Chapter 1

1

My fiancé’s prank videos had finally pushed him past the hundred-thousand-follower mark.

On our wedding day, Ethan promised he had prepared three surprises for me.

By late morning, the guests had all arrived, but he was nowhere to be found. When I finally reached him on my cell phone, his tone was casual, almost incredulous.

"Didn't we push it to tomorrow? Did you forget to tell everyone?"

Standing there in my white wedding dress, I had to walk from table to table, apologizing to empty chairs while hot tears burned the backs of my eyelids.

That was when Ethan kicked open the double doors, holding his phone high, a ring light strapped to his chest.

"How’s that for the first surprise? Did I get you?"

I blinked back the tears, turning on my heel to retreat to the dressing room for a touch-up.

My phone buzzed against the vanity. A text from Ethan, featuring a snapshot of him and my younger sister, Zoe, tangled together on the couch.

Sorry. The truth is, she’s the one I actually want to marry.

I hiked up the layers of tulle and bolted out of the room. Ethan was waiting in the corridor, the camera rolling, his lens tracking my every desperate step.

Zoe stepped out from behind a pillar, pointing at me and laughing so hard she had to cover her mouth.

"You actually believed it, Sarah? God, you're so easy! That’s the groom’s second surprise!"

I reached out, my palm flat against the glass of the lens. "Stop it. This isn't funny."

Ethan reached out and batted my hand away, his grin wide and triumphant. "All right, cut. Let’s do one more take."

My mother’s face darkened instantly as she stepped out of the shadows. Her voice was sharp, cutting through the canned laughter of the imaginary crew.

"This has gone too far, Ethan. You don't humiliate people like this." She turned to me, her jaw set. "We’re leaving. We're going home."

Having held my composure all morning, the simple permission in her voice broke me. I threw my arms around her neck and finally let the sobs tear out of my throat.

"Mom, I can't do this. I don't want to marry him anymore."

She patted my back, her rhythmic strokes steadying me—until she suddenly stiffened, looking past my shoulder.

"Did you catch the audio?" she asked.

I froze.

Mom pulled back, smoothing the lace of my veil with cool, practiced fingers. "There you go. Now, Mother played along with their little three-surprise bit. Let’s get the wedding started, shall we?"

Ethan bounded over, his arm slinging over her shoulder. "Sarah, your mom is brilliant. She knows exactly how to make you waterworks."

I reached up, unpinned the heavy veil from my hair, and dropped it straight into his chest.

"I wasn't joking earlier. I'm done."

Ethan laughed, his eyes darting around the empty banquet hall as if looking for the hidden angles. "Oh, what, are you pranking me now?"

Zoe drifted over, her smile bright and vicious. "That look in your eyes, though—total runaway bride. Sister, who knew you were the actress in the family?"

Ethan scanned the room, chuckling softly. "Alright, we got the footage. This one's going to hit a million views by tonight."

To prepare for this day, I’d sat in the makeup chair at four in the morning, terrified that I wouldn't look pretty enough for him. But in his eyes, my tears weren't heartbreak—they were just content.

I turned my back on them, walking toward the ceremonial stage where an empty floral arch waited. I picked up the cordless microphone from the podium.

"I’m sorry, everyone. Today’s wedding is canceled."

I gave the room a deep, formal bow.

When I straightened up, the cavernous hall had gone completely still. Dozens of faces turned toward me from the tables—neighbors and old family friends who had watched Ethan and me grow up together. Every time they saw me over the years, they’d ask with warm grins when they’d finally get to drink our wedding wine.

Now, I had brought them all into the same room just to tell them there was no wedding at all.

My fingers tightened around the metal cylinder of the mic, my mouth opening to offer some kind of explanation, when my uncle near the back suddenly began to clap.

"Yes! That’s my girl! Good for you!"

I stared at him, my eyes stinging.

At last year’s Thanksgiving dinner, he had slammed his palm against the dining table, declaring within earshot of every relative that women my age had no business being picky—they just needed to settle down and take what they could get. Yet here he was, cheering for my independence.

A second later, he waved a hand toward Ethan, grinning broadly.

"You little punk. A fake wedding, and you had us all fooled. Ethan, your view count is going through the roof today—you owe your uncle a cut."

The words caught in my throat, choking me.

A fake wedding?

One by one, the tables around him began to applaud, turning to offer Ethan thumbs-ups and congratulations.

Before I could process the shift in gravity, my aunt called out from the second row, her voice bright and easy.

"Sarah, come on down and get some food. When you were crying and bowing to me just now, I almost broke character and told you it wasn't even real."

Only twenty minutes ago, she had glared at me across the aisle, asking how I could possibly mess up a date this important. I had apologized profusely for making her waste a Saturday, and she had just sighed and shaken her head.

"So… none of this is real?" I whispered into the mic.

My aunt nodded, turning back to her table to pick up her chopsticks.

I stood alone under the stage lights, my chest hollowing out.

A sharp memory snagged in my mind—a grade-school awards ceremony. Zoe had shoved me hard from behind just as the principal called out a name.

"Sarah, that's you! They've called you three times!"

I’d scrambled up the steps, my hand outstretched for the certificate, only for the principal to gently push my arm down. Not you, dear. Wrong last name.

The auditorium had laughed, and Zoe’s laugh had been the loudest. I’d stood there on that stage, my hands dangling uselessly by my sides, not knowing where to put them.

It was Ethan who had walked up the steps then. He’d taken my hand, his palm dry and warm.

You just misheard, big deal. What’s so funny?

He’d led me down the stairs, using his own body to shield me from their eyes.

Standing on the stage now, I looked for that Ethan.

He was huddled with Zoe by the corner of the head table, the glow of her phone screen illuminating their faces as they replayed the clip of me apologizing through my tears. Zoe whispered something, and Ethan laughed.

I had spent years trying to marry the boy who led me off that stage. But he had been gone for a long time.

2

I looked back toward my mother. "Mom, why didn't you tell me?"

"Of course we had to keep you in the dark," she said, smoothing her jacket with a smug little air. "If you knew, where would the raw reaction be? For this whole production, I had to call everyone on the list one by one to coordinate. Your uncle even traded shifts with a coworker."

Zoe linked her arm through Ethan’s, stepping up to the base of the stage.

"Sis, you didn't actually think he was going to marry you today, did you? It’s all for the channel. It’s scripted!" She giggled, pitching her voice up. "And you actually went up there to bow—mom had to hire those people in the second row just to fill the seats!"

I looked at Ethan. The memory of last night was raw—him sitting on the edge of the bed, helping me practice my vows line by line, his voice low and tender.

"If you didn't want to marry me, why let me go through all of this? Why make me prep a wedding?"

Before he could answer, Zoe’s lower lip wobbled, her eyes welling up with convincing moisture.

"Because he wants to marry me, Sarah. That photo wasn't a joke." She stepped forward, reaching out to press my palm against the small curve of her stomach. "Be a good sister and let us be. I’m pregnant."

I jerked my hand away as if I’d been burned, staring at Ethan with a cold, ringing numbness in my ears.

"How long?"

My mother let out a heavy, practiced sigh, stepping in to pat my shoulder. "Don’t take it so hard, honey. At least with Ethan, we’re all still family."

My head snapped toward her, every muscle in my neck locking tight. "What do you mean, still family? You all conspired to pull off a fake wedding just to shove me aside for my sister?"

The air in the hall went dead. Nobody moved. Nobody breathed.

Then Ethan chuckled, breaking the tension, and reached out to give the back of Zoe’s head a playful tap.

"Alright, are you still playing the part? The cameras are off, you can drop the act."

Zoe wiped an imaginary tear, her laughter bubbling right back up. "Who knew she’d fall for the exact same trick twice?"

My mother crossed her arms, shaking with silent mirth. "She’s never had your street smarts, Zoe. Believes every word anyone tells her. If we didn't look out for her, she’d get scammed out of her apartment by sundown."

I stood there, my fingers tangled in the heavy fabric of the designer gown I’d spent months altering.

Mom always said I lacked Zoe’s common sense. Yet I was the one who earned a master’s degree. I was the one who landed a stable job at a major tech firm and wired money home for their mortgage every single month.

Ethan crossed the room, dropping down to one knee to straighten the hem of my ruined dress.

"Come on, look at the real surprise now." He held out his phone.

The screen showed a sun-drenched coastal lawn blanketed in pink peonies, anchored by a simple white wooden arbor against the ocean. It was the exact venue I’d showed him six months ago—the one he had dismissed as "too much work," causing me to drop the subject entirely.

"I booked it half a year ago," he murmured, looking up through his lashes. "Our real wedding is next month. Aren't you excited?"

I stared at the glowing pixels. He knew every single detail of what I wanted for the day we actually tied the knot—yet he didn't care that turning my humiliation into clickbait would break my heart.

Ethan reached up, his thumb brushing toward my wet cheek, but I turned my head, letting his hand hit empty air.

"Don't."

"Alright, stop sulking. Once you decompress, we can sit down and go over the details for next month."

"What details? Which parts are real, and which parts are just more content?"

"I swear to God, this time is real. The venue, the flights—they’re locked in."

Before I could speak, my mother stepped in, her mouth set in a hard line. "The man put in all this effort, and instead of being grateful, you’re throwing a tantrum?"

She stepped closer, dropping her voice to a harsh hiss.

"Ethan’s channel brings in the views, which means more brand deals, which means more money for your future together. Can't you see the bigger picture?"

I looked down at my shoes, silent. To them, it was just content creation. My dignity was just collateral damage in an algorithm.

Ethan’s hand found mine, his skin warm. "Sarah, let’s go get some food. You haven’t eaten since dawn."

I pulled my hand back, inch by inch, until my palm was completely free. "You guys eat. I’m going to change."

I walked back to the dressing room, closing the heavy wooden door behind me. Just as the latch clicked, I heard Zoe’s voice through the gap.

"Hey—what if she actually doesn't show up next month?"

Ethan gave a short, dismissive laugh. "She’s depended on me since we were teenagers. She’s waited this long. She’ll show."

I pulled the wedding dress off over my head, letting the expensive silk pool around my ankles like water. Then I opened my laptop, found the email from my doctoral advisor in London—the one who had praised my research paper and offered me a fully funded fellowship—and clicked Reply.

I had turned him down once because I couldn't bear to leave my mother, my sister, or Ethan behind.

This time, I typed three sentences:

Dear Professor, I accept. I’ll be there.

3

I opened my phone to check if Ethan had posted anything from the wedding, only to be met with a cascade of hostile notifications.

What kind of moron lists her degree as a master's on her author page with an IQ like that?

Someone had dug up my old university thesis, circling my name in red. Someone run a plagiarism check on this.

Within minutes, they’d found my academic email address.

Panic spiked through my chest. I started typing frantic replies, but nobody was listening. Half an hour later, my advisor’s assistant forwarded a screenshot of a formal grievance filed with the dean’s office, followed by a direct call from the professor himself.

"Sarah, you need to get back to the department immediately to clear this up. An academic integrity flag is career-ending. We need to investigate this now."

"I understand, I'll be right there—"

I hung up, my palms slick with cold sweat.

When I stepped out of the dressing room, Ethan and Zoe were still huddled over a tablet, laughing as they watched the footage of me apologizing table-to-table.

I shoved the phone screen into Ethan’s line of sight. "Delete it! Someone reported me for academic fraud because of your video!"

Ethan glanced down, barely breaking stride. "Are people out of their minds? I watched you write every word of that thesis."

A hot knot formed in my throat. I spent months in the sterile chill of the lab, running regressions and compiling data until my eyes bled. "Then help me clear my name. Tell them it's mine."

He reached for his phone, but Zoe’s hand slapped down over his wrist.

"Are you insane? This video is tied to an exclusive brand sponsorship. If we take it down now, we owe an eighty-thousand-dollar kill fee."

Mom chimed in immediately, her finger jabbing in my direction. "Why are you always making things so difficult? What’s a few research papers compared to real money? Just let the school check it out; why make Ethan take the hit?"

I stared at Ethan. He had already dropped his hand back to his side, his screen dark.

"Why don't you head down to the campus and see what they need?" he said mildly. "I can drive you."

My phone buzzed again—another urgent ping from the department chair asking for an ETA. I couldn't wait for a polite exit; I grabbed Ethan’s arm and pulled him toward the exit.

As we hit the glass doors, Zoe sprinted after us. "The brand rep wants us at the studio now. If we close this contract, next quarter’s partnership is worth a hundred grand!"

"My department head is waiting for me," I said, my voice shaking.

Ethan looked out at the heavy gray rain sheeting across the parking lot, pulling a large umbrella from the rack and handing it to me. "Take a cab, Sarah. I’ll come get you as soon as I wrap this up."

I stood on the curb, watching him usher my mother and Zoe into the dry, warm interior of his SUV, making sure Zoe’s dress didn't catch in the door frame.

The video he filmed of me had netted him a six-figure contract—yet when my entire future was being burned to the ground, he didn't have twenty minutes to spare.

I couldn't wait. I stepped out into the downpour, fumbling with my phone to hail a ride.

My phone rang. Ethan’s face flashed on the screen.

"Are you in the car yet?"

"Not yet—"

A pair of high beams blared out of the wet blur, blinding me. A sedan hydroplaned around the corner, its tires screaming as it fishtailed toward the curb, clipping me against the concrete barrier before accelerating into the gray mist.

My lower stomach slammed into the metal railing. Pain tore through my body, blinding white and absolute, dropping me to my knees.

I hit the pavement, curling into a tight ball, every breath feeling like swallowing broken glass. My phone lay beside my cheek, the line still open.

"Sarah?"

"I… car accident… side gate… call an ambulance…"

"Don't move. I’m right around the corner."

Warm blood bubbled up the back of my throat.

Then Zoe’s voice drifted through the speaker, high and dismissive. "Oh, come on, sis. Couldn't find an Uber so you're staging an emergency?"

"Sarah, our brand deal is worth a million," she crowed. "Stop playing games."

My mother’s voice joined in. "If she’s talking on the phone, she’s fine. Tell her to catch a bus."

Ethan was silent for a beat. Then he let out an exhausted, long-suffering sigh.

"Sarah, I’m trying to build a life for us. Stop acting like this."

The line clicked dead.

I tried to drag myself toward the phone, toward the emergency services app, but my limbs wouldn't obey. The wet asphalt smelled of oil and rain. The world at the edge of my vision began to flake away into absolute black.

4

When I woke up, the fluorescent hospital lights felt like needles behind my eyes.

The local anesthesia was wearing off, leaving a dull, rhythmic cramping low in my abdomen. I tried to push myself up on my elbows, but my arms were useless noodles of bone and fatigue.

A nurse hurried over, pressing my shoulders back down. "Easy, honey. You took a heavy hit to the abdomen. You need to rest."

My phone chimed on the tray table, the screen lighting up with a string of notifications from Ethan.

Stop being stubborn. The shoot went great, let’s get dinner tonight.

My thumb moved deliberately, steadily. I blocked his number.

Then I went to my contacts and blocked my mother and Zoe, one by one.

From now on, I told myself, I don't have a family.

When Ethan, my mother, and Zoe finally burst into the room, I was staring blankly out the reinforced window at the grey parking lot below.

"Sarah, I am so sorry," Ethan said, reaching for my hand. "I genuinely thought you were just throwing a fit about the wedding."

I pulled my hand back, sliding it under the sterile white sheet without a word.

Mom dropped her leather tote bag onto the chair. "We’ve been looking all over for you. You block us on everything, and then you give us this attitude when we finally track you down?"

"You're alive, aren't you? What’s with the long face?"

My fingers curled into the fabric of the blanket until my knuckles turned yellow. My chest felt hollow, scooped out with a melon baller.

Zoe picked up the medical evaluation sheet resting on the rolling tray. She scanned the top paragraph, then let out a sharp, theatrical gasp.

"Sarah… your uterus… they removed it?"

My eyes snapped wide open. "What did you just say?"

She clapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide with fake horror as she read the lines again. "It says right here… you can't have kids anymore…"

I hauled myself up against the pillows, ignoring the white-hot tearing sensation in my lower abdomen, and snatched the papers from her hand.

I read the medical jargon over and over, cross-referencing my own name at the top of the page. My finger traced the lines of the prognosis, but my skin wouldn't stop shaking.

A single tear dropped, striking the glossy paper with a distinct tock, then another, until the ink began to blur.

Even through all the chaos of leaving Ethan, I had always assumed that one day I would meet someone kind, build a real home, and hold a baby of my own.

Now, the page in my hand informed me that door was permanently bolted shut.

Ethan dropped his chin to his chest. His shoulders began to heave, silent and heavy.

"It’s my fault," he choked out, his voice cracking. "I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you. We don't need kids. It’s okay."

Zoe was crying now, too, dabbing at her dry eyes with a corner of her sleeve. "Sis, I swear I didn't know it would be this bad…"

I pulled the coarse hospital blanket up over my face, sealing myself in the dark. I didn't want to hear their apologies. I didn't want to hear their voices. There was nothing left inside me to break.

Ethan tucked the blanket gently around my shoulders. "Get some sleep. I’ll go talk to the doctor."

Mom and Zoe followed him out into the hallway.

The door didn't click all the way shut.

A moment later, my mother’s voice drifted through the narrow gap.

"Ethan, what are your plans now?" A heavy pause. "You’ve known her sister since you were kids, and you two work so well together on the channel. If worst comes to worst… you could always swap brides for the ceremony next month. We’re still family."

Another pause, weighted with something ugly.

"When your dad passed away last year, he made you promise to keep the family line going..."

My fingernails dug so hard into my palms I could feel the skin breaking.

The report was still sitting on the nightstand. I hadn't even had a chance to ask the doctor for details, yet my mother had already mapped out how to repurpose my ruined body for their convenience.

After a long silence, Ethan’s voice came through, flat and quiet.

"Let's not talk about this here. Don't let Sarah hear you."

I bit down on my lower lip until the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth, hot tears streaming down my nose to pool in the cotton of my pillow.

The door clicked open.

I kept my eyes closed, my breathing even, forcing every muscle in my body to stop shaking.

Ethan sat on the edge of the mattress, his thumb wiping a wet streak from my cheek. "Don't be scared, Sarah."

I didn't open my eyes.

A sudden snort of laughter cracked the silence behind him.

"We got it!" Zoe hissed, her voice shrill with glee. "She heard you! Look, the blanket is shaking!"

I opened my eyes. Zoe’s phone was planted two inches from my face, the red recording light blinking steadily.

Ethan turned around, squinting at the screen. "Did you catch all of it?"

"From the moment she read the report."

I pushed myself up, my voice shaking so hard the words barely formed. "Even this? Even the fact that I can't have children… you’re filming this for the channel?"

Zoe giggled, tossing the piece of paper onto my lap. "Relax, it’s a prop. The report’s fake. We just wanted to see what you’d do."

I lunged for the paper, but she snatched it back out of reach, grinning like a feral cat.

My mother’s laughter joined in, loud and unrestrained. "You should have heard your face! If we wanted to keep it private, would we be standing right here by the door?"

Looking at their bright, delighted faces, the gears finally clicked. It was just another setup. Another bit.

Ethan reached for my hand. "It’s just for the engagement series. Come on, we’ll have kids of our own someday. Stop crying."

I yanked my hand back and slammed my palm against the emergency call button by the headboard.

Zoe stepped closer, the lens tracking my face. "Come on, sis, give the camera a smile. How does it feel to know your plumbing is still intact?"

I shoved her hand away and shouted toward the hallway for the nurse.

When the nurse hurried into the room, I pointed a trembling finger at the three of them.

"Get these people out of my room."

By evening, the hospital security had escorted them off the floor, and I officially marked my chart as No Visitors.

My phone buzzed. An email from my professor:

The integrity review is cleared. No wrongdoing found. I heard about your accident; I’ll have the fellowship enrollment forms mailed to your residence. Rest up.

I read the lines three times before the iron band around my chest finally loosened.

Two days later, the doctor discharged me.

Ethan’s text waited for me at the bottom of the screen:

Sarah, I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning.

I blocked his number as well, booked a one-way ticket to London for that evening, and checked myself out twelve hours early.

From now on, my tears would never again be raw material for his punchlines.