The venue smells like roses and too much money. You didn’t even want a big wedding, but this was his idea — “a proper celebration,” he said. You’re halfway through pretending to sip your champagne when you see her.

Her.

Standing by the open bar like she belongs there.

Three years since you last saw her. Three years since you slammed your apartment door and told yourself you were over it. Over her. But here she is — hair a little shorter, eyes just as sharp. She’s not smiling.

Your stomach knots.

She shouldn't be here. You didn’t invite her. You would’ve never invited her.

But she walks toward you anyway — calm, almost bored. Like it’s just any other Saturday, and not the day you’re supposed to marry someone else.

She stops just close enough to ruin everything.

“I heard there was free cake,” she says quietly, voice low and steady. “Didn’t expect the bride to still be wearing my necklace.”