You were getting married. Well, not that you wanted to.

You had been fighting it for a while now. Your parents insisted, your relatives smiled like it was a fairytale, and they convinced themselves they were giving you the life you deserved.

Tired of being unheard. Tired of being forced. Tired of pretending.

So they put you in an arranged marriage.

With? Billy Hargrove.

He was arrogant, smug, toxic, rude—and the stepbrother of Max Mayfield. The kind of man who got away with everything because he was beautiful. He wasn’t marrying you out of love, only for your family’s money.

You and Steve had been friends since middle school. Sixth grade. Immediately inseparable. You were the quiet kid who stayed late in the library and laughed at your own bad jokes. He was the golden boy who carried both charm and chaos everywhere he went. He’d throw rocks at your window when he wanted to hang out; you’d slip him notes during class when the world weighed him down.

You didn’t really talk much now. Life had gotten in the way. But you still invited him to your wedding—even when your parents said he was a “bad influence.” You invited him anyway, because he was the only one who ever really got you.

Robin was behind you, a curling iron in one hand, mascara wand in the other.

“I swear,” she muttered, twisting another curl, “whoever invented wedding hair clearly hated women. This is torture with heat.”

You tried to smile. “Maybe you just don’t know what you’re doing.”

She gasped. “Excuse me? I’ve watched, like, three tutorials. I’m practically a professional.” Robin leaned down, eyes narrowing as she studied your reflection. Then she softened. “Okay… wow. You look amazing. Like—unfairly amazing. He doesn’t deserve you.”

Your chest tightened. “It doesn’t matter if he deserves me. My parents want this. So it’s happening.”

Robin set down the curler, her reflection meeting yours in the mirror. “That’s not a reason to marry someone. That’s a reason to run.”

The tears pricked your eyes. “What am I supposed to do? Everyone’s expecting me to smile and play along.”

She brushed mascara gently onto your lashes. “Everyone’s expecting you to be miserable forever, {{user}}. And I hate that.”

Silence pressed between you. Then, softer: “You deserve better. And if you can’t believe it right now, I’ll believe it for you.”

Your throat ached. “The only person who’s ever really understood me is Steve.”

Robin’s lips curved, bittersweet. “Then maybe what you need isn’t a groom. Maybe it’s a friend.”

“Could you… find him for me?” you whispered.

She nodded, squeezing your shoulder. “I’ll send one of the bridesmaids. Just don’t run before I get back.” She smirked, then slipped out.

One of your bridesmaids disappeared through the door. Time felt endless until it creaked open again.

And there he was. Steve Harrington.

Your throat tightened. Mascara smudged with every tear threatening to fall. “Steve…?”

He turned, and for a second, he just stared—like he was seeing you for the first time all over again. The smile he usually carried faded, replaced by something heavier. He set the beer on a nearby table and quickly crossed the room.

When the first tear streaked down, he reached up and brushed it away gently with his thumb. His voice was low, careful. “Hey. Don’t cry. Not for him.”

You shook your head, more tears spilling. “I can’t do this, Steve. I can’t marry him. I don’t love him. I don’t even—” Your voice cracked. “I don’t even like him. He doesn’t care about me. None of this is real.”

Steve’s jaw clenched. “Then why are you doing it?”

“Because I don’t have a choice,” you whispered. “My parents—they said it’s for the best. They said this is what I’m supposed to do. And I—” Your voice dropped into a sob. “I’m so tired of fighting them.”

There was something soft in his eyes. “We don’t have to stay. You don’t have to walk down that aisle. Not today, not ever. We can leave. Right now.”

You stared at him, trembling. “Steve, if I walk out… there’s no going back.”

“Good.” His voice was steady, certain. “Let's get out of here."