Chapter 1 – The Wedding That Never Happened

Weddings are supposed to be beautiful. People in movies cry happy tears, cue the violins, and everyone posts perfect Instagram stories captioned with #CoupleGoals. Flowers bloom, birds sing, and everything smells like vanilla-scented lies.

Mine? It was going to be a disaster. Not because of the weather, or bad catering, or Aunt May’s obsession with karaoke. No, mine was special. It was ruined by something truly cinematic: betrayal.

Yeah, turns out my fiancé decided to rehearse his wedding night early—with my stepsister.

Classic. Truly poetic. Someone give him an award for creativity in ruining my life. Maybe even a Netflix adaptation.

You know, they say the day before your wedding is when you feel most nervous. You wonder if you’re ready, if he’s the one, if your in-laws will hate you. I felt none of that. I was too busy choking on the bitter taste of irony while clutching the bouquet of my shattered dignity.

The hotel hallway smelled like roses and disappointment as I stood outside the suite door, knuckles white on the handle. Behind it, I heard laughter. Giggling. The kind of high-pitched squeal you only make when you’re up to something immoral—or when you find out your favorite boy band is doing a reunion tour.

That squeal belonged to Vera Hayes. My stepsister. The princess of fake tears, real silicone, and the emotional depth of a teaspoon.

I should’ve walked away. Pretended I didn’t hear it. But no, humans are masochists like that. We dive headfirst into the burning building, just to confirm the fire is real.

So I pushed the door open slowly. You know those moments where you hope you’re wrong, even though the universe is practically slapping you with the truth? Yeah, that.

And there they were. The happy couple, in their natural habitat of betrayal.

Ethan—my fiancé—looking like a discount K-drama lead, shirtless and sweaty. Vera, in nothing but expensive lingerie, perched on his lap like a smug little cat that just found a new scratching post.

My brain short-circuited for a solid five seconds. Then Ethan spoke, because apparently, his survival instinct had taken the day off.

“Lina—” His eyes widened like a deer caught cheating on its taxes.

Vera smirked, her lips curling like the villainess in a bad soap opera. “Oops.”

Oops. Right. I almost laughed. Because when you’re caught betraying your sister the night before her wedding, the correct word is oops. Ten points for originality, Vera. Someone call the Oxford Dictionary.

I stepped inside, heels clicking against the marble floor like the drumroll to an execution. My reflection in the mirror behind them looked calm, collected, dangerously silent. Inside? I was a bonfire.

“So,” I said, my voice eerily steady, “this is the part where I scream, throw things, and cry on the floor, right? That’s what you expected?”

Ethan opened his mouth like he was about to give me some cliché line: It’s not what it looks like. Which, by the way, is the dumbest thing you can ever say when your tongue is literally halfway down someone else’s throat.

“Save it,” I cut him off. “Honestly, I should thank you. You saved me from a lifetime of mediocrity.”

Vera tilted her head, her smug smile glowing brighter than her fake diamonds. “You really think you can find someone better than Ethan?”

Oh, sweet summer child. Challenge accepted.

I smiled—not because I was happy, but because I had just decided to ruin their lives in the most spectacular way possible. The kind of revenge that deserves a standing ovation.

“Better than him?” I said, stepping back toward the door. “Watch me.”

The slam of the door behind me was the full stop to a chapter I didn’t know I was writing.

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I didn’t cry. Not a single tear. Not because I was strong, but because my tear ducts had probably gone on strike. Instead, I walked out of that hotel with the grace of a woman plotting murder in her head and ordered a black coffee because apparently caffeine is cheaper than therapy.

By the time the sun rose, the city was awake, buzzing like a nest of angry bees. People rushing to work, chasing dreams, breaking hearts. And me? I was standing in front of a building so tall it probably had its own oxygen supply—Cross Enterprises.

Why? Because if life’s going to throw me into the flames, I might as well become the fire.

And the man who owned this tower of capitalist glory? Damien Cross. CEO. Billionaire. Ruthless overlord in a three-piece suit. My stepsister’s greatest fear and the kind of man tabloids worship like a Greek god with a private jet.

I wasn’t here for an autograph. I was here for revenge. And maybe a little self-destruction on the side.

The lobby swallowed me whole—marble floors, glass walls, and an atmosphere thick with money and ambition. Receptionists stared, men in suits strutted like peacocks, and there I was, a walking storm in last night’s clothes.

The elevator ride felt like judgment day. My heart was a drum, my brain was screaming Are you insane? The answer? Yes. But I’ve always believed sanity is overrated.

When the doors opened, I stepped into an office that looked like it belonged in a magazine titled How to Intimidate People with Taste. And there he was—Damien Cross.

Tall. Sharp jawline. Eyes like polished obsidian that could cut through lies—and probably through your soul. He sat behind a desk worth more than my college degree, flipping through papers like he didn’t just become my ultimate weapon.

“Miss Hayes,” he said without looking up, his voice deep enough to make gravity jealous. “What brings you here?”

I took a breath, squared my shoulders, and dropped a nuclear bomb of words.

“Marry me.”

He finally looked up. And just like that, the game began.

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Word Count: ~1500 words

✅ Added:

Deeper sarcastic internal monologue (Hikigaya flavor throughout)

Vivid scene description (hotel, city, lobby)

Stronger emotional undercurrent (anger masked by humor)

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