Tied To my Billionaire Boss

In movies, weddings are magical. The bride glides down the aisle, someone’s crazy uncle makes a funny speech, the happy couple kiss under lights while the camera pans out and everyone cries. In real life however? The flowers make you sneeze, the speeches go on long enough to consider faking your own death, and there’s always that one person who drinks too much and tries to start the reception night too early. Also ( and this is just me talking ) sometimes you find your boyfriend kissing one of your friends in a hallway. I should back up. The wedding was fine at first. Pretty even. White roses everywhere, a band that looked like they’d been hired from a toothpaste commercial, little name cards in curly gold writing. The bride was beautiful, the groom was smiling, and I was sitting at a table with Jeremy, my boyfriend of two years, my plus-one, my maybe-he’s-the-one, my ride or die etcetera etcetera. He was wearing the suit I’d picked out for him. Dark navy. Crisp white shirt. Tie that actually matched the decorations. He looked good, and for a hot second I thought, Yeah… this could be us one day. And then reality hit. Reality, in this case, came in the form of Jeremy’s phone buzzing. He glanced at it, frowned, then muttered, “I need to take this,” and slipped away from the table. At first, I didn’t care. It was a wedding, people were getting up all the time for photos, bathroom breaks, whatever. I picked at my salad and tried to ignore the guy across from me loudly explaining crypto to his date. Five minutes passed.. Then Ten. I told myself I wasn’t the kind of girlfriend who went looking for trouble. But then I also remembered Jeremy’s last “urgent phone call” had been from a friend named “Mike” who, funnily enough, had a very high-pitched laugh and wore Chanel No. 5. So, I got up. The reception hall was buzzing with people, waiters carrying trays, flower girls darting around barefoot.cute I spotted Jeremy down a side hallway, just far enough away that I had to squint. And then I realized he wasn’t alone. Lisa from brunch. Lisa-who-borrowed-my-dress-last-year-and-returned-it-with-wine-stains. Lisa who always-“forgets” her wallet. Lisa-who-once said my hair was “interesting" in front of a whole group of our friends as if it was even that crazy. That Lisa. Her hands were on his chest. His hands were on her waist. Their mouths were… yeah, I’ll spare you the details, but let’s just say they were swapping DNA samples. I froze. They froze. Well, Jeremy froze. Lisa kept smirking like she was thoroughly enjoying the show. She probably was. Fuck her And here’s the thing: I’d always wondered how I’d react if I caught someone cheating on me. Would I scream? Cry? Throw a drink? Punch them in the throat? Apparently, no. My default setting is ‘sarcastic customer service’. “Hey,” I said, because apparently my brain’s first reaction to infidelity is awkward small talk. “Good… wedding?” Jeremy stepped back like he’d been caught shoplifting Also f**k him. “Aria, I..” I held up a hand. “Don’t ruin it with words. Just… congrats on finding each other.” Lisa tilted her head. “It’s not what you think.” “Oh? Are you CPR-certified now?” I asked sweetly. “Because unless Jeremy was choking on a bone, you were definitely trying to eat his face.” Jeremy sighed. “Can we talk somewhere private?” “Nope. I’m going to go back inside, have three slices of cake, and pretend this never happened. You two… have fun being garbage humans.” I turned to leave and immediately tripped over a chair leg. Because obviously. By the time I made it back to my seat, my champagne was warm, my cake slice had been stolen, and Stacy, my best friend and unofficial emotional first responder was watching me like i looked crazy. I probably did. “What happened?” she whispered, leaning across the table. “Jeremy’s making out with ‘Lisa-from-brunch’.” Her gasp was so loud the couple next to us stopped mid-bite. “Oh, hell no…” I shoved a bread roll in my mouth. “Don’t cause a scene. This dress cost too much to get escorted out by security.” Stacy narrowed her eyes. “Fine. But you’re not going home to cry alone in your pajamas.” “That’s exactly what I’m going to do.” She sipped her champagne, probably alre ady plotting. “We’ll see about that.”