Replacing My Fiance On Our Wedding Day

1 Nathan’s "guardian angel" was at it again. On the day of our engagement party, she left a suicide note. “As long as you’re happy, I have no regrets.” “I hope fate is kinder to us in the next life. I’m going now. Forget me.” Before this, she had jumped into the lake ten times, slit her wrists six times, and overdosed five. Every single time, she emerged without a scratch. Yet, the moment the message hit his phone, Nathan abandoned me. He tore out of the ballroom like a madman, rushing to play his part in her twisted drama. "Elise, Skylar literally saved my life once," he had whispered, his eyes frantic as he grabbed his coat. "She’s too deep in her feelings for me. I’m the one who broke her like this. I have to be responsible. Once I talk her down, I’ll come back and we’ll get married. I promise." I watched him go, my face a mask of cold indifference. Marry me? Nathan was under a delusion. This merger between the Holloway and Barrett families didn't necessarily require him. The engagement party was a disaster. The groom-to-be had vanished, and my parents looked like they wanted to set the building on fire. Nathan’s parents were spiraling, forcing awkward smiles and stammering apologies to the guests. "Nathan is just… he’s impulsive. We’ll deal with him the moment he’s back!" his father blustered. "Elise, honey, don’t take it to heart," his mother added, clutching my hand with trembling fingers. "He said he’d be back." I looked at them, seeing right through the frantic damage control. "And when exactly is that?" Silence. They both dropped their gazes, unable to look me in the eye. The atmosphere in the room turned brittle, thick with the kind of secondhand embarrassment that makes people want to crawl out of their skin. Eventually, the Barretts couldn't take the whispers anymore. They made some flimsy excuse about a family emergency and fled. They left me there to face the music alone. Nathan hadn't just left; he had handed Skylar a total victory over me in front of everyone who mattered. My mother’s face was tight with fury. "Elise, if you marry a man like that, how can I ever sleep at night? It’s your engagement day, and he chooses another woman. Are you really going to stay blind to this?" I didn't answer. I just rubbed the edge of my phone. Was I blind? No. This wasn't the first time. In the beginning, I had been genuinely terrified that Skylar might actually do it. When Nathan ran to her then, I didn't feel resentment. I felt it was a matter of life and death. But the cycles continued. I saw Skylar, perfectly healthy and smug after every "attempt," and I saw Nathan, perpetually abandoning me at galas, dinners, and birthdays to be by her side. I felt like the punchline of a very long, very cruel joke. Even knowing he’d eventually crawl back to me, the hollow ache in my chest had become a permanent resident. I used to pray he would turn around and choose me just once. I used to think that if he showed me even a shred of true priority, I’d forgive everything. But I was never his first choice. I was just exhausted. "I’m telling you, cancel the whole thing," my father grumbled in my ear. "The Barretts aren't the only family in this city. Elise, think about the Westbrook merger again. Don't throw your life away on a man who isn't there." "He’s right," my mother whispered. "Adrian Westbrook has always been fond of you. His parents mention it every time we see them." My phone vibrated. It was a message from Nathan. I opened it to find a string of photos. They were selfies, taken from a low angle on a bed. The photographer was Skylar. The photos were slightly blurred, but I could clearly see the back of Nathan’s head. He was holding her, cradling her as he whispered into her hair. On the nightstand, orange pill bottles were scattered like confetti. This time, it was an overdose. I accidentally tapped the Live Photo icon. The sound bled out of the speakers—clear, intimate, devastating. "Skylar, please, don’t hurt yourself. I’m so scared of losing you..." I swiped to the next one. "I’ll do anything, as long as you’re okay." I didn't watch the rest. Nathan had already hit 'Unsend.' A text bubble appeared: “Sent those by mistake. Don’t think too much about it.” I stared at that sentence for a long time, the coldness finally reaching my bones. Then, I looked up at my parents. "Mom, Dad," I said, my voice steadier than it had been in years. "Let's go to the Westbrooks' place. Now." When our car pulled up to the Westbrook estate, Adrian’s parents were already waiting at the door. They welcomed us with genuine warmth, their smiles reaching their eyes in a way Nathan’s parents’ never did. The dining table was already set. A figure moved in the kitchen and stepped out, wiping his hands on a towel. "It was short notice, so I didn't have time for anything too elaborate," Adrian said, leaning against the doorframe with a soft smile. I froze. I hadn't expected to see him in an apron. Adrian Westbrook had been a year ahead of me in college. We had crossed paths in the library and at a few charity events, but we’d never been close. After graduation, we’d lost touch entirely. My parents had hinted that he liked me, but I’d never understood when or how that could have happened. As we sat down, Adrian began describing the dishes he’d prepared. My parents were beaming, clearly impressed. The menu was suspiciously specific—every single dish was something I loved. Especially the lemon-butter shrimp. Nathan always claimed he had a seafood allergy. To accommodate him, I hadn't touched shellfish in years. It wasn't until a group dinner with Skylar months ago that I realized he wasn't actually allergic; he just didn't like the smell. He had never once asked if I missed it. He certainly never peeled a shrimp for me the way Adrian was doing right now. The conversation flowed effortlessly. Adrian’s attention was entirely on me—checking if I was full, noticing which side dish I was eyeing but hesitating to reach for. It was the most relaxed, most satisfying meal I had eaten in a decade. "I think these two get along famously," Adrian’s mother said, covering my hand with hers. "Why don't we move things along? Elise, would you be interested in looking at wedding dresses tomorrow? A friend of mine owns a boutique downtown—she just got a shipment from Paris, and I told her to save the best for you." My mother jumped in immediately. "Yes! Absolutely. We should get the engagement photos done next week." I was caught off guard by the sheer speed of it all. Adrian saw my hesitation and stepped in to smooth the waters. "There's no rush," he said gently, looking at me. "We’ll go at Elise’s pace. I’m ready whenever she is." He smiled, a warm, genuine expression that felt like a localized sun. In a sudden rush of heat and rebellion, I reached out and took his hand. "Let’s go," I said. "I want to try on dresses." In the past, I had begged Nathan a dozen times to look at venues or find a weekend for a photoshoot. Every time, Skylar had intervened. "We’re not in a hurry to get married, Elise. Skylar’s life is on the line. You can’t be so cold-hearted that you ignore a dying girl, right?" Now I realized the truth: a man who actually wants to marry you, who actually holds you in his heart, doesn't want to wait a single second. The years I’d wasted with Nathan weren't just a mistake; they were a tragedy of misplaced loyalty. The Westbrooks were ecstatic. My mother looked relieved, as if she’d finally seen me wake up from a coma. Adrian’s mother was so excited she called her friend at the boutique to open the shop after hours just for us. We drove to the boutique, the two families trailing behind us like a royal procession. As the owner began pulling out exquisite gowns, the parents started debating dates for the ceremony. I was about to suggest we slow down when my phone buzzed. Nathan again. “Elise, where are you?” “I’m sorry about today. It’s my fault. I’ll redo the engagement party, I promise.” “Don’t worry, I’ve talked to Skylar. She won’t be so reckless next time.” I watched the bubbles pop up, my thumb hovering over the screen. I typed three words: “Don’t bother. Goodbye.” Nathan didn't reply for a long time. I saw the "typing" indicator appear and vanish repeatedly. Finally: “Elise, what the hell does that mean?” Adrian’s mother called me over to the fitting room. I turned off my phone and didn't look back. I tried on three dresses. The first two were ornate, heavy masterpieces, but I fell in love with the third—a sleek, silk-satin gown with a modern silhouette. Throughout the fitting, Adrian was attentive in a way that felt quiet and profound. He brought me water, held a towel for me when I got overheated under the studio lights, and noticed the second I looked uncomfortable in a corset, immediately asking the stylist to adjust it. These were the crumbs of affection I had never even thought to ask for from Nathan. We settled on a date for the photoshoot the following week. The Westbrooks were already booking the venue; Adrian was helping my parents choose their formal wear. I finally checked my phone to find several missed calls from Nathan. I scrolled through the wall of texts he’d sent while I was being measured for my veil. “Are you seriously still mad? Because of Skylar?” “Elise, I know you’re upset, but don’t be petty. She can’t control her emotions.” “Stop throwing a tantrum. You’re making Skylar feel terrible. She doesn’t want to be the reason we fight.” “She’s already lost me because of you. Do you want her to suffer even more because we’re arguing?” I let out a sharp, cold laugh. The audacity was breathtaking. If he was so desperate for another engagement party, I’d give him one. “Fine,” I messaged him. “I’ll set a new location. Just show up.” I sent him the address and time for my photoshoot with Adrian. Nathan was finally satisfied. “I knew you were reasonable. I’ll bring the custom ring I had made. I told you I’d marry you, and I don’t break my word.” A few minutes later, he added: “I can’t leave for a few days, though. Skylar’s still recovering. She needs someone with her.” I locked my phone. I knew Nathan wouldn't show up. Not for me. The day of the photoshoot arrived. Five minutes before we were scheduled to start, Nathan’s last text was from fifteen minutes prior: “Almost there.” The stylist touched up my hair one last time. The photographer led us to the set. "Alright, let’s do this!" the photographer chirped. "Groom, get closer to the bride. Let’s see some intimacy!" Adrian looked at me, a silent question in his eyes. He cautiously wrapped his arm around my waist, pulling me back against his chest. I smiled, leaning naturally into him, feeling the steady, rapid thrum of his heart. His ears turned bright red. The photographer started clicking away. "Yes! That’s the spark!" We shot for two hours. We ended with a massive group photo with both our families, everyone laughing and clinking champagne glasses. I finally stepped out of the dress and wiped off the heavy makeup, feeling a strange sense of completion. Still no Nathan. No calls. No texts. He had missed his chance to see the truth. That evening, as our families sat down for a celebratory dinner, Nathan’s name finally popped up. “Sorry, Elise. Something came up. I got delayed.” I typed back with a blank expression: “Did Skylar try to kill herself again?” There was a long pause. He was probably busy. “Don’t blame her. It was a car accident this time. It’s really serious.” I didn't bother responding. My family was already debating wedding dates. Adrian kept glancing at me, worried the pace was too fast, his hand hovering near mine as if he wanted to offer an out. I gave him a reassuring look, squeezing his fingers. I didn't want to wait. I wanted to be settled. I wanted to be home. They set the date for ten days later. I checked the calendar. It was the exact same date Nathan and I had originally discussed months ago. He was still playing nursemaid to Skylar, completely oblivious to the fact that my heart had moved on to a different house. He told me to wait for him. He told me he’d marry me. I had spent my whole life waiting. Now, the clock had run out. After dinner, I took a car back to my apartment. Two figures were silhouetted against the streetlights near my entrance. Nathan saw me and his eyes lit up. "Elise, thank god. We’ve been waiting for hours." He was propping Skylar up. She was leaning heavily on him, looking pale and fragile. "Skylar knew she messed things up for us again," Nathan said, his voice thick with that familiar, nauseating pity. "She insisted on coming here to apologize to you. Look at her—she can barely stand and she’s still being this thoughtful..." I looked down at their hands. They were interlaced. On both their ring fingers, I saw identical bands. I recognized the design instantly—it was the custom ring Nathan had promised me. I hadn't even seen it yet, but it was already on her finger. Nathan noticed my gaze and pulled his hand back slightly. "Skylar thought the design was interesting... I just let her try it on..." I let out a soft, jagged laugh. "The size fits her perfectly, I see. You really are a match made in heaven." Nathan winced. "Don't be like that. You know you’re the one I’m marrying." Skylar bit her lip, looking like a kicked puppy. "Elise, I know you hate me. But Nathan is innocent. I just want you both to be happy. I’ll even be there on your wedding day to cheer you on." She looked like she was about to cry, as if I were the villain stealing her soulmate. Nathan stepped in front of her protectively. "Elise, don't bully her. We’re going to be family. I need you to be the bigger person here." I nodded slowly, pulled out my phone, and sent Nathan a pinned location for a hotel ballroom. "The wedding is in ten days. There’s the address." Nathan froze, shocked by my sudden "generosity." A look of pure relief washed over his face. "Elise, I knew you’d understand. I’ll be there. I’ll be on time." "I have to take Skylar back for her meds now," he added, already turning away. "I’ll call you later." Skylar shot me a tiny, triumphant smirk over her shoulder as they walked away. I didn't care. I had work to do. The next ten days were a whirlwind. It was a tight schedule, but the Westbrooks were a force of nature. Adrian took me to pick out a diamond that made the Barrett ring look like a toy. We signed the marriage license. We moved in silence and efficiency. Then, the wedding day arrived. The hotel entrance was flanked by massive posters of our engagement shoot—Adrian and me, looking like a dream. Guests were filing into the ballroom. The ceremony began. Adrian and I were standing at the altar, about to exchange rings, when the doors at the back of the hall were flung open. Nathan stood there in a tuxedo, breathless, eyes wild. He looked at me, then at the posters, then back at the altar. "Elise! What the hell is going on with the posters outside?" he screamed. "Why is he standing there?!"