The Runaway Groom’s Regret

I have been engaged to the same man nine times.

And my fiancé has fled our wedding nine times for the sake of my "terminally ill" sister.

He once swore an oath to me before the priest: "Lily, you are the only one for me in this life."

But every time my sister, Emma, cried, he changed his tone: "Can't you just be a little more sensible? Do you really want Emma to cry in despair on her hospital bed just because of your wedding?"

The first time he ran away, I knelt at the church entrance begging him not to go, but I didn't even get him to look back at me once.

The second time he ran away, I swallowed sleeping pills and was rushed to the hospital by ambulance, but I never waited long enough for him to come visit me even once.

By the eighth time he ran away, I had already learned to obediently wipe away my tears and politely send the wedding guests home.

Until this time, right before the wedding, when I heard Emma crying again on his phone,

I took the initiative to remove my veil and handed it to him.

He scheduled the next wedding date with me as usual, not knowing that, this time, I will disappear completely.

...

"Emma isn't feeling well. Let's cancel the wedding."

Expressionless, I handed the veil to my fiancé, Alexander.

For a split second, his expression faltered.

This was the first time I had ever said the word "cancel."

Alexander casually promised me:

"Next month at the latest, we will hold the wedding again."

If this were before, this sentence would have been the nourishment I needed to keep lingering on with my last breath. I might have even hugged his leg like a dog, begging him to swear he wouldn't leave me behind.

But this time, my heart was as calm as a pool of stagnant water.

"Lily, are you listening to me?"

Alexander frowned, glancing at his watch while loosening his tie, looking very dissatisfied with my silence.

I just nodded.

"Okay."

I turned and opened the suitcase, folding my regular clothes and placing them inside one by one.

In his eyes, I don't look like a fiancée.

I am more like a puppet on standby.

I must wait for the intervals when he feels Emma's health permits, and then, as a matter of routine, put on that heavy wedding dress.

This farce has been staged nine times in three years.

I still remember when he said in front of everyone that he would give me the best.

He did indeed give me enough material compensation.

After all, except for love and dignity, he was willing to give me anything.

The price was simply that I became a well-known joke in the entire upper-class circle. A poor wretch who could be discarded by him at will in a church, in a fitting room, or anywhere else.

My uncharacteristic behavior today seemed to cause Alexander a vague sense of irritation.

After all, the previous times he left, I swallowed pills, cut my wrists, and became hysterical.

He looked at my back and spoken with impatience:

"Don't think I'm afraid just because you're packing your bags."

I interrupted him. "I'm going to stay at Grandma Lana's house for a few days."

If Grandma Lana's health hadn't been deteriorating, I might never have become the adopted daughter of the Sterling family—before that, she was the only person in this world who gave me warmth.

The Sterling couple only adopted me because they had no children.

But when their biological daughter, Emma, was born, I, the substitute, was naturally thrown into the corner to grow up ignored.

Alexander's eyes filled with contempt.

"Go ahead. Just don't get unable to control yourself again and dress up as a delivery worker to spy on me at the hospital. That look is really cheap, Lily."

I instantly understood the mockery in his words. He felt this was just another tactic to gain attention, fearing I would go to the hospital to disturb him and Emma.

After all, every time Emma "fell ill," he needed to guard her bedside without leaving a single step.

After Alexander ran away from the third wedding, I disguised myself as a delivery worker and pushed open the ward door, full of expectation that he would be moved by my deep affection.

Instead, I saw him feeding Emma a strawberry with his mouth.

Emma recognized me and screamed.

Seeing his beloved Emma frightened, Alexander knocked over the hot porridge I had run three blocks to buy. In front of all the doctors and nurses, he pointed at my nose and roared:

"Get out! Are you a dog that just won't go away?"

The back of my hand instantly erupted in shocking redness and blisters.

The deliberately lowered whispers pierced my ears like needles.

"I heard she's the adopted daughter who clung to him shamelessly. Every time Young Master Alexander postpones the wedding for Miss Emma, she comes to the hospital to make a scene. It's really unsightly."

"It's no wonder Alexander looks down on her. I heard she's just a stand-in for Emma..."

In that moment, I was as wretched as a clown who had just been stripped naked and paraded through the streets.

And what's even more ironic is that every time a wedding is canceled, in order to prevent Emma from receiving the slightest bit of criticism, Alexander has his assistant issue an official statement immediately.

"Due to force majeure personal reasons, the wedding of Mr. Alexander and Miss Lily will be postponed again."

What polite official rhetoric.

But in the revelations of those ambiguous "insiders," this "personal reason" is always me.

The first time, it was my "pre-wedding jitters causing me to run away";

The second time, it was me "throwing a tantrum because the ring wasn't big enough";

...

Every single time, in order to protect Emma, Alexander would shove me out without hesitation, making me into that moody, greedy, jealous, vicious woman.

In the entire upper-class circle, I have long lived as an enduring joke.

Only this time, Alexander's threat was indeed unnecessary.

I turned around without hesitation.

"In this life, I will never disturb you two again."

Alexander was stunned for a few seconds.

It wasn't until I opened the car door and stepped one foot into the car that had been waiting for a long time that he seemed to remember something. Standing on the steps, he impatiently finalized the plan:

"Next month on the 10th, we'll hold the wedding again. Don't forget."

I couldn't help but smile.

What a coincidence.

The departure date on my plane ticket is also printed clearly—next month on the 10th.