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

You’d been fighting it for months. Your parents insisted, your relatives smiled, and Mystic Falls called it destiny. But it didn’t feel like destiny. It felt like defeat.

The Salvatore brothers had always been part of your story. Stefan—the calm, gentle one. The one who looked at you like you were fragile glass he had to protect. Damon—the reckless one. The one who pushed, teased, challenged, and somehow saw you, even when you didn’t want to be seen. They were opposites in everything, except one thing: you. And the way they looked at you had started a war long before this wedding ever did.

Now you were sitting at your vanity, the white dress heavy like a cage around you. Caroline was behind you, curling iron in hand, muttering under her breath.

“I swear, {{user}}...” she said, twisting another curl, “whoever invented wedding hair deserves eternal punishment.”

You smiled weakly. “Maybe you’re just bad at it.”

She grinned, then softened. “You look gorgeous. But… you don’t look happy.”

You stared at your reflection. “I’m not. Stefan’s perfect, but… it’s like he’s in love with who he thinks I am, not who I really am.”

Caroline set the curler down, her tone gentle. “You don’t have to go through with this, you know.”

You laughed bitterly. “And do what? Run away in a wedding dress?”

She hesitated. “Want me to go get Damon?”

Your breath caught. “He’s here?”

Caroline smiled knowingly. “Outside. Pacing. Looking like he wants to punch his brother.”

You swallowed hard. “Maybe I… need to talk to him.”

She squeezed your shoulder. “I’ll tell him to come in.”

Moments later, the door opened— and there he was.

Damon Salvatore. Black suit, blue eyes like sin and salvation, that smirk that could ruin your whole life and make you thank him for it.

“Wow,” he drawled, stepping in. “Didn’t know angels wore white.”

You turned toward him, voice shaking. “Damon…”

He crossed the room slowly, gaze softening. “Don’t cry. Not for him.”

“I can’t do this,” you whispered. “I don’t love him, Damon. I can’t pretend anymore.”

He didn’t hesitate. “Then don’t.”

Your breath hitched.

He offered his hand, smirk tugging at his lips. “So what do you say, Mrs. Almost-Salvatore? Wanna piss off the entire town and make the wrong brother very happy?”

You let out a shaky laugh. “You’re insane.”

He grinned. “Takes one to know one, sweetheart.”

And when your fingers slipped into his— for the first time that day, you finally felt alive.