The Wrong Bride: The Runaway's Revenge

1.

I sat on the fifty-thousand-dollar Italian leather sofa in my Upper East Side penthouse, my fingertips ice-cold. The bespoke gift box from a high-end stationer in my hands, meant to hold my ten-year dream, now felt as heavy as a tombstone.

It held our wedding invitations.

I'd spent three months picking the perfect paper texture for this. I remember Spencer glancing at the samples, barely interested. "Just get the most expensive one, Chloe. We need everyone to know the Whitman wedding is fl