[I’ll be waiting at the church in three days. Let’s have the wedding. If you don’t show up, then forget it. We’ll never get married.]
He didn’t believe Polly would actually ignore that.
Three days later, the church was packed. Sebastian stood at the altar, watching the door, his heart pounding.
Only thirty minutes until the ceremony started, but still, no sign of Polly.
He took deeper, sharper breaths, chest rising and falling with anxiety. His eyes never left the doors, silently praying that any moment, I’d walk in wearing a wedding dress.
Minutes ticked by. Guests began whispering amongst themselves.
Sebastian’s nerves were stretched thin. His fingers clutched his phone tightly, knuckles turning white.
Then, the bells rang. The wedding was officially beginning.
And just as he was starting to panic completely, the doors opened.
His heart leapt. Joy flooded his eyes as he hurried toward the entrance.
But he stopped dead in his tracks.
It wasn’t Polly.
It was a courier.
“Who’s Mr. Sebastian Trivett?” the deliveryman called. “Miss Polly Feron asked me to deliver her wedding gift. She said I should read it aloud to you.”
Everyone turned to watch, curiosity painted all over their faces.
“The first item is an award certificate,” the courier announced.
Sebastian blinked, confused—until he saw what the certificate was. His eyes widened when he saw that it was a racing award certificate for the Racing Royals Competition with "Polly Feron" written on it.
He couldn't believe his wife was a racing champion.
“The second item is a divorce agreement. Miss Feron sends her regards and wishes you and Miss Adele a lifetime of mutual loyalty and everlasting love,” the man continued.
Hearing that, Sebastian’s phone slipped from his hand and hit the floor.
He then reached out with trembling fingers and picked up the divorce papers.
His eyes stared at the signature, full of disbelief.
