Not Your Bride Anymore

Chapter 1: The Wedding Dress and the Missing Groom The dress fit like a promise. Avery Collins stood before the three-way mirror in the private fitting room, layers of ivory silk falling from her waist in a soft, luminous sweep. The bodice had been hand-embroidered with tiny pearls that caught the light every time she breathed. The veil trailed behind her like mist. The bridal consultant clasped both hands beneath her chin. “Miss Collins, you look absolutely stunning. Truly. Your fiancé is going to forget how to breathe when he sees you.” Avery smiled because that was what a bride was supposed to do. “Thank you,” she said. Her voice was calm. Polished. Pretty enough to match the dress. The consultant didn’t notice the phone in Avery’s hand. No one ever noticed the small things if Avery made the rest of herself look composed enough. She lowered her eyes to the screen. Jason Blake. Third call. No answer. Again. The consultant’s smile stiffened at the edges. “Is Mr. Blake still on his way?” “He may still be on the plane.” Avery locked the screen and looked up at herself in the mirror. The woman in the glass looked perfect. Graceful neck, smooth shoulders, dark hair swept away from her face, a wedding dress worth more than some people’s cars wrapped around her like a fairy tale. A fairy tale with a missing groom. “Could you help me out of it?” Avery asked. “And please pack his suit as well. I’ll take it home. If anything needs adjusting, I’ll contact you.” “Of course.” The consultant recovered quickly. People in luxury service always did. She stepped behind Avery and began working on the hidden buttons with careful fingers. Avery stood still, hands loose at her sides. The wedding was supposed to happen in three weeks, before Westbridge became too hot and heavy with summer. The hotel ballroom had been booked. The flowers had been chosen. The guest list had been argued over, trimmed, expanded, argued over again. Her mother had already cried twice over the seating chart. Jason had promised he would make it to the fitting. Then again, Jason promised many things. Avery changed back into her clothes, signed for the dress and suit, and walked out of the bridal salon under the consultant’s bright, anxious farewell. Outside, the sky had gone gray-blue with early evening. Rain threatened but hadn’t yet fallen. Martin, the family driver, was already waiting beside the silver Mercedes SUV. He hurried forward to take the two garment bags from her. “Miss Avery.” “Thank you, Martin.” He placed the bags in the back with the kind of care one reserved for something sacred. The white wedding gown. The charcoal suit. A perfect pair. Avery stared at them for one second too long before sliding into the back seat. The door closed. Silence sealed around her. She called Jason again. No answer. She called once more. This time, the line connected. Avery straightened. “Jason?” A woman laughed softly on the other end. Not a polite laugh. Not a confused laugh. A lazy, intimate, deliberate sound. “Hello?” Avery’s fingers tightened around the phone. “Where is Jason?” “Oh.” The woman drew the word out. “You must be his fiancée.” Avery’s eyes went cold. Martin glanced at her through the rearview mirror, then quickly looked away. “Put him on,” Avery said. “He’s asleep.” Fabric rustled near the phone. “He drank too much. Poor thing came back from Vegas and everyone wanted to celebrate. You know how people are around Jason.” Avery didn’t answer. The woman laughed again. “He’s exhausted.” “Where are you?” “Where do you think?” The voice dipped lower, sweeter. “Home.” Avery shut her eyes once. When she opened them, the city lights outside the tinted window had become sharp, hard points. “Martin,” she said, ending the call before the woman could say another word. “Take me to Jason’s villa.” Martin’s shoulders tensed. “Miss Avery…” “Please drive.” He hesitated. He had known her since she was a teenager. That gave him the right, in his mind, to sigh like an old uncle and worry out loud. “You and Mr. Blake grew up together,” he said carefully. “You know his temper. You know his habits. Maybe you should wait until tomorrow when he’s sober.” Avery looked out the window. Westbridge was coming alive for the night. Restaurants lit their awnings. Office towers glowed. Traffic crawled under a sky that seemed ready to break open. “I’m sorry,” she said after a moment. “I shouldn’t have snapped.” Martin’s face softened in the mirror. “You didn’t.” “I did.” He said nothing more. He only drove. Avery leaned back and closed her eyes. For a few minutes, the hum of the car blurred with the city outside. Her mind drifted, unwillingly, to a smaller hand holding hers. To a boy standing in front of her on a school playground, chin lifted, fearless and furious. Jason at seven. Jason before parties, women, lies, private clubs, and Vegas. Jason before everyone started telling her she was too good for him. The car stopped. Avery opened her eyes. “We’re here,” Martin said. Jason’s villa stood behind a tall black gate in one of the older wealthy neighborhoods north of downtown. The kind of place built for people who liked privacy more than neighbors. The gate code still worked. Of course it did. Jason had never bothered to lock Avery out of anything. His wine cellar. His game room. The private lounge he swore his father couldn’t know about. Avery stepped inside carrying the suit bag. Rain had begun to gather in the wind. The front door opened under her hand. She expected perfume. Laughter. Maybe the woman from the phone curled on Jason’s couch in one of his shirts. Instead, the first thing she saw was Jason sitting stiffly on the sofa, head lowered like a guilty teenager. And across from him, in a dark tailored suit, sat Callum Rhodes. Avery stopped at the edge of the living room. Callum held a glass of water, not wine. His posture was relaxed, almost lazy, yet the entire room seemed to have arranged itself around him. The thin lenses of his glasses caught the light. His expression was calm in a way that made it more intimidating, not less. Jason looked flushed. His hair was a mess. He was still drunk enough to blink too slowly, but sober enough to be terrified. That, more than anything else, made Avery pause. Jason Blake feared almost no one. Except Callum Rhodes. Callum was not Jason’s uncle, not by blood, no matter how many people in Jason’s circle treated him like some untouchable family authority. He was a close friend and business associate of Jason’s father, a man trusted enough to be asked to keep Jason from destroying himself while Mr. Blake managed overseas deals. Jason was twenty-four. Callum was only a few years older. Yet side by side, they looked like a reckless boy and the man sent to collect the consequences. Callum’s gaze moved to Avery. It touched her for barely a second. Something in her spine went rigid. Then he looked back at Jason. “Stay away from the office for the next few days. Solve your personal mess first.” Jason swallowed. “Yes. Mr. Rhodes.” Callum rose. The fabric of his suit whispered as he crossed the room. Avery stood very still, the garment bag hanging from her hand. He stopped beside her. A faint scent of cedar and incense drifted through the space between them, clean and restrained. “Miss Collins,” Callum said, voice low. “You should leave early tonight. Jason needs time to think.” Avery’s fingers tightened around the hanger. For some absurd reason, she felt as if she had been caught doing something wrong. She hadn’t. She was the bride who had come to deliver her fiancé’s suit. Callum’s eyes dropped briefly to the garment bag, then returned to her face. “Do you need my driver to take you home?” “No,” Avery said too quickly. “Thank you. I have a car.” She put the suit down on the nearest chair and turned. Jason said nothing. Not one word. Avery walked out before the room could suffocate her. Only after she was back in the Mercedes did she let herself breathe. Her phone rang. Jason. She answered. His voice came through sharp and angry, nothing like the obedient man who had sat under Callum’s stare a minute earlier. “Did you tell him?” Avery closed her eyes. “Tell who what?” “Don’t play stupid. Callum. Did you run to him because you were mad?” Jason’s words slurred at the edges, but his accusation was perfectly clear. “I went to Vegas. I asked you to come. You said you were busy. So I brought someone else to hang out with. What’s the big deal?” Avery laughed once. There was no humor in it. “You think I told Callum Rhodes my fiancé is tangled up with another woman because I wanted everyone to know how humiliating that is?” Jason’s breath hissed. “Then how did he know? He came over here in the middle of the night like I committed murder. He even threw—” He stopped. Avery’s eyes narrowed. “Threw who out?” Silence. Then Jason snapped, “That’s not the point.” “No,” Avery said. “It really is.” “Nothing happened.” “Of course.” “I mean it.” “You always do.” Jason cursed under his breath. “Avery, don’t start.” “I’m not starting anything.” Her voice felt strangely weightless. “You can continue thinking about whatever Callum told you to think about.” She ended the call. Martin cleared his throat. “Should I drive?” Avery glanced behind them. At the end of Jason’s driveway, a black Rolls-Royce waited with its headlights on. It didn’t honk. Didn’t move. Didn’t hurry her. It simply stood there, quiet and certain. Like the man inside had all the time in the world and no need to prove it. Avery buckled her seat belt. “Take me home.”