A Parade of Pity and Pointed Remarks
It began during cocktail hour. Lydia, glowing in her custom gown, paraded Hannah before Richard’s wealthy relatives.
“This is my sister, Hannah. She’s very independent—still focused on her career instead of finding someone special.”
The words landed like daggers wrapped in sugar. Mrs. Wellington, Richard’s sharp-eyed aunt, leaned in with false sympathy.
“Don’t worry, dear. There’s someone for everyone. Have you tried matchmaking services?”
Hannah forced a smile, her throat burning with humiliation. She thought the worst was over—until the bouquet toss.
Dragged onto the dance floor against her will, she endured the teasing of bridesmaids half her age. Lydia smirked, locked eyes with her sister, and flung the bouquet deliberately in the opposite direction. Laughter erupted as Hannah stood empty-handed.
For the first time that night, she thought about leaving. Purse in hand, she was ready to walk out when a calm voice behind her said:
“Act like you’re with me.”
