Too Late, I'm Someone Else's Wife

At my best friend's wedding, the bridal bouquet bounced off a bridesmaid's fingertips and landed squarely in my arms.

The entire ballroom erupted.

Every eye in the room turned to Russell.

Everyone knew we’d been together for eight years, and the crowd wasted no time chanting:

"Propose! Propose!"

"Put a ring on it, Russell! She caught the flowers!"

The crowd shoved him forward until he was standing right in front of me.

My cheeks burned. My heart raced in my throat, foolishly waiting for the words I had craved for years: Marry me.

Instead, Russell just smiled faintly.

He reached down and gently slid the bouquet out of my fingers.

Then, without missing a beat, he turned and handed it to the bridesmaid standing right behind him.

"Lila touched it first," Russell said, turning back to ruffle my hair with his usual condescending warmth.

"Be good, Seren. Ours will be next time."

The spotlight swung away from us, instantly illuminating Lila's flushed, doe-eyed face.

I forced a faint, tight smile.

Russell had no idea.

There wouldn’t be a next time.

My wedding was already set for next week.

Mia, the bride and my best friend since childhood, stood on the altar with her face instantly darkening.

I grabbed her wrist just before she could storm down from the altar.

She turned to look at me, her eyes redder than mine. "She did that on purpose! Seren, I literally told every single bridesmaid that bouquet was reserved for you—"

"Mia," I whispered, holding her hand firmly. "It’s your wedding. Don't ruin your own moment."

The crowd’s attention had already drifted.

Nobody cared about the eight-year girlfriend who got passed over again.

Everyone was watching Lila clutch the white roses to her chest, casting a shy, grateful gaze up at Russell.

Russell stepped smoothly back into the crowd, completely unbothered.

The MC made a cheesy joke into the mic, and the room burst into laughter, moving seamlessly on.

During the reception, I sat at the main table with the bride’s close friends and family, absorbing every sympathetic, pitying glance thrown my way.

Russell sat two tables over with his startup investor buddies, laughing over high-end bourbon.

Lila was glued to the chair beside him.

The space between their shoulders was far closer than any professional boundary allowed between a CEO and his executive assistant.

She wasn't even supposed to be in the bridal party.

But when one of the groomsmen showed up without a partner, Russell casually suggested Lila fill in.

He brought her everywhere lately, claiming she needed "networking experience."

He had even managed to bring her to my best friend’s private wedding.

When Mia and her new husband came by for table toasts, Mia wrapped her arms around my neck, pulling me tight.

"That girl has been clawing her way into Russell’s calendar for six months," Mia hissed in my ear.

"I asked someone at his company. She plays dumb, but she’s calculated. And Russell is a complete idiot—"

"Mia," I murmured, gently patting her back. "You're the most gorgeous bride in the world today. Don't waste your breath on them."

Mia swallowed hard, gave me one last worried look, and moved on.

By midnight, the venue had emptied out.

Russell finally strolled over, holding his coat over one forearm. "Ready to head back?"

He naturally took my clutch in one hand and reached out to drape his other arm over my shoulders.

I stepped to the side, smoothly slipping out of his reach.

"You've had three drinks," I said evenly. "I called an Uber."

He didn’t think twice about the brush-off. He just shrugged. "Smart girl."

The black sedan cut through the city lights.

I stared out the window, watching the neon signs blur into streaks of amber and blue.

"About earlier," Russell broke the silence, his eyes fixed on his glowing phone screen. "Lila really did touch the flowers first. She’s young, Seren. Girls her age get superstitious about wedding luck."

He tapped a few emails before glancing at me. "Giving it back was just the polite thing to do. Don’t take it to heart."

I didn’t answer.

After a few beats of silence, he finally locked his phone and slid across the leather seat toward me. "Are you really sulking?"

"Didn't I promise we'd do it next time?"

"Our wedding is going to be ten times bigger than Mia’s," he murmured. "You can have ten bouquets if you want. Okay?"

A familiar ache tightened in my chest.

It was always like this.

A soothing voice. An empty promise tagged with "someday."

And the absolute, arrogant assumption that I would fold, forgive, and wait.

"Russell," I said quietly.

"Yeah?"

"Remember that pact Mia and I made back in college?" My voice was calm. "We promised that whoever got married first, the other had to get married within seven days."

I turned my head to meet his eyes. "We swore we'd design each other’s maid-of-honor dresses. We promised we’d be the first to witness each other’s happiness."

The car went dead silent.

Russell let out a quiet chuckle.

"A silly college pact? Seren, you’re an adult. You don't actually expect life to work on a seven-day deadline, do you?"

He shook his head, smiling at my supposed childishness. "Real life doesn't work like that."

"Booking a premier venue, hiring the right caterer, syncing up schedules—that takes three months, minimum. We need to plan it properly so you get the perfect day. What's the rush?"

He completely skipped over why he had refused to claim me in public.

The car pulled up to the curb outside our condo high-rise.

Russell leaned across the console, his lips aiming for my cheek in a routine goodnight kiss.

I raised my hand, pressing my palm flat against his chest to hold him back.

"I'm tired, Russell."

He froze, staring into my eyes for a long second.

Then, he let out a short, dismissive sigh and patted my shoulder.

"Right. Being a bridesmaid is exhausting. You head up and get some rest."

"Lila just texted. She couldn't get a ride from the venue, and it's not safe to leave her there alone. I'm going to swing back and pick her up."

I nodded calmly. "Okay."

Russell didn't say anything right away.

He seemed to be waiting for my usual reaction—a jealous argument, a heavy sigh of disappointment, or at least a nagging reminder to come home early.

Instead, I simply pushed the door open and stepped out.

I shut the door behind me.

The Uber taillights flared red before it pulled away from the curb.

I pulled my phone from my clutch and dialed a number.

It answered on the second ring.

"Seren?" The man's voice on the other end was deep, steady.

I breathed out. "Are the wedding invitations ready?"