My phone wouldn’t stop buzzing.

I groaned, blindly reaching toward the bedside table, ready to silence the noise for good. But when I finally squinted at the screen, my breath caught—thirty missed calls.

That’s when it hit me. Today was my wedding day.

And I’d overslept.

I shot upright, heart pounding, adrenaline slicing through the fog. I dashed to the sink, brushed my teeth with one hand while ripping through my closet with the other. In a frantic blur, I threw on my favorite beige suit and snatched a dark green tie—still untied—as I bolted from the room.

My thoughts spiraled as I charged through the gleaming halls of the five-star hotel. What will my parents think? Just yesterday, I was arguing with them—insisting I wasn’t ready for this arranged marriage. And now this.

But which room? There were three identical conference halls. I didn’t check. I just chose the first one.

I burst through the doors, winded and disheveled, and sprinted down the aisle—tie flapping in my hand, breath ragged, suit clinging to sweat-damp skin.

All eyes turned. The bride stood waiting at the altar, bouquet trembling ever so slightly in her grip. Still panting, I sucked in a breath and said, “Excuse me… hi.”

My heart was pounding like a war drum. I tried for a crooked smile and then said, “I heard I’m marrying you today, so… let’s do it quickly and get it over with.”

.........................

The marriage officer didn’t waste time—probably a busy man with another wedding to officiate. He gestured for me to lift the bride’s veil.

And there it was—a face I swore I’d seen before. Familiar, but like a name just out of reach. I couldn’t place it.

The little boy who handed me the ring looked up at us, wide-eyed with confusion. The bride, on the other hand, smiled—a warm, radiant curve that stole my breath. She must’ve felt it too. Do I know you?

For the first time that morning, I hesitated. Maybe marriage won’t be so bad. She was stunning—and somehow felt like a memory made flesh.

I smiled back. We exchanged vows, swift and ceremonial. And then I knew what was coming. The kiss.

I couldn’t stop grinning at the thought. My hands were still wrapped around hers, and when our eyes locked again, something fluttered in my chest. Just yesterday, I’d been railing against the idea of this arrangement—and now? Now I was smiling like a fool.

When the officer finally said, “You may kiss the bride,” I didn’t hesitate. I stepped closer. Her perfume met me first—sweet, crisp, comforting. I closed my eyes.

Our lips touched. Soft. Fragrant. Familiar.

I couldn’t tell if it was her lip gloss or her magic, but it set every nerve on fire. And instead of a polite brush… I kissed her deeply.

I stepped back slowly, dazed. She was radiant in that white gown, a vision I could hardly believe was real. Who wouldn’t want to marry someone like her?

Then came the signatures—pen gliding across paper, turning chaos into contract. As soon as i was done signing, my phone buzzed in my jacket pocket. I ignored it. Then again—longer this time. I panicked. If it rang mid-ceremony, the scandal would outlive us all.

While she signed, I slipped my phone out, just to silence it. The message on the screen froze me.

Where are you? We’re still waiting, and people are getting impatient. Come quickly.

The breath left my body. I scanned the room. Where are my parents? Gone. Only unfamiliar faces exchanging wary glances and whispered questions.

And then it hit. Wrong conference room. Wrong wedding. Right kiss. Accidental marriage. Before I could even begin to process what was happening, someone in the crowd blurted out, “What’s going on?”

The marriage officer squinted at us, visibly puzzled. “Are you Kendrick and Liza?”

I slowly shook my head, a sign to say no. Beside me, the bride—Liza—spoke up, “Yes, I’m Liza.”

The officer froze, his hands locking behind his back as realization dawned. He glanced between us, pale as parchment. “Two strangers... tied the knot?” he muttered, then began pacing the altar like a man unraveling at the seams.

Whispers rippled through the room, followed by a few nervous laughs. Some guests looked mortified. Others... were oddly delighted, perhaps because in an arranged marriage, no one really knew who the groom was supposed to be anyway.

And then my phone buzzed again. I snatched it up with trembling hands—it was Stanley, my best friend. I answered immediately, voice tight.

“Stanley, I need backup. I’m in conference room one. Please. Now.” I knew if I gave him a chance to ask questions, he’d yell first and help second. So I pleaded before he could.

Within seconds, Stanley came barreling into the wrong ceremony—our real ceremony—his shoes screeching across the marble floor. And then, right behind him: my father.

A billionaire. Stoic. Usually composed. Now storming into a circus of a wedding gone viral. Trailing him: my three brothers. And—of course—camera crews.

When Stanley reached me, the room fell into a stunned hush. My father stopped beside him, jaw clenched, clearly trying to keep his composure. But it was too late.

The perfect moment? Obliterated. The official wedding? A headline waiting to explode. Guests glanced at each other in confusion, whispers rising like smoke. The accidental groom had just gone public.

Before anyone could react, the woman I was supposed to marry Lilian stormed in, heels clicking like gunshots on marble.

“Oh, so this was your plan, Ethan” she spat, her voice trembling with rage. “To humiliate me and my family in front of everyone? I should’ve known, Mr. Brown and your son. Another one of your business strategies, no doubt.”

Her voice. It echoed in me. Too familiar. Too sharp. I turned slowly, hoping I was wrong. But no.

Lillian. The girl who had broken my heart—twice—back in university. And now? My intended bride. She looked up. Our eyes locked. And for a heartbeat, she went pale.

My heart began to hammer in my chest, each beat louder than the last. The air felt thin. I turned back to the room, forced a tight, half-smile. Then my expression dropped. My foot tapped involuntarily on the polished floor. A low thrum of panic, anger, disbelief.

Why them?

Why her?

Why now?

And then—a quiet voice in my head, steady despite the storm.

You didn’t make a mistake.

You just dodged one.

My dad, realizing it was too late for me to marry the one they had planned, stiffened. With a cold wave of his hand, he ordered his security to help Lilian out of the room, trying to sweep the chaos under a rug woven from pride and regret.

Lilian staggered a half-step back, her eyes wide. The murmur of guests grew sharper, crueler. One of the guards gently touched her arm, and she recoiled—not with violence, but with visible disbelief.

Her fingers trembled at her sides, clenching and unclenching as if trying to hold on to her dignity. Her heels echoed against the polished floor, too loud, like shame in motion. But she didn’t cry. She didn’t protest. Her chin lifted a fraction, lips pressed together in a defiant line—as if to say, you may escort me out, but you won’t erase me.

Then Lilian’s father, an influential businessman and once my father’s friend, approached. He placed a hand on my dad’s shoulder, his grip calm yet firm. His voice was low, almost controlled—but laced with unmistakable disappointment.

“They’re just kids. What happened today… we can’t undo. But this—this is humiliating. I expected better from Ethan, your son.”

And with that, he turned and walked away, followed by his people. The flashes from the cameras kept going, each one lighting up the room like a slap.

My dad didn’t speak. He just stood there, jaw tight, disappointment carved into every line of his face. He left without acknowledging the parents of the girl I had just married. Was it because they weren’t wealthy enough? Or something deeper? I don’t know. I only know he didn’t look back.

I knew right then—I was in serious trouble with my family. Going home wouldn’t be a celebration; it would be a storm. But for the sake of my dad’s reputation and name in the city, I couldn’t just walk away in silence. I had to do something.

Without overthinking it, I reached for Liza’s hand—firmly, but with just enough softness to make it look romantic—and led her toward her parents. We both wore smiles, carefully painted on for the watching eyes and cameras.

Her parents returned our smiles with surprising warmth, greeting me with kind words and a joy I wasn’t sure I deserved. I slipped my hand into my pocket and pulled out two cards: a credit card, and my business card. I handed them to Liza.

Then I took her hand once more, lifted it to my lips, and kissed it lightly. “You need to call me as soon as you can,” I whispered. And then I turned and walked away.

Behind me, the room erupted—claps, whistles, flashes of cameras. In that moment, I realized... maybe I hadn’t fixed everything. But I’d bought my father’s pride enough time to breathe.

Mr. Tembo, Liza’s father, couldn’t contain himself. Grief overtook him like a wave crashing without warning. He left the crowded hall in haste, nearly stumbling as he pushed open the bathroom door.

Inside, with trembling hands gripping the sink, he bowed his head and wept — not just for his daughter, but for all that had unraveled in a matter of minutes. His breaths were uneven. His shoulders shook. He had always seen Liza as strong — but seeing her dignity bruised like that pierced deeper than he expected.

Meanwhile, Kedrick — Liza’s would-be groom — arrived at the venue with his parents. They walked into chaos. The air buzzed with tension, camera flashes bursting like fireworks as reporters swarmed them with questions. His mother let out a quiet gasp. His father frowned, as though sensing something had gone terribly wrong.

Before anyone could explain, concerned relatives rushed forward, voices overlapping in half-told accounts. But it was the devastated looks, the stiffened gazes, and the murmur of scandal that told him enough. As understanding hit, Kedrick’s knees nearly buckled.

He wept — openly, bitterly — right there at the entrance. This was his arranged marriage and he had agreed to it with joy. And now, in the blink of an eye, it was all gone.

Still trembling, Kedrick pushed through the crowd and made his way to the front. He took the microphone, knuckles white around it. But just as he opened his mouth to speak, a voice cut through the hush.

“Kedrick… please marry me!”

Gasps swept across the room. Kedrick froze. He looked toward the crowd, stunned, as one of his closest friends stood there — eyes shining, vulnerable. It was her. The one he’d secretly had feelings for all along. The one he’d never dared approach, afraid to ruin their friendship.

And Liza… she heard it all. From across the room, her heart dropped. This was the man she was told she would marry. The one she thought might be her forever, was slipping away—just like that. Her throat tightened, tears stung her eyes, but none fell.

Her hand touched the gold band now on her finger — a reminder that she had disappointed her granny, the one who arranged this marriage with such care. If only she'd been here, maybe non of this would have happened, Liza thought to herself.

A few minutes later, Kendrick married Alisha—his girl best friend. I don’t know if it was heartbreak that pushed him to it, or if he simply needed someone to stand beside him that day. But just like that, the vows meant for Liza were whispered to someone else.

Somewhere behind that crowded hall, away from the flashes and forced smiles, Liza stood alone. The room had thinned out, but her world hadn’t. She looked down at the wedding band on her finger, as if hoping it might offer an explanation she hadn’t heard. The cold metal felt foreign, like it had been meant for someone else's life. Her hand trembled just enough to betray what her face wouldn’t. She swallowed hard.

Her phone buzzed in her palm. She blinked once, twice, then turned the screen toward herself. Unknown number. Four words. "We need to talk.”

And just like that, everything shifted again.

Liza and her parents returned home cloaked in silence. Their heads remained low, avoiding neighbors’ glances as if shame clung to their skin. The embarrassment was sharp, fresh—but under the surface, a different truth pulsed quietly: their daughter had just married into a wealthy family.

A family unknown in the city, yes—but powerful enough that by morning, their faces would be plastered across newspapers and lit up on every screen.

Meanwhile, Kedrick and Alisha had already left for their honeymoon. Perhaps it was easier for them. Maybe being friends made falling in love simpler—or maybe they had been in love all along and hadn’t dared speak it until now.

A week later, Stanley called early in the morning. I wasn’t working that day, and I knew from his voice the moment I answered—he wanted something.

“Hi, Ethan. How’s it, bro?” he said, casual but with that familiar charm. “By the way… would you mind doing me a big favor? I’m heading to the department store with my girlfriend today—and you know how it goes. Ladies can spend hours shopping, man. I need backup,” he laughed. “She’s bringing a friend too, from abroad. Maybe she needs company while they shop?”

His voice dipped into a softer tone, playful and persuasive. I could almost picture the smirk on his face as he waited for my answer.

“Mmmmm.” I let the pause linger—long enough to make him sweat—then finally said, “Okay, you win. But just this once. No more favors after this, alright?”

“Yes! Thanks, bro!” he said, practically shouting into the phone. I could hear the grin in his voice. “What time?” I asked.

“Now. Come pick us up at my place. And bring one of your fancy cars. I know my girl would love that,” he replied, clearly already picturing the look on her face.

“Alright then, see you soon.”

I threw on something casual and headed out the door. As I locked up, a familiar unease crept into my chest. You're probably wondering what happened between me and my family after the wedding. Truth is—I haven’t faced them yet. I’ve been keeping to myself. Knowing my dad, it’s probably better if I show up after two weeks... maybe more.

Ten minutes later, I pulled up at Stanley’s house. He and his girlfriend were waiting outside, both buzzing with excitement. What they didn’t know was that the department store we were headed to—flashy, five floors, chandelier-lit—is owned by my father.

But I didn’t say a word. Some things are better left unsaid. At least for now. I parked and walked over to Stanley while his girlfriend, Shalom, stood nearby, half-laughing into a phone call—probably chatting with her friend Samantha.

“That’s my man,” Stanley mumbled with a grin.

I rolled my eyes. “Come on, man. Why drag me into this? This could’ve been a proper date with your girlfriend—just the two of you.”

Stanley shot me a look, his brows raised. Then he laughed, loud and unapologetic. “Wow. That’s what you think I should’ve done? Okay, then—consider it a double date.”

I froze. A double date? That’s what this was? I blinked, slowly processing. Of course it was his plan. Stanley had been trying to nudge me out of my emotional hole for days now. But this? This wasn’t going to work. At least... that’s what I told myself.

We drove through a few quiet turns before pulling up in front of Samantha’s gate. To my surprise, she was already outside—waiting, glowing.

She stood poised in a sleek blue pencil dress that hugged her figure just right, the kind of outfit that didn’t shout for attention but still stole every glance. Her skin, especially her face, seemed to glow naturally beneath the morning light. When she smiled, I caught a glimpse of dimples—and her teeth, white like fresh snow, flashed with the kind of ease that made you forget what you were thinking.

I stared longer than I meant to. Somewhere between the flutter in my chest and the lump in my throat, I felt something shift. The heavy ache of marrying a stranger—the confusion, the weight—it all faded, like fog burning off under the sun.

Thank you, Stanley, I thought. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea. I turned toward him. He was already grinning, clearly enjoying the show. He snapped his fingers in front of my face like he was waking me from a dream.

“What a beauty,” he said, soft and teasing. “I can see you’re smiling.”

We both laughed—quick, low, and awkwardly honest. Then we straightened up, just in time as the girls walked up to the car, their voices and perfume carrying with them the promise of something new.

Shalom knocked on Stanley's window and gestured for him to lower it. “You and me in the back. Come on—quick,” she said with a mischievous smile.

I blinked. That caught me off guard. I watched as Stanley gave her a look—half surprised, half amused—and then glanced at me. He didn’t say a word. Just opened the door and jumped into the back seat like it had all been rehearsed.

That’s when it clicked. They’d planned this. Why else would Shalom insist on switching places? Weren’t girls supposed to sit together, chatting away in the back while the guys did the driving?

I hesitated, then stepped around the car and opened the front passenger door for her without thinking. A gentleman’s reflex. She smiled, murmured a soft “thank you,” and slid in gracefully.

They laughed behind me—Stanley, Shalom both—clearly entertained by my newfound manners. I even laughed with them, quietly amazed. What is happening to me? This isn’t how I usually behave. At least not with women who aren’t clients or business partners.

We pulled off, headed for the department store. The drive was steady—well, almost. My eyes kept betraying me. I tried to focus on the road, but every few seconds they flicked to her. Just a glance. A curious glimpse. It felt like an involuntary habit, like something magnetic was pulling at my attention.

Then she caught me. Without turning her head, she smiled and said, in a calm, velvet-soft voice, “Can you at least watch the road?”

She laughed gently. Stanley and Shalom burst out laughing behind us, teasing me like we were kids again. I smiled too, sheepish. But inside—I was unraveling.

The city blurred around us—silver buildings, bold billboards, streaks of morning light cutting across the windshield. Stanley and Shalom were laughing over a playlist. Samantha sat quiet beside me, scrolling absently through her phone.

Then my phone rang. My heart lurched when I saw the caller ID: Dad.

I tapped the speaker button.

“Yes, Dad.”

His voice was clipped. Measured. “Ethan, you need to come home tonight. We have to talk. Oh—and one more thing. You have a blind date tonight.”

Then he hung up. The car fell silent. Even the music paused itself. And just like that, my breath caught.