The night before my wedding, I couldn’t sleep. Restless, I slipped downstairs for aspirin—only to freeze at the sight of my mother on her knees before my fiancé. What shook me wasn’t tears or desperation, but the chilling offer she made.
I had imagined this night filled with excitement, nerves, and anticipation. Instead, it became a nightmare. Lying in bed, I tried everything—deep breaths, counting backward—but anxiety gnawed at me. Tomorrow I’d walk down the aisle, yet dread pressed heavy on my chest.
Head pounding, I crept downstairs. The house was quiet, except for whispers. My mother’s voice: “Just listen to me, please.” Then Zachary’s deeper tone. My stomach dropped. He was supposed to be at his hotel. Why was he here?
Peeking into the kitchen, I saw her kneeling, calm but pleading. “Please don’t show up tomorrow.”
Zachary stiffened. “What the hell?”
Her reply cut like glass: “I’ll pay you. Twenty thousand dollars. It’ll be in your suit bag. Just leave. Disappear.”
My vision blurred. Zachary laughed bitterly. “Are you serious?”
She pressed on. “She loves you, but love isn’t enough. She deserves stability. Comfort. You can’t give her that.”
He shot back: “And you think some rich old man can?”
Her lips tightened. “He’s successful. He can provide.”
Silence. Then Zachary shrugged. “Fine. Deal.”
I bolted upstairs, heart pounding. He had agreed. Moments later, the door creaked open. Zachary sat beside me. “I know you heard everything. But trust me—I’m not leaving.”
Confused, I stared. He explained: “Your parents want you to marry your dad’s wealthy business partner. They think he’s a better match. They offered me $20,000 to vanish. So I said yes—because I’ll take their money, then give them exactly what they asked for. Tomorrow, I won’t show up. But not because I’m running away. Because you and I are leaving together.”
Relief flooded me. He wasn’t betraying me—he was playing them.
The next morning, I slipped into my wedding dress. My mother knocked, smiling sweetly. “It’s time.” She had no idea.
The church was packed. I walked down the aisle, bouquet trembling in my hands. Zachary’s spot was empty, just as planned. My mother sat in the front pew, satisfied.
I faced the crowd. “So, where’s fiancé number two?” Gasps rippled. My mother’s smile vanished. I exposed everything—the $20,000 bribe, the arranged marriage scheme. Whispers spread like wildfire. My parents paled.
“I hope you’re happy,” I said coldly. “Zachary is gone. And now—so am I.” Dropping my bouquet, I walked out.
Outside, Zachary waited by his car, grinning. I ran to him, dress billowing. He caught me, spinning me in his arms. “You did it.”
“We did it,” I whispered.
Sliding into the car, I spotted the envelope—crisp bills stacked inside. Zachary smirked. “At least your parents bought us a honeymoon.”
As we drove away, leaving behind the church, the guests, and my parents’ plans, I realized something: I had never felt more free.
