I moved on instinct, pulling the suitcase from under the bed, unfolding shirts, checking lists, laying out Camille’s makeup bag, folding Kier’s blazers. I didn’t think—I just did what I had always done: prepared everyone else’s life while mine sat on the shelf, untouched.
But then I saw it—Kier’s laptop.
It was still open, still glowing faintly on the nightstand. Like it was waiting for me.
I hesitated.
And then I moved toward it.
It took just one click.
There it was.
A photo. Clear as day.
Kier in a tailored suit. Camille in a white dress, smiling like she had already won. The Eiffel Tower blurred behind them, gold lights blinking in the background. Pre-nup photoshoot – Paris folder.
Another scroll down showed the wedding date. The one I’d seen in the email before. Confirmed.
They weren’t even trying to hide it anymore.
I stared at it.
But I didn’t cry.
Instead, I picked up my phone.
I dialed the gallery—the one I’d visited in secret once, where the photos lined the walls, each one glimmering with confidence and artistry. I remembered the way the assistant had smiled at me when I lingered in front of the bridal portrait display.
The phone rang once. Twice.
“How may I help you?”