The Third Wheel Bride Chapter 03
The comments were already piling up. Some people praised them as star-crossed lovers, while others tore into her for knowingly being the other woman.
My hands were shaking as I tapped into her profile, and what I found was nothing like that small, quiet couple account.
This one had over a hundred thousand followers, and it had been active for much longer.
This was where she told the story of the three of us.
The earliest posts were dripping with resentment, and every word pointed straight at me.
[Didn’t realize the untouchable Costello heir was that easy to bag. My best friend just walked right up and took him.]
[She didn’t even warn me she was going on a date. I showed up looking like a disaster next to her full glam. Thanks for that, bestie.]
Someone in the comments joked that we were fake friends. Emma replied with a smirking emoji.
Later, when I came down with a fever and Caleb showed up to take care of me, she posted again.
[She has a cold and suddenly needs an on-call medical team. Must be nice.]
[Silver lining though. Got him all to myself while she’s stuck in bed. She’s practically handing him to me on a silver platter and she doesn’t even know it.]
Somewhere I wasn’t looking, the two of them had already started something.
Emma posted: [We ended up adding each other on our anonymous accounts without even meaning to. If that’s not fate, what is?]
Underneath were dozens of screenshots, their DMs, names and details covered up.
They talked about the market, about wine, about the inner workings of Caleb’s Family that I’d never been allowed into. Emma kept up effortlessly, and Caleb told her she was the only person he could talk to without pretending.
On Valentine’s Day, Emma crafted handmade truffles and sent them to Caleb’s exclusive club. She refused to let him buy her anything in return and insisted she wasn’t after his money.
Caleb told her she was different from the rest.
They were careful. They kept everything just deniable enough.
The gifts were thank-yous for looking after me. The dinners were to check out restaurants for me.
In her version of the story, I was the clueless future mob wife who only knew how to swipe a card.
And under that paper-thin cover, they let themselves have it all.
On Emma’s birthday, I gave her the Hermès Birkin she’d been eyeing for months.
The next day, she carried it to a café where Caleb happened to show up. She posted a selfie with him “accidentally” in the frame.
She snuck a photo of their fingers laced together under the armrest while the three of us sat in a private screening room.
The day Caleb proposed to me, Emma wrote the longest post I’d ever seen, pages of grief and rage and refusal to let go.
[Tonight I’m getting my answer,] she wrote. [If he loves me too, we can’t keep pretending we don’t.]
She went through with it.
That night, she kissed him. And he didn’t pull away.
They planned a trip together before the wedding, one last stretch of time that belonged to just them. Caleb told me he had Family business and would be gone for a week.
Pain sliced between my ribs, and my stomach rolled.
Seven days. Emma posted constantly.
She said she wanted to overwrite every memory Caleb and I had ever made and fill his future so full of her that there’d be no room left for me.
I kept watching. I couldn’t stop.
The posts blurred together: Michelin restaurants, private yachts, white sand beaches, jungle trails. All the places Caleb and I had been, with a different woman in the frame.
At first, it shattered me. Then it numbed me.
And somewhere past the numbness, something almost like a laugh tried to crawl up my throat.
It turned out that once your heart went numb, even hatred felt like too much effort.
By the time the sky started to lighten, I’d made my decision.
The wedding was off.
I opened my laptop and started drafting the cancellation email to the wedding planner and our VIP guests.
Ten years of love, and twenty years of friendship. All of it was gone.
Before I could hit send, my phone rang. It was Emma.
“Bri? Why are you still up?” Her tone was bright and easy. Completely normal.
“You’re about to be the most beautiful bride in the city. You need your sleep.”
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.
She must have heard it in the silence, because her tone shifted. “Bri? What’s wrong? Pre-wedding nerves?”
“Where the hell is Caleb? Why isn’t he with you?”
A note of practiced outrage slipped into her voice. “Don’t tell me he’s off dealing with Family business again.”
The irony almost made me lose it.
Minutes ago, she’d posted that final, dramatic goodbye. Now she was playing the concerned best friend without missing a beat.
“It’s… nothing.” I forced the words out, barely a whisper.
“I’m just nervous. I wanted to hear your voice.”
“Oh, Bri.” She let out a soft laugh.
“Everything’s going to be perfect tomorrow. I promise.”
“All you have to do right now is close your eyes. I’ll handle the rest.”
Then a sound came through on her end, low and muffled.
I knew that voice. It was Caleb.
I choked back the tears. “Emma. Is there something you’re not telling me?”
The line went silent. The silence stretched, long and unbearable, before she scrambled to recover.
“What are you talking about, Bri? What’s going on with you?”
“Put me on speaker.”
She hesitated. But she did it.
“Emma. Caleb.”
My voice didn’t shake. “The wedding is off.”
“You two deserve each other.”
