After He Called Me A Friend, I Cut My Wedding Dress

"Rumor has it that this love song was inspired by a very special woman. Is she here with us tonight?" an interviewer asked Rodgers Buckley over the microphone, projecting across the packed arena of tens of thousands. "Yes, she is right here." Suddenly, a brilliant spotlight pierced the darkness, cutting through the arena and bathing the seats directly around me in a blinding, warm glow. Across the vast ocean of thousands of cheering fans, Rodgers directed his gaze toward the light, his eyes overflowing with a tenderness that seemed meant entirely for me. My eyes welled up with tears that I could no longer suppress. "I hope you truly understand the depth of my music," Rodgers murmured into the microphone, "and more than anything, I hope you live a life entirely free of pain and sorrow, filled with nothing but happiness every single day." But a sudden, unsettling chill rippled through my chest. Why would he wish for me to be free of pain and sorrow? On stage, Rodgers' eyes flickered with a brief, nervous hesitation. "And, of course," he added smoothly, shifting his tone, "I want to express my deepest gratitude for all the immense help you have given me." His gaze locked onto my position, and he flashed a brilliant, unparalleled smile that could easily make anyone lose themselves. He stood there, looking only at me. That smile alone was intoxicating enough to make one forget the world. When the concert concluded, I did not slip away early to avoid the paparazzi as I usually did. Instead, I stood backstage cradling a massive, beautiful bouquet of fresh flowers, eagerly waiting to congratulate Rodgers on the resounding success of the very first stadium concert of his career. Deep down, I also wanted to ask him face-to-face why he had chosen those exact words in front of tens of thousands of people. But the flowers never left my hands. Through a c***k in the dressing room door, I saw Rodgers, his eyes soft and filled with a profound affection, gently stroking the hair of the petite, delicate woman leaning into him. It was Kylie Curtis. "Kylie, it means the world to me that you came tonight," he murmured softly. Then, with utmost care, he pulled a beautifully crafted little black box. Months ago, I had accidentally discovered that exact box and asked him what was inside. Rodgers had fiercely warned me never to lay a finger on it, telling me it was incredibly precious to him and that he would be furious if I ever disturbed it. Now, I watched as Rodgers opened the velvet box with the reverence one might show a priceless artifact. Nestled inside was a beautifully cut diamond ring, its facets catching the backstage lights and radiating a brilliant sparkle. A wave of bitter, suffocating sorrow washed over me. Rodgers gently took Kylie's hand, slid the diamond ring onto her finger, and printed a tender, reverent kiss upon her palm. My mind went completely blank, filled with a violent buzzing sound. While I had spent months exhausting every connection I possessed in the industry, worrying myself sick over every logistical detail to ensure his very first arena concert was a triumph, his heart and mind had been entirely occupied by someone else. He had used the single most monumental milestone of his life—a milestone achieved through my blood, sweat, and tears—as a stage to propose to the woman he truly loved. The vibrant bouquet in my arms suddenly felt like a cruel, mocking joke. What value did a bunch of fleeting flowers hold compared to the carefully chosen ring he had just placed on his beloved's hand? For a fleeting second, a wave of fury made me want to storm into the room and demand answers, but my feet glued themselves to the floor. The harsh reality froze me in my tracks. Quietly, I turned around and walked out of the backstage area, tossing the expensive bouquet directly into a yawning trash can. In the silence of the corridor, my father's stern, protective voice echoed vividly in my mind: "He is not the right man for you, Katrina. I will never give my blessing for you to marry him." Back then, I had argued fiercely against my father's judgment, defending Rodgers with everything I had. But standing there in the cold, my father's words felt like an ominous, undeniable prophecy foretelling the tragic end of my relationship with Rodgers.