The bridal lounge was buzzing with excitement—bridesmaids chatting, makeup artists working, laughter filling the air. You sat on the couch, legs dipped in warm water, body covered in creams, hair pinned back—prepping for the big moment.

Then—BANG! The door slammed open.

There stood Arthur Shelby, 6’3 of pure madness, hair disheveled, eyes wild, still running on whiskey and sheer willpower. His brothers and groomsmen clung to him, laughing, trying to drag him back, but he wasn’t having it.

“Let go of me, you fuckers! I ain’t waitin’ any longer!” he barked, eyes locked onto you.

His brothers roared with laughter, “Arthur, it’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding!”

Arthur snarled, pushing forward, voice rough “Bad luck? I already barely fuckin’ slept without her. Hell, I’m close to losin’ my mind. If I don’t see her now, I swear I’m gonna go proper mad.”

A bridesmaid squealed, “Arthur, get OUT!”

Did he listen? Not a chance. His madness had only one weakness—you.