Rhea had suddenly decided to move the wedding up by an entire week.
It now landed squarely on the date that was once meant for my own wedding.
Over the next three days, I scraped together barely five hours of sleep in total.
On the morning of the wedding, my phone buzzed nonstop with messages from relatives back home.
They wanted to know why I had suddenly canceled my wedding and whether something had gone wrong between Justin and me.
The family group chat was packed with messages urging me not to be impulsive.
They reminded me, again and again, that the Harlow Family’s background was far beyond my reach.
Every word meant as comfort only pressed deeper into my wound and I couldn’t bring myself to reply.
The vast villa was silent, only the maid and I remained. Rhea had given everyone else the day off before the wedding "to avoid distractions."
For six hours straight, I ran from room to room, making sure every last decoration was in place.
I had thought that after these grueling days, I might be able to watch this wedding, the one that wasn’t mine, with a kind of detached calm.
But the moment I saw Rhea wearing the wedding dress I had spent half a year choosing, my vision blurred.