Chapter 1

On the day we were supposed to try on wedding dresses, my fiancée, Carol Gordon, suddenly brushed aside the dress the saleswoman handed her. "No thanks."

I turned around, stunned. "What do you mean?"

Carol casually stubbed out her cigarette and smiled.

She said, "I'm not showing up for the wedding. Go ahead and try it on, it's all yours."

This was insane. I croaked, "You're the bride, and you're not even showing up? Carol, you've ditched our wedding seven times already. So what's your excuse this time?"

Carol replied, "Yeah. I'm seeing this really hot guy lately. He's not like other men.

"There'll be way too many reporters at the wedding. If he finds out I'm married, he'd be embarrassed and really upset.

"The wedding can go on even without the bride, can't it? We got through the engagement party just fine, didn't we? If it doesn't work out, we'll do it again next time, alright?"

I stood there, stiff as a board, while Carol, completely unfazed, walked away in her high heels.

The saleswomen exchanged awkward glances. I took a deep breath and listed off the measurements. "Make the wedding dress in this size."

A wedding without a bride wasn't a wedding. I guessed I had to find myself a new one.

*****

My phone kept blowing up with messages from that guy's girlfriend.

At first, she was begging me to talk to Carol and not ruin their relationship.

Then she started cursing me out, saying I couldn't even keep my own fiancée under control, calling me a loser, and even telling me to die.

I didn't reply to a single one. Of course I tried talking to her.

I kept pushing for the wedding at first, but Carol would laugh it off and give me some half-hearted answer. But later, she'd look at me with irritation in her eyes and ask, "Lucien, are you really that desperate?"

Her face now overlapped with the memory of her at seventeen, cheeks flushed as she said, "Lucien, when we grow up, I swear I'll marry you."

I wondered if this was truly the same Carol from seventeen.

We were the most famous childhood sweethearts in Ertonhull. Our parents would always laugh and tease me, "Lucien, Carol has really spoiled you rotten."

I was into luxury cars and fancy watches, but back when we were kids, even though Carol was the daughter of the city's richest man, she often didn't even have enough cash for a meal.

Whenever someone asked, she'd laugh it off without a care.

She said, "I bought Lucien a limited-edition Cullinan at the car show a couple of days ago. Spent all my money on it."

I heard Carol blew a small fortune on a car last night because the guy she liked stopped in front of it for two seconds.

As I walked out of the bridal shop, I spotted a Maybach parked out front, gently rocking. The soundproofing was top-notch.

But when I got closer, I could still hear faint, suggestive noises coming from inside.

A woman's low, breathy voice, laced with laughter, came through. "Did that girl just text you? Read it out loud."

The man's voice was low, thick with desire. "I really love you. I can't live without you."

He sounded embarrassed. "Don't leave me."

How ironic. Carol used to say those exact words to me.

I let my guard down around her completely.

Even when our relationship was rotting beneath the surface, crawling with maggots, I still foolishly thought I was soaking in sweetness.

Carol wasn't like those women who go out of their way to cover up when they cheat. She'd call me straight up, her voice low and a little breathless. "Lucien, I'm in the middle of—"

At that moment, I was showing off to my friends the huge boxes of little trinkets she'd sent me from Flaftol.

For years, whenever she was on a business trip, if she spotted something interesting, she'd always pick it up for me.

Thinking the call had cut out, I asked, dumb as ever, "What are you doing? I didn't catch that, baby."

There was a two-second pause, then the rustle of fabric, her breathy sigh, and a man's taunting chuckle.

The man said, "We're having sex, dumbass."

Summer in Ertonhull was buzzing with cicadas, but all I felt inside was a cold emptiness.

I caught a red-eye that night, and my nose burned with the urge to cry.

When Carol opened the door, she was still groggy, her lace nightgown barely hiding anything, and the glaring hickeys on her skin were impossible to miss.

She softly touched my puffy eyes. No explanation, no apology, she said, "Are you breaking up with me, Lucien?"

My mind was spinning, and I kept asking again and again, "Why?"

Carol's eyes were dark with emotion. "Because you're too dumb, Lucien. You're so stupid that I can't bring myself to keep lying to you anymore."

That was the first time I ever hit her.

My palm struck Carol's cheek, and for a moment, I felt empty inside.

Even before the anger kicked in, all I felt was ache.

I was always the one who couldn't stand to see her suffer.

When we were eighteen, the brakes failed, and we ended up in a massive pile-up. Carol instinctively reached out to shield me.

Her hand was pierced straight through by the shattered windshield, and her blood splattered all over me.