My mind drifts back to that charity gala three years ago. I was there as an anonymous donor, nobody important. Just a quiet girl in a simple black dress, trying not to draw attention to herself. I saw him standing alone on the balcony, looking so sad and broken that my heart hurt for him.
Everyone at the party was whispering about him. About how Vivienne Hart—his beautiful, perfect fiancée—had left him at the altar just two months before. She ran away to Europe with some rich old man, leaving Ethan humiliated in front of everyone who mattered.
I found him crying. Actually crying. This powerful man who owned half of Manhattan, with tears running down his face.
"Are you okay?" I asked quietly.
He looked at me like I was the first person to actually see him in months. "No. I'm really not."
We talked for hours that night. He told me everything—how much he loved Vivienne, how he thought they'd be together forever, how empty he felt without her. I listened. I didn't judge. I just... listened.
That's how it started. Me being there when he needed someone. Me listening when he needed to talk. Me filling up the empty space Vivienne left behind.
And somewhere along the way, I fell in love with him.
But did he ever fall in love with me? Or did he just get comfortable with having me around?
"All done!" Mrs. Patterson announces, standing up with a groan. "The dress will be perfect for your big day."
I look at myself in the mirror again. The woman staring back looks beautiful but scared. Like she's about to make the biggest mistake of her life.
My phone buzzes in my purse. I pull it out and see a text from Ethan: "Working late again tonight. Don't wait up."
That's the third time this week. He's been "working late" a lot lately. Something feels off, but I'm too afraid to ask questions. Too afraid that if I push too hard, he'll realize he doesn't actually need me.
That's the thing about being with Ethan. I'm always walking on eggshells, always trying to be perfect, always scared that one wrong move will make him see me the way I see myself—as ordinary. Replaceable.
Not special like Vivienne was.
I change back into my regular clothes and leave the boutique. The spring air outside should feel refreshing, but instead, it feels heavy. Like a storm is coming.
As I walk toward the subway, my phone rings. It's Marcus, my best friend and business partner.
"Hey, girl! How was the dress fitting?" His cheerful voice usually makes me smile, but today it just makes my chest feel tight.
"It was... fine."
"You don't sound fine. You sound like you're going to a funeral, not a wedding."
I laugh, but it comes out wrong. "I'm just tired."
"Isla." Marcus's voice gets serious. "You don't have to do this, you know. If you're having doubts—"
"I'm not having doubts," I lie quickly. "I love Ethan."
"I know you do. But does he love you the same way?"
The question hits me like a punch to the stomach because I've been asking myself the same thing for months now. Maybe even years.
"He proposed to me, didn't he?" I say defensively.
"Yeah, but was it because he loves you, or because you were there and... convenient?"
I want to argue, but the words won't come. Marcus knows me too well. He sees through all my pretending.
"I have to go," I say softly. "I'll talk to you later."
I hang up before he can say anything else.
The subway ride home feels longer than usual. I keep touching my engagement ring, spinning it around my finger. It's beautiful—a massive diamond that probably cost a fortune. But Ethan didn't even propose himself. His assistant called me to schedule a "special dinner," and then he pulled out the ring between the appetizer and main course.
No speech. No getting down on one knee. Just "I think we should get married" and a ring box sliding across the table.
I said yes immediately because I was so afraid if I hesitated, he'd change his mind.
That's what our whole relationship is like. Me being grateful he chose me. Me trying not to ask for too much. Me being quiet and easy and uncomplicated because that's what he needs after Vivienne broke his heart.
But what about what I need?
By the time I get home to our apartment, I've made a decision. Tomorrow, I'm going to surprise Ethan at his office with lunch. His favorite—the sandwiches from that little deli he loves. We'll eat together, really talk for the first time in weeks, and I'll remember why I fell in love with him in the first place.
Everything will be fine. We're just stressed about the wedding. Once we're married, things will get better.
They have to.
I'm pulling ingredients from the fridge to make dinner when my phone buzzes again. Another text from Ethan: "Something came up. Staying at the office tonight. See you tomorrow."
My hands freeze on the refrigerator door.
Staying at the office? He's never done that before. Not once in three years.
A cold feeling spreads through my chest. I try to push it away, try to tell myself I'm being paranoid. But something feels wrong. Really wrong.
I'm about to call him when I notice something on the kitchen counter. An envelope. My name written on it in Ethan's handwriting.
My heart starts pounding.
With shaking hands, I pick up the envelope and open it. Inside is a single piece of paper. A receipt. From a jewelry store.
For a diamond bracelet.
Purchased yesterday.
I didn't get a bracelet yesterday. I haven't received any gifts from Ethan in weeks.
So who did he buy it for?
The room starts spinning. I grab the counter to steady myself, staring at the receipt like it might suddenly make sense. But deep down, I already know.
This bracelet wasn't for me.
And tomorrow, when I show up at his office to surprise him with lunch, I'm going to find out exactly who it was for.