“I’m against this,” an older stranger said, stopping my wedding. What followed shocked everyone—my fiancé was arrested.

But I saw it.

And for the first time since that night on the rooftop, something inside me shifted — subtle, uneasy, and impossible to ignore.

Because love doesn’t usually feel like pressure.
And fairy tales don’t usually come with price tags.

And that was when I realized:
the story I thought I was living might not be the one Ethan had planned at all.

“Well, why settle for fine when we can have the best, Cassidy? It’s our wedding. We deserve it.” He sounded so sure of himself, so… entitled.

I just told myself it was excitement. He was just really into the details. Right?

Then, a few days before the wedding, he brought up a prenuptial agreement.

This, too, seemed reasonable until he leaned back in his chair, let out a short, cold laugh, and said, “Let’s add a clause — if you ever file for divorce, you owe me a fortune.”

I didn’t say anything, just stared at the page. My fiancé was joking about bankrupting me if I ever left him.

It left a bad taste in my mouth that never went away.

Do you ever have those moments where your brain screams a warning, but your heart just puts its fingers in its ears and sings loudly? That was me.

Then I found something shocking.

While I was searching through the closet, I found a divorce certificate with Ethan’s name on it.

My stomach dropped like a stone in an empty well. He never, ever mentioned he was married before!

I stood there, staring at the legal document. Why would he lie?

I grabbed the paper and marched into the living room.

“What is this, Ethan?” My voice shook. “You never told me you were married!”

His charm instantly faded to a desperate panic. He moved fast, crossing the room in three strides, and snatched the divorce certificate.

“It’s nothing. I was young; it was a mistake,” he said, holding me tight as I shook with sudden, profound betrayal. “It means nothing to me now, Cassidy. I only want you. Look at me. Only you.”

I wanted to cling to the fairytale and push this awful reality away, but that tiny voice in my head, the one I’d been ignoring for five months, was no longer a whisper. It was a full-blown scream.

I spent that night in a haze.

He apologized, he cried, he spun a story about a quick, misguided college marriage that meant nothing.
He said he hadn’t told me because he was afraid of losing me. I let him hold me, but the warmth was gone. I felt an awful, aching emptiness.

And yet, I still planned to walk down that aisle.

Why? Because the dresses were bought, the church was booked, and I thought we would overcome the whole previous marriage lie.

Maybe he wasn’t my perfect man after all, but he was still pretty darn close.

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