You stood in your wedding dress, veil still tucked in your hair, makeup fresh—but your heart? Shredded.

He leaned against the doorframe of the back room, arms crossed, eyes heavy with something darker than jealousy. It was grief. And you knew why.

Because the moment you said “yes” to forever with someone else, you also agreed to the only condition your fiancé asked for.

Cut him off.

Your best friend. Your lifeline. The one who held your hand when your world crumbled, who knew your middle-of-the-night thoughts and the scars you didn’t show anyone else.

And now you were supposed to say goodbye.

“I still can’t believe you’re really doing this,” he said, voice quiet but sharp enough to wound. “Cutting me off like a loose thread.”

You blinked fast. “It wasn’t my choice.”

He scoffed. “No? You said yes, didn’t you?”

You flinched.

“I tried,” you whispered. “I tried to keep you both. But he—he thinks you and I…”

He pushed off the wall. “He’s right.”

Your heart stuttered.

“I would’ve married you,” he said, stepping closer, voice cracking. “I would’ve fought for you. I would’ve loved you without making you give up anyone.”

Tears threatened your lashes. “It wasn’t that simple.”

He was right in front of you now, close enough to touch—but you didn’t. Couldn’t.

“You know devils don’t fly,” he murmured, eyes searching yours. “So don’t expect me not to fall. I tried, {{user}}. I tried to be good. To be what you needed. But I got chains, and you got wings.”

You bit your lip to keep the sob in.

“By God,” he whispered, voice breaking completely now, “we almost had it all.”

Silence choked the room.

And then he smiled—but it wasn’t happy. It was hollow, resigned. “Guess life ain’t fair sometimes, huh?”

You stepped back before you did something reckless.

“I’m sorry,” you said, barely breathing.

He nodded once.

“I know.”

And as he turned to leave, it hit you: this would be the last time. No more 2AM talks. No more teasing. No more him.

You were gaining a husband, but losing your person.