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The Bride Was Not Me Novel Cover

The Bride Was Not Me

After five years together and two years of marriage, a dedicated wedding planner is shocked to receive a new client request. The bride-to-be is a hopeful young woman who reveals her groom is Victor Langford—the narrator's own husband. Tasked with organizing their ceremony at her dream venue in Clairmont, she realizes Victor is giving his mistress of two months the lavish wedding he always denied his wife. Now, she must plan the event where the bride is not her.
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Chapter 2

The Truth Beneath the Silk

So that was how it was.

Compared to them, I should have remembered that day more clearly.

I had been lying on an ice-cold operating table, using every ounce of strength I had to bring our hard-won child into the world.

Should I have been heartbroken, or relieved, knowing that at least I might have unknowingly witnessed the very moment they first met?

A dull ache throbbed steadily in my chest. I dug my nails into my palm, forcing myself to maintain a calm, professional expression.

"Ms. Greenfield, do you have any other requests for the wedding?"

Anna tilted her head, thought for a moment, then suddenly spoke up. "Oh, right. The entire floor has to be covered with imported cashmere carpets. My wedding dress is pure silk. My boyfriend bought it for me. It can't snag even a little. Money doesn't matter. My boyfriend has plenty of it."

I almost laughed when I heard that.

Victor. The poor student I had personally lifted up. The boy who once couldn't even scrape together five dollars, now a billionaire CEO. What took others twenty years to achieve, I helped him accomplish in just three.

Maybe I had made his path so smooth that he forgot where he came from and the person who paved the road for him.

As for that wedding dress, it was a luxury brand that required proof of assets just to place an order.

At the runway show, the amazement in Victor's eyes had been unmistakable. In that instant, I was certain the dress would be mine.

And then I received the brand's confirmation letter, informing me that the order had entered production.

Only the size was two sizes smaller.

I had assumed it was simply his miscalculation of my postpartum body.

Now I finally understood. The dress I could never fit into had never been meant for me.

I closed the folder. "I understand, Ms. Greenfield. I promise you a wedding that no amount of money could ever replace."

After smiling and seeing her out, I let out a cold laugh and called my best friend, who worked as a lawyer.

"Victor cheated," I said flatly. "I want him out with nothing. When it's done, everything under his name is your legal fee."

Less than half an hour later, the evidence of Victor's affair landed in my inbox.

Just two months' worth of material, yet nearly 100GB in total.

The first video was from the day I gave birth. Anna hadn't told the whole story.

At the very moment I was fighting for my life on the operating table, Victor had taken her to a hotel.

When I came out of surgery, he rushed back with his clothes in disarray, claiming he had gone out to buy me chocolate.

The second video was from our child's one-month celebration.

Someone, drunk, had held the baby improperly, causing a severe rash all over his body. He was rushed into surgery.

As I stood trembling in the hallway, Victor walked into another exam room and flirted softly with Anna, who was on the night shift.

The third video was from my postpartum recovery, the time he claimed he was away on a business trip.

The excuse had been laughably weak.

I owned the company. How could I not know whether there was a business trip or not?

But when I saw him jolting awake night after night from the baby's crying, exhaustion written all over his face, I felt bad for him. So I let him go out and relax.

I never imagined my understanding would give Victor and Anna exactly what they wanted. An uninterrupted trip, just the two of them, sweet and indulgent.

My hands shook as I held my phone and opened the longest video.

The moment it started, a piercing cry filled the room. I recognized it instantly. My son's cry.

My fingers trembled as I fast-forward the video.

Anna's syrupy voice drifted out. "You're really bringing your own son to me so I can practice inserting IV needles? Is that really okay?"

Victor answered casually, almost amused, "What's the problem? People are always giving you a hard time because your hand isn't steady enough. Practicing on mannequins is nothing compared to the real thing. If he can't handle a little pain, he doesn't deserve to be my son."

In the past, I had always believed Victor was a good father. From his early clumsiness to later skillfully burping the baby and changing diapers.

Especially after he started "traveling for work," he seemed even more attentive and experienced with the child.

That was why I had felt safe letting him take our son out alone.

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