I eventually drifted off from exhaustion. When I woke, Ryan was sitting by the window, a cigarette burning low between his fingers.
“What happened?” I asked quietly.
He looked at me, eyes heavy.
“Olivia… I need to tell you something. I met my ex tonight.”
The words didn’t land at first.
“She was the love of my life,” he continued. “Seven years ago, she moved to London. She said she’d come back, but she disappeared. I waited. I thought she was gone for good. I married you because I wanted to move forward. But tonight… she called.”
The roses, the champagne, the lace on my dress—all of it felt absurd.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice tight. “I won’t hide it from you. I’ll try to forget her. I’ll try to build this marriage.”
I studied his face. In his eyes, I didn’t see cruelty.
I saw hesitation.
And hesitation was enough.
I didn’t cry. I lay awake until dawn, watching pale sunlight stretch across the scattered petals on the floor.
In the morning, I stood in front of him.
“I don’t blame you for having a past,” I said calmly. “But I can’t compete with it. Marriage isn’t a place to test whether your old love still matters more. You deserve certainty. So do I.”