The next moment, Spencer ripped his hand from mine and strode toward Fiona, as if drawn by an invisible string.
Everything else—the church, the guests, even me—blurred into the background. The only thing in sharp focus was the two of them.
Of course. The second she showed up, I'd already lost.

"I'm here, Spencer. Let's never be apart again," Fiona declared, snatching a microphone from one of the staff. Her words rang out boldly, unapologetically.
Without missing a beat, Spencer took her hand and led her toward the church doors.
Around me, murmurs swelled into a chorus of whispers. I forced a smile, stretching my lips painfully, trying to save face. But the tears came anyway, blurring my vision.
Through the haze, I watched them fade, their figures melting into the fog of my tears.
But then, Fiona stopped suddenly and spun around.
She pointed at my wedding gown, her voice dripping with venom.

"I want that dress back. It's mine."
The audacity hit like a slap, but before I could react, Clara—my one true friend—snapped.
"Fiona, you've gone too far!"
She lifted her skirt and charged down the aisle.

Spencer moved instinctively, stepping in front of Fiona to shield her, leaving Clara's fury squarely aimed at him.
"Spencer Saun, Fiona ditched you the moment your family hit rock bottom. Now that you're back on top, she's glued herself to you again? Oh, so this is true love, huh? Toss you a bone, and you come running like a loyal dog? How pathetic can you get?"
Her voice rang sharp and clear, slicing through the room.
She went on. "This is your wedding to Maya! Not only are you walking out with her, but you're letting her humiliate your bride in front of everyone? Spencer, what kind of man are you?"
Spencer Saun, the golden boy of the high society, had never been spoken to like that—even when he hit rock bottom.
And that was because I had always been there, standing between him and the world, shielding him from every blow.
Now, he didn't even glance at Clara. His focus was solely on Fiona, his voice soft, almost indulgent.
"We'll get you a brand-new, custom-made dress. Something no one else has touched."
But Fiona wasn't satisfied.
"No! This is the one I want. I won't wear it after her, but she can't have it either."
She'd rather destroy it than let me keep it.
Spencer rubbed his temples, visibly irritated. A silent signal followed, and from the shadows, his bodyguards emerged.
Two restrained Clara, while another group closed in on me.
Their hands were rough, pulling at my veil until it yanked painfully at my scalp. The sting blurred my vision for a moment.
Stripped in front of everyone, I could feel the weight of their mocking stares. Whispers and muffled laughter rippled through the room, each one slicing deeper.
It was like all my worst moments were being replayed. The times when anyone and everyone had stepped on me, trampling what little dignity I had left. Every small cruelty now wove itself into a suffocating net, trapping me completely.
Back then, Spencer was my shield, the one who stood between me and the world's malice.
Now, he was the malice.
"Let me go! I'll change in the dressing room myself!"
Desperation clawed at my voice as I clutched my chest, my cheeks burning with shame.
But Fiona's voice rang out again, dripping with cruelty.
"No. She'll change right here."
Spencer didn't say a word to stop her. The bodyguards carried out their orders with cold efficiency, their professionalism only adding to the humiliation.
Clara fought against the guards restraining her, tears streaking down her face as she screamed in frustration.
But nobody else moved. Not one person stood up for me.
Fiona finally got what she wanted.
She sauntered away, head held high like she'd just won a prize.
I crumpled to the floor, numb, my mind latching onto one small mercy: at least I'd worn an undershirt.
Clara broke free, rushing to me and draping her jacket over my shoulders. She sobbed uncontrollably, her cries raw and piercing.
But I couldn't cry. Not anymore.