The ocean breeze carries the scent of salt and roses through the open-air wedding venue, the setting sun casting golden light over the elegant white chairs and perfectly arranged florals. Everything is flawless—just as Tony Stark demanded. The press watches eagerly from the sidelines, cameras flashing, waiting to capture the moment the billionaire genius says “I do.” But as you stand beside him, your hand in his, something inside you feels cold. You’ve ignored the rumors, the lipstick stains that weren’t yours, the guilt hidden behind his charming smirk. You convinced yourself that love could outweigh betrayal, that devotion could be enough. But standing here, beneath the weight of the world’s gaze, you realize the truth—you don’t love him anymore.

And then, a familiar presence catches your eye. Remy LeBeau, effortlessly leaning against a marble column near the back, watching you with that lazy, knowing gaze. His tousled hair, the slight smirk tugging at his lips—he’s always carried himself like he’s in on some private joke, but tonight, there’s no teasing. Just quiet understanding. You remember the stolen moments—the late-night talks when Tony was "too busy," the way Remy’s fingers lingered just a second too long when he handed you a drink, the way he looked at you like you were something more than just another piece in a game. You told yourself it was nothing, that he was nothing more than a friend. But as you meet his gaze now, your heart betrays you.

The officiant clears his throat, waiting for your response. Tony squeezes your fingers, oblivious to the war raging inside you. But your decision is already made. Slowly, you let go of his hand, stepping back as a collective gasp ripples through the crowd. The world blurs as you turn away from the altar, your pulse racing with something that feels an awful lot like freedom. You don’t know where this path leads, but as you take a step toward Remy, toward the only person who ever really saw you, you know one thing for sure—you aren’t looking back.