Chapter 23
The venue was elegant. White roses
everywhere. Crystal chandeliers hung from a temporary canopy. The aisle was carpeted in ivory, lined with petals and gold–trimmed
chairs.
Soft instrumental music played as guests
waited, murmuring in excitement.
Cassandra stood in front of a full–length
mirror inside the bridal suite. Her gown was
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simple but stunning–ivory silk, long sleeves, a soft lace train. Her veil hung lightly over her
curls. Her hands trembled a little, but her face
was calm.
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Her mother stepped in. “They’re ready.”
Cassandra gave a small nod. “Okay.”
She walked out, arm linked with her mother’s,
into the golden light of the setting sun. Gasps
filled the crowd.
Scott stood at the end of the aisle in a dark
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My Husband Faked Our Marriage
gray tux, his eyes locked on her. He smiled,
not moving, not blinking. He looked proud.
Sure.
The music changed. People rose from their
seats. Cassandra walked slowly down the
aisle, keeping her gaze on Scott. Every step
felt heavier and lighter at the same time.
Then-
“Wait! Cassandra!”
The music cut off. Heads turned.
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Johansen.
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He stood at the back, pushing past the
guests. Breathless. Eyes wild. “Please–wait!”
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Cassandra froze for a second. Scott stiffened.
Her mother let go of her arm, stormed toward
him, and slapped him across the face. “If you
ruin this–I swear–I’ll kill you myself. Enough.
You’ve done enough to her.”
“I just want a second chance!” Johansen
yelled, ignoring the stares. “I still love her.”
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Cassandra didn’t flinch. “You’re too late.”
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Security moved, but she raised her hand. “Let
him stay. Let him watch.”
She looked at Johansen one last time, then
turned away.
She continued walking, steady, each step
louder in the silence. When she reached the
altar, Scott gently took her hand. They turned
toward the officiant. The ceremony resumed.
Vows were exchanged. Promises made.
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“I want to be your calm after every storm,”
Scott said. “I promise to always choose you.
Every day.”
Cassandra took a breath. “I promise to
protect your heart as if it’s mine. And to never
run again.”
“You may now kiss the bride,” the officiant
said.
Their lips met. The crowd erupted into
cheers.
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Johansen stood alone in the back, tears
streaming silently down his face. He turned
away before the reception began and left.
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That night, he sat alone at a bar nearby. His
tie was loosened, shirt wrinkled from the rain
he didn’t bother to avoid. His hand clutched a
half–empty glass of whiskey, untouched for
minutes. The bartender had stopped
checking on him. He was just another sad
man nursing a heartbreak.
In the mirror behind the bottles, he could
barely recognize himself. Hollow eyes.
Slumped shoulders. His reflection looked
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defeated.
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“She was supposed to be mine,” he muttered,
voice barely audible.
He thought about the first time he met
Cassandra–her laughter echoing in the
university hallways. How her eyes lit up when
she talked about fashion. How he promised
her the world, and she believed him.
He remembered the night she cried in their
apartment, begging him not to leave. “I’ll die if
you go,” she’d whispered, her hands
clutching his sleeves. He had wiped her tears
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My Husband Faked Our Marriage
then–only to betray her later.
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He thought about the baby they lost. The
home they almost had. The version of himself
he could’ve been if he just chose better.
Then he remembered her eyes earlier at the
wedding–clear, calm, certain.
She didn’t love him anymore.
“I should’ve fought harder,” he whispered. “I
should’ve chosen her.”
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My Husband Faked Our Marriage
He downed the last of the drink, pushed the
glass away, and staggered out into the cold.
Rain had started, but he didn’t notice. Or
maybe he didn’t care.
He walked aimlessly, through the quiet
streetlights and empty sidewalks. His steps
were uneven, his vision blurred.
A horn blared. Tires screeched.
He turned his head too late.
A sharp flash of headlights. Impact.
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And then—nothing.
News of the accident came in the morning.
Scott saw it on his phone but didn’t mention
- it. Cassandra was too happy–glowing after
their first night as husband and wife.
Cassandra’s mother, however, told her.
“He’s alive. But in bad shape. They’re saying it
might be his karma.”
Cassandra didn’t react. She simply nodded.
“Send flowers.”
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“That’s all?”
“That’s enough.”
Later, a bouquet of white lilies was delivered
to the hospital with a short note: “Wishing
you peace. – C.R.”
Johansen lay in the hospital bed, head
wrapped in bandages, ribs broken. He
opened the card and stared at the
handwriting. No tears came this time. Only
silence.
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He had lost everything–Cassandra, his
business, the baby, his pride.
All that remained was regret.
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Meanwhile, Cassandra and Scott danced
slowly in the garden of their new home. The sun was setting. Her dress trailed behind her,
her heels kicked off to the side.
“You okay?” he asked.
She leaned her head on his chest. “Perfect.”
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My Husband Faked Our Marriage
Scott kissed her forehead. “Finally ours.”
And this time–nothing could take her away.
