Chapter 3

Three months before the wedding, Andrew got cold feet again.

Word had just gotten out that Monica and her husband had a huge fight—they'd nearly divorced.

Too bad for Andrew. Both families had already poured way too much time, money, and effort into this wedding, and the two companies had locked in major deals. There was no way it was all going to collapse just because of him.

The night before the wedding, Andrew's friend called—Andrew was drunk off his ass in his office.

I forced myself to stay calm, marched into his office in my heels, ready to tear into him.

He was sprawled on the couch, unshaven, throwing back expensive whiskey like water, clutching a photo of himself and Monica like it was sacred.

In the picture, Andrew wore his school uniform, every button neatly fastened. A few sun-bleached strands fell across his forehead. His smile was stiff and nervous, his eyes shy and earnest with that awkward teenage sincerity as he gazed at the girl beside him.

Monica was his complete opposite—school jacket slung over her shoulders, tongue stuck out playfully.

Her beauty was the kind that hit you square in the face—almost overwhelming, but impossible to look away from. Honestly, I got why Andrew had never moved on.

I couldn't help but mock him, "Back when you were actually cute, Monica still didn't want you. Now that you're past your prime, what do you have that can compete with her husband—Mr. Perfect himself?"

I'd seen in magazines that Monica's husband was some famous designer—they were basically a legendary power couple.

Andrew didn't say a word. He just looked up at me with bloodshot eyes and a death glare.

Throughout the wedding prep, I'd lost count of how many times his friend had called to tell me Andrew was drunk.

But this was the first time I'd actually bothered to show up.

I said coolly, "Andrew, do you really think you're so devoted?

"No matter how devoted you pretend to be, you still got engaged to me. You said you'd never marry anyone but her, but here you are—marrying someone else. All for your company's interests, betraying your own feelings.

"Acting loyal while doing the exact opposite. Such a hypocrite."

Andrew scoffed, not even glancing my way. He stared blankly at the bottle in his hand.

"Charlotte, you think you're any better? You'll do whatever it takes to get what you want.

"We're the same."

I didn't deny it. "Then you should know when to hold on and when to let go."

The stench of alcohol made my nose burn. I threw one last remark over my shoulder and walked out.

Any hypocrisy on my part was to protect what I cared about.

But what were you really holding onto, Andrew? Your power? That woman you could never have? Or just the ghost of a teenage crush?

The next day, I didn't even change out of my jeans. Instead of bridesmaids, my dressing room was packed with my legal team.

The marriage alliance and prenup were already locked in. I wasn't playing games with Andrew anymore.

If he wanted to back out, fine—we'd see each other in court.

If Andrew didn't show up on time, I'd make a scene and air everything right there in front of everyone.

Most of the guests had already arrived. Fifteen minutes before the ceremony, Andrew walked in.

He smirked. "Ms. Evans, planning to marry me in jeans?"

The man standing in front of me looked nothing like the wreck from last night.

Now that he'd cleaned himself up, I could actually see his mother's striking features in his face.

Of course he showed up. I never expected anything less.

I wasn't cocky enough to think he'd suddenly seen the light because of what I'd said last night.

Early this morning, Monica had posted on social media—she was pregnant.

She and her husband were already moving into a new chapter, completely wrapped up in the excitement of their baby.

If Andrew had any sense, it was time to move on—or at least learn to hide those feelings.

Once I slipped into my wedding dress, Andrew and I played the perfect couple, gliding through the crowd like we'd rehearsed it our whole lives.