Chapter 4

For the past few days, Wesley had felt an odd, hollow sensation in his chest.

Everything looked normal on the surface, but nothing felt steady.

Then, his phone pinged with a calendar reminder.

It was an automated alert from a memo created thirteen years ago.

[Hey future me, did you marry Clara Vance yet? Do you have kids? Have you given her the absolute best life in the world?]

Wesley stared at the cheesy, naive question and let out an involuntary chuckle.

His mind drifted back thirteen years.

Under a canopy of stars.

Back then, he was young, broke, and didn't know how to express his feelings. So he fell to both knees and swore an oath under the open sky.

"Clara, I promise you. Before we're thirty-five, we'll have a home of our own."

"You, me, a baby, and all the flowers you love."

Young Clara had giggled, blushing as she looked down at him.

"Then you'd better start practicing your penmanship."

"Where I come from, the groom has to handwrite every single wedding invite. It shows pure devotion, and it guarantees a lifetime of happiness."

Wesley pulled out his phone and unlocked the screen.

His wallpaper was still a photo of twenty-two-year-old Clara.

On the screen, the digital clock struck noon.

Wesley suddenly realized what was missing.

A message from Clara.

She was supposed to send him the timeline and the pickup address for the bridal party.

A flash of annoyance hit him.

Clara was usually the one who organized everything behind the scenes—the catering, the guest list, the seating charts. She had never made him worry about logistics before.

Yet this time, just because of some stupid invitations, she had come looking for him at the office three days ago, and even tracked him down to the private resort.

She actually thought handing a folder to Lauren would manipulate him into feeling guilty.

Childish.

Still, looking at her smiling face on his lock screen and remembering the past thirteen years, he decided to be the bigger person.

He put on his bespoke suit and called his groomsmen.

"Be downstairs in ten minutes. We're heading out to pick up the bride."

A few minutes later, he remembered the folder Lauren had handed him.

*Whatever,* he thought. *Writing a few cards won't kill me.*

He slid the string off the envelope and opened it. Inside were three items:

The deed to the suburban house, two brass keys, and a debit card.

There were no invitations.

Wesley's head started pounding.

What was Clara doing?

He opened their SnapChat thread. The last message was the one he had sent asking for the venue address.

Something was wrong.

He dialed her number immediately. The call wouldn't go through.

He tried her mother's cell, but it went straight to voicemail.

Right then, his own mother's name flashed across the screen.

Her voice was frantic.

"Wesley, what the hell is going on?"

"Didn't you say the wedding was today? Why haven't any of our relatives received invitations?"

"I just called the hotel to check the ballroom, and they told me Clara Vance isn't marrying you today!"

Wesley's throat tightened.

"Who... who is she marrying?"

"They said his name is... Julian Thorne."