chapter 5

When I saw Brad's name flashed on my phone screen, I froze.

My hand tightened around the handle of my suitcase.

"Ellen, what the heck is that post you put up? Take it down—now."

Brad's voice rang out, laced with irritation. "Are you still mad that Lara and I took those pictures? Is that why you're throwing a tantrum?"

He sounded annoyed but also oddly helpless, as if he believed he had it all figured out.

"I already explained everything to you, didn't I? Why are you still making a scene? Most of our Instagram friends are mutual friends. Can you stop making us a laughingstock?

"You've posted so many misleading things these past couple of days. Can you please just stop embarrassing yourself and me?"

I stared at my phone, my grip so tight it hurt. That tiny shred of hope I had left had completely shattered.

So that's why he called. Not to ask if the wedding news was real. Not to ask who the groom was.

He just wanted me to delete the post. I actually thought he might be calling because he cared. Because he wanted to stop me. How ridiculous.

I took a deep breath and said coldly, "The wedding is real. But the groom? It's not you."

Silence. Brad was stunned.

Just as I was about to hang up, he suddenly shouted, "No way! Who else would you marry besides me?"

A bitter smile tugged at my lips. Without hesitation, I ended the call and blocked his number for good.

Delete. Block. Erase. By the time I finished, I felt completely drained, body and soul.

Ever since I'd been with Brad, I'd lost who I was.

My whole life had revolved around him—what he wanted to eat, what he liked to drink, and whether he was feeling okay.

I barely talked to other guys. Honestly, even my friendships with female friends had slipped away.

So maybe it wasn't surprising that he thought I'd never leave him.

I'd poured years of effort and love into that relationship.

He was planted deep in my heart like a thorny root.

Now that I'd finally ripped him out, it left me raw and bleeding.

Just as I was lost in those thoughts, a hand reached over and took my suitcase.

Startled, I looked up—and there he was. Jude.

The man I was about to marry. A rush of emotions surged through me.

I had said yes to Jude's proposal mostly out of a desperate need to escape Brad's shadow.

And now, standing in front of Jude, I suddenly felt a pang of guilt.

"I'll take you to the hotel," Jude said softly. "We haven't had the ceremony yet, so bringing you home right now wouldn't be proper. But tomorrow, once we're married, you'll be walking through that door as my wife—proudly."

He wore wire-rimmed glasses that gave him a refined scholarly look, but his eyes held a quiet confidence, like he knew exactly what he wanted—and he wasn't going to lose it.

My chest tightened. Mom passed away when I was young, and Dad raised me all on his own.

But recently, he'd died from the sickness, and just like that, I had no family left.

Not a single soul to help plan my wedding.

But Jude? Since the day we set the date, he had taken on everything—schedules, venues, and vendors. Big or small, he remembered it all.

Compared to Brad, it really was like night and day.

I slid my hand around Jude's arm.

He glanced at me, and something flickered in his eyes—deep and unreadable—but it vanished quickly.

I wouldn't let myself get trapped in that toxic relationship. Brad wasn't worth my tears. He never was.