Wed, Set, Go!

The dressing room smelled like roses, powder, and the tension of rich people preparing for battle. The air-conditioning was fighting for its life. Somewhere in the corner, a scented candle flickered like it, too, was stressed.

Althea sat in front of a gold-rimmed mirror, wearing a silk robe and the expression of decayed corpse.

Three makeup artists buzzed around her like bees with art degrees. One curled her lashes with the precision of a bomb technician, muttering about "lash balance" like it was a sacred equation. Another was aggressively highlighting her cheekbones.

Althea didn't move. She didn't speak. She didn't even blink.

Because blinking might break the spell. And moving might release the monster.

Her reflection looked soft. Romantic. Like a girl who collected dolls and didn't swear in traffic.

Red lipstick. Dusty rose eyeshadow. A highlight that could blind a man from twenty feet.

She looked like a bride. She felt like a weapon.

Today is the day it all falls apart, she thought. Her name, her future, her reputation; poof. Gone.

She would become that daughter. The ruined one. The cautionary tale rich mothers whispered about behind too-large sunglasses. "She was so polite at the gala, who would've thought?"

But it had to happen. Because legacies were built on sacrifice, and sometimes you had to sacrifice the legacy itself to live.

She thought of Adrian. This whole wedding chaos had been his desperate attempt to clean up his heart with a press conference. And maybe… maybe it gave her a chance. An excuse. A curtain to hide behind while she grabbed the suitcase to leave.

It wasn't just about him anymore. Maybe it never was.

She exhaled through her nose as one of the stylists clipped a rhinestone pin into her hair.

This wasn't a bridal suite. It was a war room. And she wasn't the bride. She was the decoy.

But somewhere beneath the makeup and metaphors, her chest ached. Quietly. Stupidly. She thought of Alaya. Of the smell of cookies. Of the way she held things in with such dignity it made you feel bad for breathing too loud. Of how she said Adrian was a coward but a gentle one. Of how she deserved someone who ran toward her, not away.

She thought of Max. The human version of static. Deadpan. Distant. But also, the only one who looked at her like she was a person and not a production. Max, who saw her unraveling and didn't flinch. Max, who didn't say "you'll be okay," but quietly handed her the matches.

And Adrian.

God, Adrian. Stupid, well-meaning, beautiful Adrian who still didn't know whether he was a protagonist or a plot twist. He made things complicated. And warm. Maybe she still cared. Maybe she always would, a little. Some love didn't dissolve. It just settled in your bones like rainwater in old walls.

But this wasn't about love. This was about her. The eldest daughter. The golden child. The one who was supposed to know better, smile through it, and make it work.

But today, she would ruin her life.

Would this hurt people? Probably. Would it ruin reputations? Most definitely. Would it free Adrian? Yes.

Would it free her? God, she hoped so.

The stylists stepped back. One of them held up a mirror. Althea looked at herself. She looked stunning. Timeless. Exactly like the kind of bride rich families faked smiles over. She looked like the perfect daughter.

She felt like she might throw up. I can't undo this. 

There was a knock. "Miss Solace," someone called gently through the door. "They're ready for you."

Of course they were. Everyone was always ready. For her to perform. To present. To polish. No one was ever ready for her to revolt.

But... If you go full chaos goblin, I'm sitting front row. He was.

She stood. The gown cascaded around her legs like a silken crime scene. She smiled at her reflection. The kind of smile that came right before something caught fire.

"Let's ruin a legacy," she whispered.

Then turned and walked out. Not to get married. But to break the script.

The wedding venue was doing the absolute most. There were chandeliers taller than most of the guests, floating candles in fountains, and floral arrangements so aggressively symmetrical they could count as OCD.

Everything was cream and blush and gold. Even the waiters looked like they were dipped in elegance and regret. People milled around in uncomfortable shoes, pretending to sip champagne while subtly checking if their exes had aged badly. A string quartet played a hauntingly soft rendition of a love song that would later be used in a thousand sad wedding reels.

Alaya stood near one of the photo walls, looking ethereal and dangerous in navy. Max, somewhere in the back, lounged with his cat Lilith in tow. Because of course he brought a cat to a wedding. And of course, she looked more bored than he did.

Guests whispered. The bride would be walking in any moment. And then chaos.

She barely made it five steps down the hallway before a hand grabbed her wrist and tugged her firmly into the side entrance of the backyard.

"Althea-" Adrian's voice cracked like it was running on low battery. He looked disheveled in a way that still managed to be runway-chic. "What are you going to do?"

Althea blinked. "Walk down the aisle and then spontaneously combust?"

He did not laugh. His eyes searched hers like he was trying to read a map he never studied.

"I do not know what your plan is," he said, voice low. "I do not know when it changed. But I trust you. I trust you, okay? For my sake. For Alaya's."

That made something flicker in her chest.

She placed her hand gently over his, squeezing once before slipping free.

"You will be free in ten minutes," she whispered. "Just pretend you don't know or I was having affair or something."

Adrian's eyebrows twitched. "Althea…"

"Have a happy life with Alaya," she said, stepping back. "She is patient. And kind. And makes cookies that could cause an international incident."

Adrian's throat bobbed like he was trying to swallow words.

"And you are, well, you are charming in a disaster-prone golden retriever way," she added. "Try not to break anything important. Like her heart."

He gave a strained smile. "You are insane."

She winked. "Historically accurate."

Then, without waiting for another word, she turned on her heel and vanished into the garden shadows. Somewhere in the distance, a string quartet struck the first note. And the chaos began.

End of Chapter 18.