Right before the ceremony was scheduled to start, my mother suddenly clutched her chest and collapsed to the floor.

I abandoned everything—the wedding, the guests, the altar—and rushed her to the emergency room myself.

The second we pulled into the ER bay, a message popped up in our family group chat. "Larry’s safely at the hospital.

Start the wedding." A second later, Dad replied: "Don’t worry, Justin’s already standing at the main altar." Then my sister added: "Justin’s waited ten years for this.

Today he finally gets to marry Leila, out in the open." The three messages were deleted moments later.

But then Trevor, my supposed best friend, accidentally sent a short video of the ceremony into the chat.

In the video, my younger brother, Justin, was wearing the custom tuxedo I had spent months handselecting.

Leila was standing at the end of the aisle, slipping the ring forged for my finger onto his.

All those friends and relatives who, just yesterday, had hugged me and wished me a lifetime of happiness were chanting in unison: "Kiss her!

Kiss her!" In the hospital bed, Mom snatched the phone from my hand.

The agony on her face was completely gone, replaced only by the frantic panic of someone caught redhanded. "Larry...

Justin has loved Leila for so many years," she pleaded, her voice trembling. "He just wanted a wedding of his own. You’ve had Leila for seven years.

Just let him have this one day, okay?" I looked at the ECG pads still stuck to her chest—pads monitoring a heart that was beating just fine—and a bitter, hollow laugh escaped my throat.

So everyone had been playing their part in this grand performance.

And I was the only fool kept in the dark, performing as the clown for their entertainment. … By the time I rushed back to the hotel, Leila was holding Justin’s hands, reading her vows. "From the moment I met you, I knew that every path I walked in this life was meant to lead me straight back to you." My breath caught in my throat.

Those were my vows. I wrote them myself. I had spent three sleepless nights refining those exact words, trying to condense seven years of devotion into a single sentence.

Just last night, Leila had curled up in my arms, whispering that she would save those words exclusively for me at the altar. And now, she recited them word for word. To Justin.

When the guests spotted me standing in the doorway, the applause ground to a sudden halt.

Leila immediately dropped Justin’s hands and instinctively took a step toward me. "Larry, go back to the hospital," she said softly, though her eyes were guarded. "I’ll explain everything after the ceremony." I shoved past the lingering stares, my blood boiling beneath my skin. "Explain it now!" "Why is he wearing my suit?

Why is he wearing my ring? Why is he standing next to my bride?" Leila stepped back, taking Justin’s hand in hers once more.

A flicker of impatience flashed across her eyes. "Because this wedding was meant for Justin from the very beginning." Those seven words froze me where I stood.

I had spent an entire year planning every single detail of this wedding. And now Leila was telling me it was never meant for me at all.

She glanced at the tailored tuxedo Justin was wearing and spoke in a flat, matteroffact tone. "Justin loved this suit long before you saw it.

He was overseas and couldn't come in for fittings, so I had you try it on to confirm the cuts and measurements." I stared at her, ice cold. "And the ring?" "His, too.

The original design was drafted based on his ring size." A chill raced down my spine, numbing my limbs.

No wonder she had refused to let the tailor let out the shoulders or waist, insisting instead that I lose weight to fit into the jacket.

I had barely eaten a proper dinner in six months just to fit into that tuxedo. Only now did I realize: I was never the groom. I was just a mannequin.

Justin laced his fingers through Leila’s, looking at me with a gaze steeped in gentle, condescending pity. "Larry, don’t blame Leila.

I was the one who asked her to go after you." He sighed softly. "Seven years ago, when I had to go abroad for treatment, doctors said I might never make it back.

You had just been devastated by your exgirlfriend, tossing and turning in bed night after night." His eyes shimmered with just the right amount of sorrowful empathy. "I couldn't bear to see you suffer like that.

So I begged Leila to take care of you in my place while I was gone. The breakfast delivered to your dorm room every morning? That was a menu I put together for you.

The restaurant for your first date? I picked it. Even the confession speech she gave you—I wrote every single word." My throat locked up. It felt like choking on crushed glass.

Leila had pursued me for ninetynine days. I used to keep a journal, meticulously recording every little gesture, every sweet moment of those ninetynine days.

All those little details that had made my heart flutter... Not a single one of them had ever belonged to me.

Trevor walked up beside them, the groomsman boutonnière I had handpicked for him still pinned proudly to his lapel. "Larry, I know keeping you in the dark wasn't right," Trevor said gently, as if reasoning with an unstable child. "But Justin suffered so much more than you.

He had to sit back and watch the love of his life stay by your side for seven years, and he never once tried to break you two up. He’s been remarkably selfless.

Don’t back him into a corner now." I stared at the man I had called my best friend for over a decade. "So you knew?

All along?" Trevor nodded. "We were just afraid you wouldn't be able to handle it. You can be... reactive, Larry.

If you found out Leila was really in love with Justin, who knows what you might have done?" They all lined up beside Justin, shielding him.

They looked at me with the same unified, wary glare.

As if I weren't the victim who had been systematically lied to for seven long years, but a dangerous madman set on destroying my brother’s happiness.

In my coat pocket, my phone vibrated. It was an email notification from the director of an overseas project who had reached out to me three months ago. [Mr.

Callahan, the deadline for confirming the permanent overseas position is tonight. We still have one final slot reserved for your flight.] I gripped the phone tightly.

Three months ago, I had turned down this onceinalifetime career opportunity for Leila.

I remembered how she had clung to my arms back then, dropping her usual pride to beg me to stay. "Larry, if you go abroad, what about me? We’re getting married soon.

How could you leave me here alone?" I had agonized over the decision, but ultimately chose to stay, giving up my dreams so we could build a life together.

Thinking of the seven years we’d spent building that life, I looked at Leila, my voice raw and tight. "If Justin has been back, why didn't you break up with me?

Over these seven years... did you ever love me? Even for a second?" Leila remained silent for a very long time.

Justin gave a helpless, tragic little smile, his tone dripping with patronizing sympathy. "She didn't break up with you because I wouldn't let her, Larry." "You had made Leila your entire world.

I was terrified that if she left, you’d completely fall apart again." He stepped forward like a benevolent benefactor granting a token of charity. "I left the woman I love most by your side for seven years.

I watched her celebrate your birthdays, take engagement photos with you, even plan a wedding with you. I’ve stepped back for so long.

Now, I just want the wedding that was always mine to begin with.

Why can’t you just let me have this?" Suddenly, Leila placed her hand protectively over her lower stomach. "If it were just between Justin and me, I might have waited for you to gradually come to terms with it," she said, her tone growing colder by the second. "But I’m three months pregnant." "I won't let my baby grow up calling their biological father 'Uncle Justin'." She looked me dead in the eye. "Justin gave up seven years for you, Larry.

Now that I’m carrying his child, I can’t play along with this farce anymore." A few cold sentences erased seven years of shared history in an instant.

Yet there was a time when Leila treated me like I was her entire universe.

When I was hospitalized with acute gastritis, she canceled all her corporate meetings and stayed by my bed for two days and two nights straight.

When her family opposed our relationship, she gave up her credit cards, cut off her family’s wealth, and moved into my tiny rented apartment.

During our darkest days, we shared single bowls of instant noodles. She would always slide the only poached egg onto my side, smiling warmly. "Just hang in there with me, Larry.

I promise I’ll prove to everyone that you didn't choose wrong." Later, when her startup failed and left her drowning in debt, I worked my day job and took on freelance design gigs late into the night, carrying us through the hardest two years of our lives.

The day she secured her first major round of funding, she held my hands so tightly her knuckles turned white. She swore she would never betray me. Those warm tight hugs were real.

Those tears she cried were real. And yet now, carrying Justin’s child, she was telling me that seven years of love was nothing more than an elaborate piece of theater.

Behind us, the giant digital screen on stage suddenly flickered to life.

Unaware of the chaotic breakdown at the front of the room, the venue staff initiated the scheduled slideshow presentation.

Bold golden letters materialized on the screen: "[Leila Davis & Justin Callahan: Ten Years of Unconditional Love]" A timeline of photographs began to unfold.

On my twentyfourth birthday, Leila told me her flight was delayed, leaving me sitting alone at an apartment table with a cold, melting cake.

In the photo on screen, she was standing under a snowcapped mountain, wrapping a scarf around Justin’s neck and standing on tiptoe to kiss his frostreddened nose.

Six months ago, I was rushed into emergency surgery for a ruptured appendix. Leila claimed she was stuck on a lastminute business trip and couldn't make it to the hospital.

Mom said her heart condition was acting up. Dad and my sister both turned their phones off simultaneously. I had to sign my own surgical consent form with trembling fingers.

When I was wheeled into the operating room, I didn't even have anyone to hold my jacket.

In the photos playing on screen, they were all on a tropical island, throwing Justin a birthday bash.

Mom was holding out a wrapped gift; Dad was helping him cut the cake; my sister had set off fireworks along the beach all night long.

And Trevor was behind the camera, capturing the perfect family reunion. Slide by slide, the photos documented the seven years I was excluded from.

They filled in every plot hole behind their mountain of lies. The double doors at the back of the banquet hall swung open.

Mom rushed inside, heading straight for Justin, tenderly adjusting his bow tie with motherly devotion.

When she turned to look at me, her voice was laced with sharp accusation. "Justin has suffered so much for your sake over the last seven years!

He just wants his own wedding back—why do you have to ruin everything by causing a scene?" I stared at my mother, a searing heat burning in my throat. "Mom... so you never had a heart condition?

You’ve been faking it all along?" "Three years ago, when Leila and I were supposed to get our marriage license... you suddenly had a chest pain episode and made me stay at the hospital with you." "Was that just to keep me away, too?" Justin suddenly let out a soft laugh. "Larry, you finally figured it out." He reached into the inner pocket of his tuxedo jacket and pulled out two red marriage certificates.

In the official photograph inside, Leila was leaning affectionately against Justin, both of them beaming with effortless romance.

The date stamped on the certificate was the exact day I spent waiting outside the ER for my mother. Dad and my sister were listed as the official witnesses.

Trevor was the one who took the commemorative photo. Leila had held Justin’s hand, becoming his legal wife amidst the glowing blessings of my entire family.

While I, like a desperate idiot, sat in a hospital waiting room sending dozens of messages to Leila.

I had apologized over and over, begging for forgiveness because I couldn't make it to the courthouse to become her husband that day.

I swore that once Mom got better, I’d plan an even better day to make it up to her. She had taken hours to reply: "It’s okay.

We have all the time in the world." Justin toyed with the red booklets in his hands, chuckling lightly. "Larry, I was the one who dictated that text to her.

Because right then, she was too busy kissing me to care about your notifications." I stood in the middle of the crowded hall, the cold seeping into my bones until I couldn't feel a thing.

I grit my teeth, turned on my heel, and walked out. I knew that if I stayed one second longer, I would lose every last shred of dignity I had left.

Outside the venue, as the romantic wedding march began to play inside, I pulled out my phone and replied to the overseas project director with a single word: [Accepted.] The director replied almost instantly: [Mr.

Callahan, your overseas transfer application is confirmed. Your flight ticket has been issued.] There were exactly twentyfour hours left until I vanished from their lives forever.

Originally, Leila and I were supposed to head straight to the airport for our honeymoon right after the reception.

My passport and luggage were already packed and stored in the groom’s dressing suite. I grabbed my passport, stuffed it into my suitcase, and turned to leave.

Suddenly, the door swung open. "Larry!" Leila burst into the room, out of breath, looking as though she was terrified I’d disappear into thin air.

My face was pale, but before I could utter a word, she unwrapped a creamy milk candy and pressed it toward me.

The gesture was as practiced and effortless as every single moment from our past seven years. "You look terrible.

Is your hypoglycemia acting up again?" The sweet, rich scent of vanilla and sugar drifted into the air, but to me, it tasted like ash.

Seeing that I didn't reach for it, she gently placed the candy into the palm of my hand. "I’ll have the driver take you to a hotel," she said softly. "I booked a suite for you.

Just rest there for a few days. Once the ceremony is completely wrapped up, I’ll come find you and explain everything." My chest tightened painfully. She didn't say she loved me.

She didn't say she couldn't bear to let me go.

Yet this reflexive, instinctual tenderness still brought back memories of the girl who used to run through torrential rain to bring me medicine, the girl who would sit by my side until I finished every bite of my meal.

Seven years of muscle memory were hard to erase. The wrapper in my hand still held the warmth of her fingers. Once, I believed this devotion belonged solely to me.

Now, the man she went home to was someone else.

A voice echoed from the doorway—Justin was standing there, with Trevor hovering just behind him. "Leila, so you really "were" in here with him." Justin’s eyes fell upon Leila’s lingering hand near mine, his expression darkening instantly. "Am I always going to be second choice to him?" "I can tell you still haven't let my brother go.

Fine—if that’s the case, we don't need to do this wedding at all." Leila’s face drained of color. She rushed over and grabbed Justin by the wrist.

I watched as she stood on tiptoe, pulling him down into a deep, desperate kiss to prove her devotion.

In that moment, I realized I was the intruder standing in the middle of "their" marriage. I took a long, quiet breath, suppressing the burning ache in my chest.

I grabbed the handle of my rolling suitcase and turned to leave without a word. As I passed Justin, he deliberately cut across my path, throwing his shoulder hard into mine.

Off balance and unprepared, I slammed sideways into the edge of a glass coffee table. The sharp, shattered corner sliced deep into the meat of my lower waist.

A blinding surge of pain tore through my abdomen. Blood soaked through my white dress shirt almost instantly.

Leila saw the crimson spreading across the floor, and her eyes widened in shock.

She took two hurried steps toward me, pulling out her phone. "Larry, I’m calling an ambulance—" Before she could dial, Justin suddenly clutched his chest, stumbling heavily against her shoulder. "Leila...

I feel terrible," he gasped, his voice raspy. "My chest hurts so much... I can’t breathe..." His face turned pale as he squeezed her hand with desperate strength.

With those few words, the entire room rushed to surround him. Leila immediately dropped her phone to support Justin.

Mom and Dad pressed close, frantically calling for doctors; my sister rubbed his back to help him catch his breath; Trevor sprinted toward the elevators to hold the doors.

As Justin was ushered out, he didn't even bother to glance down at me.

Leila hesitated for a split second, looking back at me as she guided Justin down the hall. "I have to get Justin to the ER first," she said hurriedly. "Your cut doesn't look too deep—call an ambulance for yourself!" The heavy doors clicked shut behind them.

The corridor fell dead silent, save for the echoing sound of their hurried footsteps fading away.

I pressed down hard on the gushing wound, trying to push myself off the floor to reach my phone. My fingers brushed the screen, and then everything went completely black.

It was a hotel housekeeper who finally found me.

When she came in to clean the groom’s suite, she found me lying motionless in a pool of blood and immediately called emergency services.

By the time the hospital tests came back, the surgeon’s face was grim. "Deep laceration to the lateral waist," he announced, reviewing my chart. "Substantial blood loss.

You’re lucky it missed your kidney—another centimeter deeper, and the damage would have been catastrophic." I stared at the thick layers of gauze bandaged tightly around my torso, staying silent for a long time.

Five years ago, when Leila was ambushed by muggers on a latenight street, I took three knife strikes to protect her. Those three stab wounds destroyed my left kidney.

The day I was discharged back then, Leila had held my hands and wept, swearing she would never let me suffer another injury for as long as she lived.

And today, my one remaining functional kidney was nearly destroyed at her wedding to my brother. I spent two days in that hospital bed.

Every day brought IV drips and agonizing dressing changes. Even the smallest shift in position sent searing pain through my waist, blood seeping fresh through the bandages.

On the morning of the third day, the doctor checked my sutures and urged me to stay bedridden for at least another week. I didn't answer.

I just gently touched the thick wrap around my abdomen. It burned like hell, but the pain in my body was nothing compared to the hollow, cavernous void where my heart used to be.

Before I discharged myself, the nurse walked in with a set of final paperwork.

She glanced around the empty room. "Where’s your family?" Right on cue, my phone chimed with a social media notification. Justin had posted a new photo.

In the picture, Leila was sitting at his bedside, holding his hand tightly.

Mom and Dad were hovering over him with affection; my sister had brought over a thermos of homemade soup; Trevor was holding a massive bouquet of fresh flowers.

The caption read: [False alarm—just hyperventilation brought on by emotional distress.] [Thank you to my incredible family who loves me so unconditionally.] They had spent two full days across town at the other hospital, keeping vigil by Justin’s bedside.

Not a single one of them had cared whether I was dead or alive.

The nurse asked softly, "Do you want to give your family another call before you go?" I looked at the line labeled "Emergency Contact" on the discharge form.

After a long silence, I took the pen from her hand. "No need," I said quietly. "I don't have a family." Ignoring the doctor’s warnings, I gathered my single suitcase and boarded a cab to the airport.

As the boarding call echoed over the loudspeakers, I exited the family group chat and permanently deactivated my phone number. The twentyfourhour timer had officially run out.

As the plane banked through the clouds, the city that had held me captive for seven years slowly dissolved into the horizon. Ten hours later, I landed in my new home.

The moment I booted up my phone with a new local SIM card, a flood of missed calls and system notifications overwhelmed the screen.