Too late,Ex You've been replaced.

The pearls down my back caught the light every time I breathed. The silk clung to my body like it was made for me and only me. I looked like a princess. I felt like one too, at least for eight more minutes. Today, I was getting married to my childhood sweetheart. My first love. Andrew Houston. The boy who took a pin to his palm when we were sixteen and pressed it hard until blood beaded, then pressed my palm too and said, "Blood oath, Victoria. Till death. I'm not letting you go." I still had the faint scar on my left palm. A tiny white line. I touched the silver chain at my throat. A small heart pendant. It wasn't diamonds. It wasn't from a jeweler. But I had kissed it every night before bed for eleven years. Because before the Vance name, before the board meetings, before the cameras and the mergers and the pressure to be perfect, it was just me and him. And that was supposed to be enough. "Don't be nervous," Mia whispered behind me, her fingers cold on my bare shoulders as she fixed my veil. Her voice was shaking more than mine. I turned to the mirror and gave her a soft smile. My makeup was perfect. My hair was perfect. My heart was so full it hurt. "I'm not nervous. I'm ready." And I was. Ready to spend the rest of my life with the only person who ever made me feel safe. Ready to finally stop being Victoria Vance the heiress and just be Victoria, Andrew's wife. The door cracked open. My father stood there in a black tailored suit. His hair was more gray than I remembered, but his back was still straight. The strongest man I knew. "You look beautiful, Victoria," he said, and his voice was thick and proud. I saw his eyes get wet. I took his arm. His cologne smelled like home ,sandalwood and old books. "Let's go make history," I whispered. Wedding venue The wedding venue looked like heaven. White roses climbed every pillar. White chairs stretched for miles. The air was thick with lilies and money and anticipation. Cameras flashed from the back. Journalists. Bloggers. Business news crews. The Vance-Houston wedding was the event of the year. The merger of two empires worth billions. Millions were watching. And there, at the end of the aisle, was Andrew. Waiting in front of the priest in a black tux that fit him like sin. His hair was perfect. His jaw was sharp. His eyes were on me. And when he saw me, he smiled. That smile. The one that used to make me forget my own name. The one that made me believe love could last forever. For one second, my heart felt so full it hurt. I thought, this is it. This is forever. I am the luckiest woman in the world. The organ music swelled. Every head turned. My father squeezed my hand. My heels clicked against the marble. Slow and steady. I stared at Andrew so hard my eyes burned, trying not to cry and ruin my makeup. My father walked me like I was something precious. We were almost there, three steps away. The priest cleared his throat and opened his book. Andrew held out his hand for me. And then a sharp ring cut through the silence. Loud. Ugly. Wrong. Andrew frowned. He pulled his phone from his pocket. The screen lit up. Lilith. My stepsister. I froze mid-step. The music kept playing for two seconds too long before it choked and stopped. "Andrew, I'm sick," her voice came through, too loud, too trembling. Fake. I could hear the performance in it. The little sob she always did. My fingers tightened on my father's arm until my knuckles went white. Andrew didn't look at me. Not once. His face went pale. He hung up. And he turned to leave. My hand shot out before my brain could catch up. I grabbed his wrist. My gloves were shaking, tears falling from my eyes like a waterfall, ruining the perfect makeup. "We're in the middle of our wedding," I said. My voice was low. Begging. I hated how small I sounded. "Andrew, look at me. Please look at me." He yanked his hand free like my touch burned him. "Don't be foolish, Victoria." His voice wasn't gentle. It wasn't apologetic. It was annoyed. Like I was an inconvenience. Like I was holding up his day, his real day. "Lilith is sick. We can cancel this and do it another time. But right now I need to go to her." Another time. Like eleven years meant nothing. Like the blood oath meant nothing. Like I meant nothing. Tears slipped down my cheek. Hot and humiliating. The murmurs started behind me. A wave of whispers rolling through the place like fire. Cameras flashed faster. Faster. They loved this. I reached for him again. Desperate and pathetic. Tears threatening to fall out. "Andrew, please—" He shoved me. Not hard. But enough. Enough to show what he really thought of me. My temple cracked against the glass display case beside the altar. It shattered into a thousand pieces, the sound was deafening just like my heart breaking in my chest. He left in a hurry without even glaring at me once. He just left. "Miss Vance! Are you okay?" "Did Andrew just leave you for your stepsister?" "Is the wedding cut off.?" Microphones were shoved in my face. I tasted copper. My head was spinning. My veil was torn. I thought we would grow old together. I thought we would die in the same bed, holding hands, old and wrinkled. I was wrong. It was all an illusion. A beautiful, eleven-year-long lie I told myself. Something inside me broke. Not into sadness. Into something colder. Sharper. Rage. It wasn't Lilith's fault. Not entirely. It was my fault for giving him all of me. For believing he was different from every other man in this city who wanted the Vance money. But I wouldn't let them see me broken. I wouldn't give them that satisfaction. Slowly, I stood. My legs were shaking so badly I thought they'd give out. I cleaned my tears, dusted the glass from my dress. Lifted my chin. Let the cameras get every angle. Let the world see Victoria Vance is a strong woman who doesn't break. That's when I saw him, across the chaos. Standing perfectly still while the world burned around him. Tall. Black suit. Phone to his ear. Face carved from ice. Dean Preston — Andrew's rival. The coldest, most ruthless businessman in the city. A man who had never been photographed smiling. A man who ate companies for breakfast and didn't burp. The crowd parted for me without thinking. Whispers followed me like shadows. "That's Dean Preston." "What is she doing?" "Is she insane?" I walked straight to him. Every step hurt. My temple was throbbing. My heart was bleeding onto that expensive silk. But my back was straight. Dean lowered his phone. His dark gray eyes met mine. No pity. No surprise. Just cold, assessing calm. Like he'd been expecting me. "Do you need something, Miss Vance?" His voice was low. Smooth. Dangerous. I could feel every camera on my back. I could feel Andrew's name burning in my throat. I could feel eleven years dying. So I did the only thing that would hurt them more than anything else they did to me. I smiled and I said it loud enough for everyone, for the millions watching, to hear. "Yes." "Marry me, Mr. Preston. Right now."