Chapter 3

The wedding planner's voice faded into background noise as I watched Greyson's phone light up for the fifth time in twenty minutes. We were sitting in the Adams family's private dining room, surrounded by both families as we finalized details for our upcoming ceremony. My mother was discussing flower arrangements with Greyson's stepmother, while my father and Mr. Elliott debated the merits of different investment portfolios. The room buzzed with laughter and excitement.

Only I noticed how Greyson's eyes kept darting to his phone.

"Greyson, darling," his stepmother called, "what do you think about white roses instead of lilies?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes, whatever Marley wants," he replied, his thumb quickly dismissing another notification.

I smiled tightly, feeling the weight of the wooden carvings in my purse—the ones he'd given me as "proof" of his devotion. The tiny wheelchair carving seemed to burn against my skin.

"I need to use the restroom," I announced, rising from my chair.

As I passed behind Greyson's chair, his phone buzzed again. I caught a glimpse of the screen.

*C: I miss you so much. When can we be together openly?*

My heart stuttered. The casual intimacy of the message hit me like a physical blow. Not just the words, but the timing—during our wedding planning session, surrounded by our families.

Greyson quickly locked his phone, but not before I saw his fingers hover over the reply button.

"Marley?" My sister appeared at my side, her eyes narrowing as she followed my gaze to Greyson. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I said, forcing a smile. "Just wedding jitters."

---

"Ms. Adams?" The videographer adjusted his camera equipment on the table between us. "You said you wanted a surprise montage for Mr. Elliott?"

"Yes," I replied, sliding an envelope across the table. "But not exactly what I mentioned on the phone."

His eyebrows rose slightly as he opened the envelope and scanned its contents.

"This is... quite extensive," he said carefully.

"I need discretion," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "And professionalism."

He nodded slowly. "I understand. You want evidence compiled into a... presentation."

"A video montage," I corrected, "of Greyson and Celia Weaver. Together."

I handed him a USB drive containing all the files I'd discovered—the photos, the videos, the screenshots of text messages.

"I need timestamps," I continued. "Locations. Dates that correspond with his business trips and late nights at the office."

The videographer's expression remained neutral, but I caught the flicker of recognition in his eyes. He'd done this kind of work before.

"And you want this ready when?" he asked.

"Three days," I replied. "Before the wedding."

---

Three days later, I stood in our bedroom watching Greyson adjust his tie in the mirror. He was humming—actually humming—as if he didn't have a care in the world.

"I need to ask you something," I said quietly.

He turned, his smile fading slightly at my tone. "What is it?"

"Celia Weaver," I said, watching his face carefully. "Who is she to you?"

His expression shifted—surprise, then wariness, then a practiced blankness I'd never seen before.

"She's just someone I met at a charity event," he said smoothly. "Why?"

"You seem very... protective of her," I pressed.

Greyson sighed, reaching for his phone. "Look, I can show you my contacts. We've exchanged maybe five text messages total."

He handed me his phone, unlocked. I scrolled through his contacts list. There was no "Celia Weaver."

"There," he said, pointing to a name I didn't recognize. "That's her professional name. I barely know her."

I looked into his eyes—those eyes I'd trusted for six years—and saw nothing but sincerity. Either he was telling the truth, or he was an excellent liar.

"Okay," I said, handing back his phone.

He smiled, relief washing over his features. "You know you're the only one for me, Marley. Always have been."

I nodded, but inside, something final and irreparable had broken. The man standing before me wasn't the Greyson I thought I knew.

Later that night, as Greyson slept beside me, I slipped out of bed and retrieved the USB drive the videographer had delivered that afternoon. The wedding was tomorrow. Everything was ready.

So was I.