Camille hesitated, eyes flicking to me with what might have been pity—or performance. “We’ll bring you something back,” she offered, with a thin smile.
My lips stretched into a small nod, but I felt it. The heat behind my eyes. The silence in my throat. The lump in my chest I had learned to swallow every day.
And then they laughed.
Not mean-spirited, not sharp—but casual. The way people laugh when they’re comfortable, when they forget someone else is in the room. Like I was a joke. Like I wasn’t even there.
Their voices trailed down the hallway as they made plans—restaurants in Paris, what Camille should wear, how the photos would look.
I turned slowly, walked into our room, and shut the door behind me.
No tears this time. Just stillness.
I moved on instinct, pulling the suitcase from under the bed, unfolding shirts, checking lists, laying out Camille’s makeup bag, folding Kier’s blazers. I didn’t think—I just did what I had always done: prepared everyone else’s life while mine sat on the shelf, untouched.
But then I saw it—Kier’s laptop.
It was still open, still glowing faintly on the nightstand. Like it was waiting for me.
I hesitated.
And then I moved toward it.
It took just one click.
There it was.
A photo. Clear as day.
Kier in a tailored suit. Camille in a white dress, smiling like she had already won. The Eiffel Tower blurred behind them, gold lights blinking in the background. Pre-nup photoshoot – Paris folder.
Another scroll down showed the wedding date. The one I’d seen in the email before. Confirmed.
They weren’t even trying to hide it anymore.
I stared at it.
But I didn’t cry.
Instead, I picked up my phone.
I dialed the gallery—the one I’d visited in secret once, where the photos lined the walls, each one glimmering with confidence and artistry. I remembered the way the assistant had smiled at me when I lingered in front of the bridal portrait display.
The phone rang once. Twice.
“How may I help you?”
I breathed in, slow and steady. Then spoke.
“I’d like to schedule a wedding shoot. A pre-nup session.”
“Of course, ma’am. May I ask the name of the bride and the groom?”
I paused.
Then smiled softly to myself.
“There is no groom,” I said. “Just the bride. Me. Alone.”
Because I was finally choosing myself.
The necklace was gone.