**Diary Entry**
The sun hung high, bathing the garden in golden light. Roses and daffodils bloomed in abundance, their scent mingling with the soft murmur of guests. Everything was flawless—almost unnervingly so.
As I stood at the altar, my fingers laced tightly with Oliver’s, I fought to steady my racing heart. It wasn’t nerves about marriage—I loved him. Or at least, I believed I did. No, it was something else, a prickling unease like the quiet before a storm. Whispers rustled through the crowd. Camera shutters clicked.
Mum wiped a tear from her cheek. And just as the vicar asked, “If any person present knows of any lawful impediment to this marriage, let them now declare it,” the moment shattered.
“I OBJECT!”
The voice sliced through the air—sharp, unflinching, furious.
Gasps erupted. Chairs scraped as guests twisted toward the sound.
My legs nearly gave way. Oliver’s grip on my hand turned vice-like.
From the back of the aisle, a woman in a sleek crimson gown strode forward, her heels tapping against the gravel with the certainty of someone with nothing left to lose.
It was Sophie.
Oliver’s ex.
And clutched in her hand—was it a phone? A photograph?
My pulse roared in my ears.
“Sophie, what the hell are you doing?” Oliver hissed through gritted teeth.
“What I should’ve done months ago,” she replied, her voice barely wavering. “Telling her the truth.”
My breath caught. I turned to Oliver, but his eyes darted away.
“What truth?” I whispered, already dreading the answer.
Sophie stepped closer, lifting the photo for all to see. “This was taken four weeks ago. In Edinburgh. The night Oliver claimed he was away on business. Funny, isn’t it? That same night, he told me he loved me.”
The crowd erupted. Cameras flashed. Whispers swelled around us.
“She’s lying,” Oliver blurted, facing me. “Darling, she’s obsessed. She’s been harassing me since we split.”
Sophie’s laugh was hollow. “Oh, please. You said you were marrying her for the money. That her father’s firm would fast-track your career.”
The ground seemed to tilt. I felt sick, weightless, gutted.
It couldn’t be true. Oliver and I had been together two years. He’d made me feel cherished, understood—safe.
“Tell me she’s lying,” I demanded, staring straight at him.
He opened his mouth. Closed it. Then uttered the words that confirmed everything.
“She wasn’t supposed to be here.”
The blow was physical. The crowd descended into uproar.
I recoiled.
Oliver lunged
