Chapter 3

Ten days before the wedding, our company held its annual year-end convention.

The editor-in-chief specifically called on me to give a presentation on the investigative techniques behind my award-winning piece.

"Chloe, you wrote the story. You know it inside out. Go up there and give us ten minutes."

I said yes.

That night, I stood in front of my bathroom mirror until three in the morning, rehearsing every single syllable, timing my breaths. Slower. Just a little slower. That way, the words wouldn't snag.

The next day, as I stepped onto the podium, the microphone went completely dead.

I spoke two sentences into the dead air, my lips moving silently on the giant screen.

A technician scrambled up to swap the mic while three hundred of my colleagues sat waiting, murmuring and whispering among themselves.

My palms were drenched in sweat as I gripped the replacement mic.

Take a deep breath. Speak.

"Hello, everyone. M-My name is Ch-Chloe—"

Stuck.

Someone in the third row let out a muffled snicker.

I squeezed my eyes shut and pushed through.

"Research for this report b-began last September—"

I spoke for six minutes. I stumbled five times. Twice, I paused for more than three awkward seconds.

It was far from flawless. But I finished it. Every single word.

When I stepped backstage, Serena was leaning against the wall with her arms crossed over her chest.

"The mic glitch was an accident, of course," she said softly, watching me. "But your presentation... Chloe, to be totally honest, people were laughing at you."

I looked at her. "Let them laugh."

She paused, visibly caught off guard.

"You've changed."

I didn't reply.

Back at my desk, my phone lit up with a text from Julian:

*Serena told me things didn't go so well on stage today. Don't sweat it. She'll be there to handle things on our wedding day.*

I typed out an angry reply, erased it, and sent back a single cold period.

That evening, my dad's call came in.

"I heard you made a total fool of yourself at your company event."

"Who told you that?"

"Serena called me. She said you froze up on stage five or six times in front of hundreds of people. She was worried sick about you."

I leaned back against my chair, exhaustion seeping into my bones.

"Dad, she was sitting in the audience. Why couldn't she wait until I finished before tearing me apart?"

"She wasn't tearing you apart, she was caring about you! Why are you always biting the hand that feeds you?"

I took a slow, deliberate breath.

"I finished the speech, Dad. I didn't run away. Doesn't that count for anything?"

Silence stretched over the line before his gruff voice returned.

"What's the point of finishing if you sound like an idiot? You've had this pathetic defect for twenty years and never fixed it. Stop trying to prove something you're not."

When the call ended, I lay in the dark, staring up at the ceiling.

They weren't evil monsters.

They just genuinely believed that my voice was a source of public shame.

So when would I ever stop being an embarrassment?

Never.

Because they would never let me practice.

Five days before the wedding.

I went for my final bridal gown fitting, and Serena insisted on tagging along.

While helping me lift the delicate lace train, she casually chatted with the bridal consultant.

"She's extremely anxious and introverted. When the ceremony begins, please slow down the background music to give her extra time to adjust."

I looked straight into the mirror. "That won't be necessary. I can handle it."

Serena looked back at me, her smile dripping with gentle condescension.

"Chloe, honey, remember when you tried to introduce yourself at that workshop last year and got stuck on your own name for eight whole seconds?"

"That was three years ago."

"You think you've changed, but you're overestimating yourself."

The words were soft, like a needle slipping silently under a fingernail.

It didn't cause an explosion of agony, but the dull, throbbing sting remained.

I finished the fitting and headed out first, leaving Serena to settle the final paperwork.

Taking the elevator down to the lobby, I realized I had left my purse behind in the VIP dressing suite.

When I hurried back up, the suite door was slightly ajar.

Serena was on the phone, the speakerphone turned all the way up.

Julian's voice was coming through loud and clear.

"Did you get the audio ready for the vows?"

Serena giggled. "All set. I pre-recorded my own version. When the music hits, she'll panic like she always does. Then I'll swoop in and deliver an 'impromptu' speech to save her—"

Julian hesitated. "She's been unusually stubborn lately. What if she refuses to let you take the mic?"

"That's why we have to play the audio first, silly!" Serena laughed wickedly. "Picture it: three hundred guests, and the sound system suddenly blasts that recording of her stuttering through her practice vows. The shock will completely shut her down. Then I walk up, take the spotlight, and save the day. The whole room will be moved to tears."

"Where did you even record her practicing?"

"Last week at her apartment. She locked herself in her bedroom to practice, so I held my phone against the door. She repeated the name 'Julian' nine whole times—"

She burst into full laughter.

"Playing that clip will be absolute perfection."

Julian went silent for a few seconds.

"Isn't that taking things a bit too far?"

"Didn't you say you wanted to cure her foolish stubbornness once and for all? Let her see what a disaster she truly sounds like, and she'll never try to embarrass you on stage again. It saves everyone the headache."

Julian let out a heavy sigh.

"Fine... Just make sure it's the last time."

I stood frozen against the hallway wall, surrounded by racks of glowing white silk and tulle.

So that was it.

My wedding wasn't a celebration.

It was an orchestrated public execution.

I didn't retrieve my purse. I turned around and walked away.