SLOANE
For the ninth time, I walked through the doors of Vera House alone.
The moment I stepped inside, I was greeted by my bridal consultant—the same woman who had personally overseen the design of my wedding gown. Her smile was warm and professional, the kind reserved for Vera House’s most valued clients.
The boutique was quiet, as it always was. Vera House operated strictly by appointment, with only a handful of clients allowed in at a time. Every detail inside felt deliberate, from the soft lighting to the careful placement of each gown.
“Ms. Prescott,” my bridal consultant said, her tone respectful but familiar after my many visits. “Will your fiancé be joining you today?”
I held my breath for a second, then forced a small smile.
“He will,” I said with quiet certainty.
Today was our seven-year anniversary. There was no reason for him not to come.
The bridal consultant nodded, as if reassured by my answer, then gestured toward the fitting room. “Right this way. We have everything ready for you.”
I followed her inside, where two assistants were already waiting. They moved with quiet efficiency, helping me into the gown and smoothing the fabric into place with practiced hands.
When they were done, I lifted my gaze to the mirror.
The white gown fit me perfectly, as though it had been made to follow every line of my body. Every stitch was precise, the fabric falling smoothly along my frame. It was everything a bride could ever want for the day that was meant to be the happiest of her life.
Under the soft lighting of Vera House, everything looked flawless.
Everything—except me.
My fingers curled slightly at my sides. The subtle stiffness was still there, a quiet reminder of something I had lost. Years ago, I had once held a scalpel with steady hands, saving lives under pressure.
Now, I could barely trust my own grip.
A bitter smile touched my lips.
I had given up my future for a man who could not even show up on time.
I let out a slow breath and glanced toward the door.
Just as I was about to sit down, the boutique door opened.
The soft chime echoed through the quiet space.
My heart lifted instantly. Finally, he’s here.
I turned to greet him, but the moment I saw who walked in, I froze.
Derek stepped inside, exactly as I had imagined him—impeccably dressed, composed, untouchable.
But he wasn’t alone.
A woman stood beside him, her hand resting lightly on his arm as if it belonged there.
Chloe Harrington—his adoptive sister.
For a moment, my mind refused to process what I was seeing.
“Derek?” My voice came out quieter than I expected.
He walked toward me as if nothing was wrong, his expression calm, almost indifferent.
“We need to move the wedding to next month,” he said.
No greeting. No apology. No explanation.
Just that.
I stared at him, trying to make sense of what he had just said.
“Wait… what?” I asked.
“I said we need to move the wedding to next month,” he repeated, slower this time, as if making sure I heard him clearly.
My brows knitted together. “That’s not possible. The venue, the invitations—they’re already finalized.”
“Then we’ll make it possible,” he replied flatly.
“But why?” I asked, my confusion turning into unease. “Is there a problem? Are we waiting for someone important?”
“Chloe is pregnant,” he said.
I froze.
My heart began to pound against my chest.
I knew what Chloe meant to him. Ever since Travis—her brother—died saving Derek two years ago, he had taken her in and given her everything.
But what did her pregnancy have to do with our wedding?
Unless…
My fingers curled into fists.
I stared at him, waiting—hoping—for the rest of the sentence.
“And?” I asked slowly when he didn’t continue.
Derek’s gaze didn’t waver.
“It’s mine.”
Everything went quiet.
No sound. No movement. Just those two words echoing in my head.
It’s mine.
Something inside me cracked.
“That’s not funny,” I said, my voice trembling despite my effort to stay composed.
“It’s not a joke.”
Chloe tightened her hold on his arm, her expression fragile, almost apologetic.
“I’m sorry, Sloane,” she said softly. “I didn’t mean for this to happen…”
Didn’t mean for this to happen?
My chest tightened.
“You didn’t mean to?” I repeated, my voice rising. “Then what exactly did you mean to do, Chloe?”
“Sloane,” Derek said sharply. “We’re not doing this here.”
“Then when?” I snapped, turning to him. “You’re sure we’re just moving the wedding? Shouldn’t we be canceling it, now that she’s pregnant with your child?”
“I was drugged at a business dinner,” he said, his voice tightening slightly. “I mistook her for you.”
I let out a hollow laugh.
“You expect me to believe that?”
“Yes,” he said coldly. “Because that’s the truth.”
He paused before adding, as if it were perfectly reasonable, “We’re not canceling the wedding. We’ll raise the child together. Just think of Chloe as a surrogate. After all… you can’t have children.”
Something twisted sharply in my chest.
My vision blurred, but I refused to let the tears fall.
“You remember how I ended up like this?” I asked quietly.
Did he really just say that? Did he forget why I became infertile?
And now he was using my infertility against me, as if it had nothing to do with him. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t be like this.
“I know,” he said. “That’s why I’m marrying you. I promised I’d take care of you and your family.”
He said it as if he were offering me something valuable.
As if I should be grateful.
The anger hit me before I could stop it.
I raised my hand and slapped him across the face.
The sound echoed sharply through the room.
Chloe rushed forward immediately. “Sloane, please don’t get angry at Derek. I’m really sorry. We didn’t mean to hurt you. It was just a mistake.”
She reached for me, her nails digging into my hand.
Pain shot through me instantly.
I flinched and instinctively pulled away.
“Don’t touch me—”
Chloe staggered backward as if I had pushed her, her body hitting the edge of the dressing table.
She cried out, clutching her stomach.
“My baby…!”
Derek’s expression darkened immediately.
“Sloane, what did you do?” he demanded as he rushed to her side.
I stared at them, disbelief washing over me.
“You think I—?”
“Apologize,” he said coldly. “Now.”
I let out a quiet laugh.
This time, I didn’t try to stop it.
Apologize? Did he really believe I had pushed her?
I remembered his promises from years ago—how he told me my sacrifice was worth it, how he said he would never let me suffer for saving him.
Something inside me went completely still.
The anger, the pain—they all blended together until there was nothing left but emptiness.
I reached up and slowly removed the veil from my head.
The soft fabric slipped through my fingers and fell to the floor.
“Let’s cancel the wedding,” I said.
Derek frowned. “Stop being childish.”
“I’m serious.”
For the first time, I saw something shift in his expression.
Panic.
“Sloane—”
I didn’t let him finish.
My eyes landed on a pair of scissors resting on the table.
I reached for them without hesitation.
With steady hands, I cut into the gown, the soft rip of silk breaking through the silence.
Gasps filled the room.
I tore the loosened fabric free and threw it at Chloe.
“You want it?” I said coldly. “Take it.”
Barefoot, I walked out of the fitting room, the shredded gown brushing against my skin as I ignored the stunned stares around me.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Derek start to follow me, but Chloe’s trembling voice and desperate cries stopped him.
