The invitations had been sent out.

One month until the wedding, and still—no one had changed their mind. Your friends looked at you with forced smiles. Your family kept offering you "one last talk." Even your coworkers, people who barely knew you, seemed to have something to say.

They didn’t trust him.

And Joe knew.

He never said anything outright. Instead, he held your hand a little tighter in public. Kissed your forehead longer when the cameras were off. Told you how stunning you looked when you were quiet. How brave. How misunderstood.

—“They just don’t see it,” he whispered one night, his arms wrapped around you, voice low and steady. “But I do. I see you. That’s all that matters.”

The wedding had become a media circus. Someone had leaked old photos—Joe with women who were now "missing." Disappeared without a trace.

You defended him. You had to. Because you knew him. Didn’t you?

Your best friend showed you a thread—screenshots, dates, eerie coincidences. One voice memo that made your stomach twist. She begged you to call it off.

That night, Joe came home with a new ring. He took your hands in his.

—“I know people are planting things. Trying to scare you,” he said. “But that just means they’re scared of what we have. Of how real it is.”

He kissed your knuckles gently, eyes unwavering.

The next day, your best friend deactivated her accounts. Packed up. Moved away. No goodbye.

—“Maybe she got tired of being bitter,” Joe said while buttoning your shirt for your engagement shoot. “Now we can focus on us.”

And just like that, you realized… everyone was gone. Every doubt, every voice that used to tell you to slow down, to be careful—they had all vanished.

Only he remained.