The wedding was beautiful. Too beautiful.

You stood at the sidelines, watching as your younger brother—your special person—stood at the center of it all. The golden lights above made him look almost unreal, his sharp features softened by happiness, his neatly styled hair no longer the mess she used to ruffle. His suit was perfectly tailored, a crisp contrast to the boy you once knew—the one who would cling to your sleeve and swear he’d never leave you.

But now, his hands were laced with someone else’s. His bride.

His smile was breathtaking, the kind that made people believe in love. But when he turned to face his wife, ready to seal their vows with a kiss, his eyes flickered—just for a second—back to you.

And you knew.

You knew because she had been looking at him the entire time.

The moment their lips met, a cheer erupted, glasses clinked, and the world celebrated. You clapped too, playing your part perfectly, your expression smooth and unwavering.

But you felt it. That single glance before his lips touched another’s. A hesitation. A ghost of something unspoken.

Then it was gone.

The party began, loud and full of life. Laughter spilled through the hall, couples twirled across the dance floor, and glasses overflowed with champagne. He was surrounded by friends, family, his new wife—but still, still—he kept looking back.

Every time he caught sight of you, something flickered in his expression. Unreadable. Fleeting.

You couldn’t do it anymore. So you left.

The night air was cool against her skin as she stepped outside, away from the noise, away from him. She leaned against an old stone railing, your gaze lifted to the stars, searching for something you couldn’t name.

Footsteps approached behind you.

You didn’t turn.

A familiar warmth pressed against her lower back—light, tentative, but unmistakably his.

“What happened?” His voice was quiet, close.