Eve
The night before the wedding felt surreal, like I was living someone else’s life.
Mia had turned our living room into a full-blown celebration—fairy lights strung across the ceiling, music blasting from the speakers, and bottles of champagne and colorful cocktails lined up on the coffee table. We danced like idiots, laughing until our sides hurt, singing off-key to old favorites with bottles in hand. For a few hours, I actually forgot everything: the contract, the seven-day scramble, and the hollow ache that hadn’t left my chest since I signed the papers.
We collapsed onto the couch eventually, breathless and giddy, legs tangled under a throw blanket. Mia flipped channels aimlessly until she landed on some late-night news broadcast.
“I can’t believe this,” she said, still catching
