The Third Wheel Bride Chapter 02
Emma and I went back twenty years together.
She moved in next door when we were ten, and from that day through college, we were attached at the hip. She knew every secret I had and was there for every moment that mattered.
I met Caleb sophomore year.
He was the kind of guy campus legends were built around, never without a security detail, men in tailored suits flanking him wherever he went. Heir to the Costello fortune, while I was just a regular girl from a regular family.
Emma was the one who told me to go for it.
When we finally got together, she was the first person I called. She squealed so loud I had to pull the phone away from my ear.
Back then, I believed every bit of it was real.
You know how best friends are. No guy is ever good enough for their bestie. Emma was no different.
She’d been thrilled when I told her I was seeing someone, but the second she actually laid eyes on Caleb, she decided he wasn’t worth my time.
Their first meeting was a disaster. I’d shown up at the dining hall for a date with Caleb, makeup done, outfit planned.
Emma had just crawled out of a group project from hell. She rolled in with dark circles down to her cheekbones, hair she hadn’t washed in days, pajama pants and slides, and shoved Caleb out of the seat next to me before dropping into it herself.
Caleb’s jaw tightened, but he smoothly slid into the booth across from us.
Emma looked him up and down, sneering slightly. She wasn’t even trying to hide it.
“This is him?” She turned to me. “Babe, I’m starting to think I celebrated too soon. Are we sure about this?”
She didn’t pull any punches, and Caleb wasn’t exactly charmed either.
When I asked him later what he thought of her, he shrugged. “She’s… fine.”
I swatted his arm, grinning. “She’s my best friend and you’re the love of my life, so figure it out.”
After graduation, I moved into Caleb’s penthouse on the Upper East Side.
Emma came over constantly, for dinner, for company, and whenever it got too late, she’d crash on our couch.
“At this point, I’m basically your adopted stray,” she joked once. “You two are taking care of me.”
Caleb played along, putting on his best authoritative tone. “Then earn your keep. No freeloaders in my penthouse.”
The penthouse was always full of life with the three of us laughing.
I never once imagined all of it was built on sand.
Snapping back to the present, I barely made it to the en-suite bathroom. I turned the faucet on and splashed cold water against my face, over and over, but my hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
Tomorrow was my wedding.
The invitations were out, the venue was booked, the dress was hanging in the closet. Everything was ready.
My fingers trembled as I pulled up Caleb’s number. It rang once, twice, three times.
No one picked up.
I stood there, phone pressed to my chest, for what felt like forever. Then, without knowing why, I called Emma.
It went straight to voicemail.
My stomach dropped.
I couldn’t stop thinking about it. All those nights they spent together behind my back. Was there ever a single moment of guilt?
Or was the sneaking around just a rush for them, nothing but adrenaline and the thrill of the secret?
I knew Emma was a travel blogger. She documented everything, everywhere, and she had a presence on every platform. I also knew content creators always kept a handful of anonymous accounts on the side.
I typed the name of my wedding venue into the location tag search and started combing through nearby accounts, one by one.
I found it under a page called The Unloved One is the Third Wheel.
The latest post was a photo: a man’s hand wrapped around a champagne bottle, long fingers working the cork loose. On his wrist was a custom Patek Philippe I’d given him for his birthday last year.
It was Caleb.
The caption was just one line.
[Stolen time. Every second is a countdown.]
