The morning of my wedding should have been a slow, sacred unfurling—each moment a petal opening beneath the soft light of a new beginning. The veil lay pooled on the wooden chair like a fragment of cloud fallen from the sky, delicate and weightless. My reflection in the mirror was not just a woman in white, but a culmination: years of longing, of quiet battles fought in silence, of dreams whispered into the dark. The lace of my gown caught the morning sun, glowing as though lit from within, and for a breath, I believed in miracles.

I had imagined Jamie waiting at the end of the aisle, his tie slightly crooked, his smile warm enough to melt the frost of any fear. I had seen the cameras, the guests hushed in reverence, the world holding its breath for our love story. I had rehearsed my vows in the quiet of the car, murmuring them like prayers, letting each word settle into the marrow of my bones. I had tasted them: I choose you, i honor you.until they were not promises, but truth.

And now, here I was. Alone in the dressing room, surrounded by the scent of lilies and coffee, by the lingering perfume of anticipation. The air was thick with hairspray and hope. My mother’s pearl earrings rested cool against my collarbone, a silent echo of her presence, though she was gone. I touched them gently, as if she might feel it. The robe I wore was tied snugly around me, a fragile armor against the trembling in my hands.

Then the door opened.

Cassie stepped in like a sunbeam made flesh,bright, effortless, radiant. She had always known how to enter a room, how to make the air shift in her wake. Her mascara was flawless, her laugh a melody that invited everyone into its warmth. She carried a paper cup of steaming tea, the kind of small, ordinary gesture that in any other moment would have been tender, even sweet.

She set it on the vanity, reached for my hands, and held them with the intimacy of a sister. “Liv,” she said, voice soft as a benediction, “you look beautiful.”

Her words should have been balm. They should have soothed the tremor in my chest. Instead, they settled like ash.

“Are you nervous?” she asked, tilting her head with that familiar concern. “You want anything? Water? A breath?”

I smiled, because I had learned long ago how to wear a face like a mask. “No, I’m okay,” I whispered. “Just… it’s real now.”

She lifted the cup. “Drink a little. Calm the nerves.”

I took it. Not because I needed it, but because it was Cassie. Because she had always been the one who steadied me. When I’d lost my first audition, she brought me soup and bad movies. When the tabloids tore me apart after a failed role, she called every editor, demanded corrections, and somehow, the articles vanished. I owe it all to cassie and a mysterious fan..the fan who helped me when I was passed over for a part that should have been mine, it reappeared in my inbox the next day, offered with an apology I never asked for.

I never knew who made those things happen. I told myself it was luck. Fate. The universe balancing the scales. But in the quietest corners of my heart, I believed in a quiet hand—someone unseen, moving in the shadows, pulling strings I couldn’t see. A guardian. A ghost. An anonymous soul who left roses on my dressing table with no name, only a note: Keep going.

I sipped the tea.

It was bitter. Sharp. A strange tang at the back of my tongue, like metal and lemon. I frowned, but said nothing. Cassie watched me, her eyes dark and unreadable.

For a while, the morning resumed its gentle rhythm. We talked about the veil, about the photographer’s lighting, about the time we both bombed an audition for a toothpaste commercial and cried in the parking lot until we laughed. We laughed now, too, and for a few stolen minutes, I let myself believe that this was real—that love and joy were not illusions, that the life I had built was solid.

Then the first wave came.

A flutter in my chest, like a bird trapped behind my ribs. Then a hollow in my stomach, deep and cold. I pressed a hand to my mouth. The mirror blurred. The room tilted, the light dimming as if someone had drawn a curtain across the sun.

Cassie was at my side instantly. “Sit,” she said, guiding me to the chair. Her hand on my wrist was cool, steady.

I drank the water she offered. Tried to count my breaths. But the nausea surged, rising like a tide. My vision narrowed. The edges of the world turned gray. I tasted blood or something like it: metallic and thick.

And then she said it.

“I am sorry.”

I blinked. “Sorry… for what?”

She picked up the empty cup. Held it between us like an offering. “You’re being poisoned,” she said, each word precise, deliberate. “It’s in your system now. There’s no antidote.”

I stared at her. My mind refused to accept it. “Cassie… what are you saying?”

“You took everything from me,” she said, voice low, steady. “My roles. My agent. The parts I was born to play. You took Jamie. You climbed, and I waited. I watched. I helped you. I loved you. And you never even saw me.”

“No,” I whispered. “That’s not true. We were...”

“Friends?” She laughed, a sound like glass breaking. “We were never equals. You were the star. I was the sidekick. The one who held your coat and laughed at your jokes and picked up the pieces when you fell. And when you rose, you left me in the dust.”

I tried to stand, but my legs wouldn’t hold me. “Jamie… he’ll stop this. He’ll..."

“Jamie?” she interrupted. “Jamie has been mine for months. He never loved you the way he loves me. He stayed because he felt sorry for you. Because you were Safe. But I… I am not safe. I am not quiet. I am not forgiving.”

The door opened.

And there he was.

Jamie.

He stepped in with that quiet grace I had once adored, the way he moved like he owned every room he entered. He didn’t look at me. Not at first. He went straight to Cassie. Took her face in his hands. Kissed her deep, slow, knowing.

It wasn’t a mistake. It wasn’t confusion.

It was a declaration.

When he finally turned to me, his expression was soft—pitying. “Are you okay?” he asked, as if I were a child who had scraped her knee, as if my world wasn’t collapsing in real time.

Cassie smiled. “We wanted you to leave happy,” she said. “That’s why we waited. So you could have your perfect day. So you could walk down the aisle. So you could die with dignity.”

The words hit like a hammer.

I tried to speak. To scream. To call for help. But my voice was gone, swallowed by the weight of betrayal. My heart pounded, then stuttered. My fingers clawed at the vanity, knocking over the lipstick, the perfume, the photograph of us..me and Cassie, arms around each other, smiling like we were invincible.

I thought of the anonymous fan—the one who had left roses, who had cleared my path, who had whispered keep going when I wanted to quit. Where was he now? If he existed, if he had ever watched over me, why wasn’t he here? Was he watching now, helpless? Or had he never been real at all?

I shoved myself up. Stumbled toward the door. “I’ll go to the venue,” I gasped. “I’ll tell them. I’ll stand in front of everyone and say what you did. I won’t let you win.”

Cassie didn’t stop me. She just smiled.

The corridors blurred. Marble floors, orchids, faces turning, phones rising. Someone reached for me. I shook them off. I ran staggered toward the glass cathedral where hundreds waited, where music played, where the minister stood ready to bind two souls in love.

But only one soul was left.

I burst into the ceremony hall. Light flooded in through the towering windows. Guests turned. Cameras swung. Jamie stood at the altar, calm, composed, already rehearsing his grief.

Our eyes met.

For a heartbeat, the world stilled.

I reached the aisle. My bouquet slipped from my hands. Petals scattered like ashes.

I tried to speak. To cry out. To name them both.

But my legs buckled.

I fell.

The marble was cold against my cheek. The air smelled of lilies and salt tears already being shed for a tragedy not yet complete. Hands reached for me. Voices called my name. Flashbulbs popped like distant gunfire.

I saw Jamie kneel. Take my hand. Whisper something I couldn’t hear.

I saw Cassie in the front row, watching, her face serene, triumphant.

And in that final moment, as the cold seeped into my bones and my breath grew shallow, I thought not of the life I was losing, but of the one I had lived.

I thought of my mother, reading to me under a dim lamp, her voice soft as a lullaby.

I thought of the quiet man....the one who left roses, who fought for me in silence, who believed in me when no one else did. If he was real, if he was here, I hoped he saw me now. I hoped he knew I had tried. I hoped he knew I hadn’t given up.

I thought of Cassie....the sister I never had, the friend who held me through heartbreaks, who laughed with me, who knew me or at least i thought she did. And how love, when twisted by envy and time, could become the most violent of weapons.

I thought of Jamie. Of the way he used to look at me, like I was the only light in a dark room. And how that look had been a lie all along.

The world narrowed. Sounds faded. The lights dimmed.

And then, nothing.

No pain.

No fear.

Only silence.

And the unbearable weight of a dream shattered on the threshold of its fulfillment.

Today was supposed to be the happiest day of my life.

Instead, it was the day I died.

And as the cameras rolled and the guests wept and the world prepared to mourn a bride who collapsed at the altar, no one knew the truth.

No one knew I had been murdered by the two people who swore to love me.

And no one would ever know the name of the man who might have saved me,if he had ever existed at all.

The roses on my dressing table the next morning would be delivered as usual.

The note would say: Keep going.

But I was already gone.

And the world would never know how brightly I had burned before the darkness took me.