Chapter 4

Caleb wept hysterically, tears streaming down his face.

He yanked the curtains, dangling his torso over the sill. Yet his grip on the frame remained rock-solid as he looked back at me, weaponizing his fake suicide attempt.

Naturally, none of them were going to let him fall.

Mom and Dad grabbed his arms while Chloe wrapped her arms tightly around his waist, shielding him like a precious treasure.

Chloe whipped her head toward me and screamed:

"Ashton! Are you heartless? Apologize to Caleb right now!"

"He's your brother! Why do you always have to push him to the brink? Will you only be satisfied when he's dead?"

Chloe glared at me.

Mom and Dad glared at me.

As if I—the groom whose tuxedo was stolen, whose ring was swiped, whose name was wiped from his own wedding—was the villain.

Through his wet lashes, Caleb flashed me a smirk of pure triumph.

An overwhelming exhaustion crashed over me.

I was bone-tired. I didn't care about who was right or wrong anymore.

I gave a slight, mock bow toward Caleb.

"I'm sorry, Caleb."

"I'm a terrible older brother for not giving you everything. Please come down. It's all my fault."

Satisfied with his victory, Caleb allowed himself to be hauled inside with a dramatic sniffle.

Mom, Dad, and Chloe swarmed him, wiping his tears and cooing words of comfort.

When he finally stopped crying, he cast a smug glance in my direction.

"Fine, fine. I forgive Ashton."

"He's my brother, after all. I could never stay mad at him. But the wedding isn't over yet! Have the makeup artist fix his face so he doesn't embarrass our family and Chloe."

That earned him endless praise from my parents and Chloe, marveling at how "mature" and "forgiving" he was compared to me.

Gradually, the chaos quieted down.

This pathetic farce of a wedding was apparently supposed to proceed.

Mom escorted Caleb out first, shooting me a disgusted scowl on her way through the door.

"I don't know what kind of brother you are. Caleb is younger than you, yet he's ten times more sensible!"

Dad instructed the staff to just hand out the gift boxes with Caleb's name printed on them.

Soon, only Chloe and I remained in the dressing room.

She let out a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"Ashton, I honestly don't know what got into you today. The stylist will be in to touch up your makeup in a minute. Get your jacket on, and let's finish the ceremony."

She turned on her heel to leave.

I couldn't stop myself from calling after her:

"Chloe."

She paused, glancing over her shoulder.

"Do you have anything else to say to me?"

Chloe hesitated for a beat before lecturing me one last time:

"Stop brooding, Ashton. You're the older brother. It's your job to compromise."

She walked out and clicked the door shut.

I stood there, utterly speechless.

A light knock at the door pulled me back to reality, and the stylist slipped in.

"Ashton, please close your eyes. Let me cover up those tear tracks with some foundation."

I raised a hand, stopping her, and looked her in the eye.

"Don't bother. This morning at the hotel, you didn't mistake him for me, did you?"

"Who authorized putting the groom's tux and makeup on Caleb?"

The stylist looked uncomfortable, but under my steady gaze, she finally confessed:

"Your brother wanted to play groom."

"And... Chloe approved it. She told me to play along so you wouldn't find out."

I wasn't surprised. It was completely on-brand for them.

But the agony hit anyway, a suffocation so sharp it stole my breath.

She lifted the sponge again, trying to help.

"Please, let me touch you up. You won't look your best at the altar..."

I tilted my head away.

"I won't need it."

She blinked.

"You're going out there in a tuxedo without styling?"

I shook my head, grabbed my duffel bag, and stood up.

"No. I'm not wearing the tuxedo either."

"I'm leaving."

I offered the stunned stylist a warm, genuine smile.

In twenty-seven years of living, it was the most liberating decision I had ever made.

I walked out of the dressing room without looking back, hailed a cab to my apartment, grabbed my passport and documents, and left. I didn't even pack a change of clothes.

Why bother taking clothes Caleb had already picked through?

I went straight to the airport.

I didn't care about the destination. I just asked the counter agent for a ticket on the very next departing flight.

A second before boarding, my phone buzzed violently with texts from Chloe.

Each one more frantic than the last:

[Ashton, the stylist said you walked out! Stop throwing a fit!]

[Where are you? Answer me!]

[Do you want to get married or not?! Get your ass back here right now!]

I stared at the screen for two seconds before pressing and holding the power button.

Chloe, I don't want to marry you.

And I am never coming back.