Chapter 1
On my birthday, Braiden Meyer gave me a countdown watch.
He fastened it around my wrist and said, "When it reaches zero, we'll finally have the wedding you deserve."
I believed him.
Every day, I watched the numbers tick down, imagining the moment he would finally choose me without hesitation.
But seven hours before the countdown ended, Braiden's childhood sweetheart, Sienna Cline, posted a photo on Instagram.
In the picture, she was wearing my wedding veil, standing beside Braiden with a radiant smile.
The caption read: [He said I could try it first.]
I rushed to the bridal boutique. The sales associates looked so uncomfortable that they couldn't even meet my eyes.
Braiden, however, merely frowned. "It's just a wedding dress. If she likes it, let her try it on."
Then he added impatiently, "You're already Mrs. Meyer. Why are you making such a big deal out of these meaningless formalities?"
I stared at the veil she had tossed onto the dressing table. For the first time, I felt exhausted.
And suddenly, I understood that what I'd been waiting for all these years wasn't a wedding. It was a choice, a choice that was never going to be made.
At midnight, the countdown finally hit zero.
Braiden called and said he was on his way to take me home.
I didn't answer because in that moment, I finally understood that some countdowns didn't end with a happy ending.
*****
My phone lit up for the seventeenth time. I turned it face down and kept removing the strap from my wrist.
After the countdown hit zero, the watch didn't stop.
It vibrated, and a tiny message popped up. [Happy wedding day.]
I stared at those words for a long time, the metal clasp left a red line on my fingertip.
Braiden's call came through again.
I answered.
It was quiet on his end, just the sound of the car's GPS in the background.
"Malia, open the door. I'm downstairs," he said.
I glanced out the window.
His black Bentley sat under the streetlight, headlights still on; his patience was always shining, but never warm.
"I'm not home," I said.
Braiden paused for a moment, his voice losing all warmth. "Where are you?"
"At a hotel," I replied.
"Are you done throwing a tantrum?" he asked.
He was always like this.
Never cared if I was hurting, never cared why I left—just always wanted to know if I was done making a scene.
I put the watch in my jewelry box and closed the lid.
"Braiden, I'm not making a fuss," I said.
He gave a low, mocking laugh. "All this drama over a veil? Malia, you really know how to make a scene."
"If Sienna wants to try it, let her. But if she wants your spot as Mrs. Meyer, are you just going to hand that over too?" I shot back.
He went quiet on the other end.
I could hear his knuckles tapping the steering wheel, calm and measured.
"That's meaningless," he said.
"So what do you think actually matters? Am I supposed to put on the wedding dress she tried, wear the veil she wore, and smile for our wedding like nothing happened?" I shot back.
His voice finally dropped. "She's not in good health. She wanted to have a little fun today."
I looked down at my wrist.
After wearing that watch for three months, there was a faint indentation on the inside of my wrist, like a gentle shackle I could barely feel, but could never escape.
"Today's my birthday too," I said.
He seemed to finally remember, his tone softening a bit. "Didn't I already get you a gift? We'll still have the wedding. Malia, don't make such a big deal out of it."
I let out a bitter laugh.
"Braiden, today at the bridal shop, the staff asked if I wanted the veil sanitized. I stood there, feeling like I was picking up someone else's scraps."
Braiden's breath paused for a second.
He was calm again right away. "I'll have someone bring you a new one tomorrow."
"Don't bother," I said.
"Malia Barton." His voice was sharp.
Whenever he used my full name, it was always a warning.
Before, I'd always stop and wait for him to say something to comfort me.
Even if he was going through the motions.
But not tonight.
I grabbed the folder from my bedside table, the divorce papers my lawyer put together for me earlier today.
I still hadn't finished filling it out, only writing my name and ID number on the first page.
"Braiden, let's just call off the wedding," I said.
He didn't say anything.
I heard the car door slam shut.
A few seconds later, the elevator chime came through the phone.
"I'm coming up to get you," he said.
I looked at the hotel door.
No one was there.
"I told you, I'm not home," I said.
"Then send me the address," he said.
"I'm not sending it."
Braiden's patience finally ran out. "Malia, are you really going to make me track you down?"
"Do whatever you want," I replied.
I hung up.
A minute later, Sienna texted me.
It was a photo.
In the picture, Braiden was standing at my front door, holding a cake.
She wrote: [Hey, Malia, Braiden's just stubborn sometimes, but he really cares about you. Please don't be mad at him, alright?]
I looked at the cake box.
It was my favorite—chestnut cake.
Yet there was a sticky note stuck to the lid. [Sienna can't have sugar, so this is the less-sugar version.]
I didn't reply.
Just as I was about to power off my phone, Sienna sent another message. [Oh, and I helped him pick the message for the countdown watch. Do you like it?]