Chapter 1

Seventh time already.

I stood outside city hall in the red dress I'd bought specially for our marriage registration.

Rain hammered down, soaking the hem.

My phone lit up. Jason Brooks.

I answered the call, my voice eerily calm.

"Charlie, I'm sorry. Mom's sick again—I need to take her to the hospital," he said.

Same excuse as always.

I could picture his face right now, all guilt and helplessness.

But my heart was already numb.

*****

I hung up without a word.

Rain streamed down my face—I couldn't tell if I was crying or not.

Five years together. Today was supposed to make it official, give our love a future.

But Jason let me down again. For the seventh time.

The first time, he had a last-minute meeting.

I believed him.

The second time, his car broke down on the way.

I believed him.

Third, fourth, fifth, sixth—always something.

And now seven. His mother, sick again.

Every time, I'd get dressed up, grab my paperwork, and wait at city hall full of hope.

And every time, I'd leave alone, feeling like an idiot.

My phone buzzed again—it was my best friend, Emily Smith.

As soon as I picked up, she yelled, "Charlotte! Don't tell me that jerk Jason stood you up again!"

I sniffled, trying to sound normal. "Yeah."

"Seven times! Does he think he owns the place? And his mom—is she made of glass? I'm gonna kill him!"

Emily's voice was so loud that it hurt my ears.

But I smiled anyway. At least someone cared.

"Forget it. I'm just tired."

Silence on her end.

"Where are you? Don't move. I'm sending my brother."

"No—"

"No arguments! He's close by. Stay put!"

Emily hung up before I could protest.

I hugged myself, crouching under the awning, watching cars pass through the rain.

My red dress looked almost ridiculous in the gloom—like it was mocking me.

Before long, a sleek black Phaeton pulled up in front of me.

The door opened, and a black umbrella appeared, cutting through the rain.

Under it stood a tall man in a perfectly tailored suit, distant and elegant.

It was Emily's brother, Edward Smith.

He walked over, his shadow blocking out everything else.

I looked up—rain blurred everything except his pressed lips and sharp jawline.

He didn't say a word—just shrugged off his suit jacket and draped it over my rain-soaked shoulders.

The jacket, still warm from his body and carrying a subtle woody scent, instantly chased away some of the cold.

"Let's go," he said.

His voice was deep, his tone leaving no room for discussion.

I stood up and followed him into the car.

Heat blasted from the vents, slowly thawing my frozen body.

Edward handed me a clean handkerchief and started driving in silence.

The only sound was the windshield wipers.

I clutched my paperwork, completely lost.

Five years, and it felt like the end.

But I couldn't even find the strength to cry or ask why.

Edward just drove, steady and silent, never asking where to go.

I stared out at the city rushing past, eyes stinging.

Just then, through the rearview mirror, Edward glanced at the folder in my lap.

Inside was my marriage paperwork.

His gaze shifted to my red dress, still bright against the gray rain.

Then he spoke, his voice calm and even, like a stone dropped into the still lake.

"Are you still going to marry him?"

Edward's question shattered the numb facade I'd maintained.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

Was I still going to marry him?

I didn't know.

All I knew was my heart hurt more than I ever thought possible.

Noticing my silence, Edward didn't push.

The car stopped outside a small, elegant restaurant.

"Let's eat," he said, already undoing his seatbelt and getting out. He came around with the black umbrella, sheltering me from the storm.

I followed him inside, where the waiter greeted us respectfully and led us to a private room by the window.

Edward ordered comfort food and hot chocolate.

The hot chocolate warmed me from the inside out.

"Thanks," I said softly.

"Emily's worried," Edward said.

I knew he was only here for her sake.

We barely knew each other.

Even though he was Emily's real brother, I'd only met him a few times.

He was always busy, just passing through family gatherings.

To me, he was just "Emily's super hot, aloof brother."

The food came quickly, beautifully plated.

But I had no appetite—just ate mechanically, tasting nothing.

Right then, my phone rang again. Jason, again.

I hesitated, then put it on silent.

But he kept calling, over and over.

Edward looked up at me, his expression calm.

I took a breath, excused myself, and answered in the hallway.

"Charlie, don't be mad. Mom's really sick—her blood pressure's acting up. I just got her settled," Jason said, exhausted.

"Okay," I said flatly.

"Where are you? Let me come find you. We need to talk."

"No, I want to be alone."

"Charlie!" His patience was wearing thin. "Can't you be more understanding? I've got problems piling up here—cut me some slack. It's just a marriage license. What's the big deal if we do it in a few days? Does it have to be today?"

What was the big deal if we did it in a few days?

His words chilled me to the core.

So, in his mind, our big life moment—the thing we'd been waiting for—was just some trivial errand that could wait.

All my hope, all my heartbreak—to him, I was just making a scene.

"Jason," I said, my voice cold. "We've been together five years."

"I know! That's exactly why you should understand me!"

"I always try to understand you. But who understands me?" My voice shook. "This is the seventh time, Jason! Every single time you've had an excuse, and every single time I believed you! But what about me? What am I to you?"

Long silence.

Finally, he said, his voice low, "Charlie, I'm sorry. This one's on me. Don't overthink it, okay? Once I get through this, I'll make it up to you. I promise."

Same old story.

Just more apologies and promises.

And next time, nothing would change.

Suddenly, I just felt exhausted. What was the point?

"I'm done," I said.

I hung up and blocked him.

Back in the private room, Edward was sipping coffee, as if blind to my distraught state.

Just then, my phone lit up—a photo from Emily.

In it, an elegant middle-aged woman sat at a table, beaming and playing cards with intense focus, completely energized.

Emily's furious message popped up: [This is what a "hypertension attack" looks like? Luisa's crushing it at the card table across from my place!]