His First Love or Me—Who Will He Choose? I Refuse Chapter 04
Fred had his driver take Tina home.
When he came back, he sank onto the couch and lit a cigarette, smoke curling around his stone-cold face.
“Lydia, be realistic. We’ve been together nine years. The wedding venue is booked. The invitations are sent.”
“All our business partners know the Harris family is throwing a wedding.”
“You say you want to break up now. Have you thought about the consequences?”
I pushed my suitcase to the door.
“The consequences are yours to deal with.”
He stubbed out his cigarette and tossed his phone to me.
“Call them right now.”
“Your parents. My parents. I don’t care who.”
“Let’s see if any of them will support you calling off this wedding.”
So I called. First, my mom.
After I told her, she hissed in a sharp, hushed voice
“Lydia, are you out of your mind? Do you have any idea how much security and status the Harris family can give you? So he’s got a past? Who doesn’t? Don’t throw away a life of comfort over a little sentiment.”
Then Fred’s mom. Her voice was flat.
“Lydia, a smart woman holds onto what she has. Plenty of women would give anything to be in your place as Mrs. Harris..”
The call ended.
Fred leaned back on the couch. That smug look was back.
“Hear that? Everyone knows marrying me is the best thing for you.”
I looked at him. “Fred. Did you ever love me?”
He frowned. “Does love really matter that much?”
“I’m going to marry you. You get to be Mrs. Harris. What more do you want?”
I stayed quiet for a long time. Then I laughed.
“I don’t want you.”
Fred’s face went dark. I didn’t waste another word on him.
I dragged my suitcase toward the door. He didn’t stop me.
Just said from behind me, cold and hard,
“Lydia. Once you walk out that door today, even if you crawl back, I might not take you.”
The smart lock chimed again.
[Guest Lydia. Safe travels.]
I stood at the door and looked back at that house one last time.
Wedding photos. Roses. Engagement gift boxes.
And all the traces of a woman who wasn’t me.
I just never saw it before.
That night, I checked into a hotel. I called a lawyer and organized the records of all the money I’d fronted for Fred over the years.
I sorted through every document: the founding equity agreements, wedding cancellation fee terms, and our joint asset statements.
Then I booked the earliest train ticket I could get to a small coastal town.
Before I left, I sent a timed file to the wedding planner, labeled as a surprise groom tribute video for the opening of the ceremony.
It had screenshots of Fred’s smart home permissions, his transfer records, his original vows, and the door lock logs.
The subject line was simple:
[If the wedding happens, play this before the ceremony.]
The day of the wedding.
Fred sat in the wedding car in his black tux.
The groomsmen had been waiting outside the hotel for thirty minutes.
Martin ran down, his face pale. “Fred, the bride’s room… it’s empty.”
Fred snorted. “Still throwing a tantrum? Just call her mom.”
The call connected. He asked lazily,
“Mom, is Lydia still at home? Tell her not to miss the ceremony time.”
A few seconds of silence.
Then my mom’s voice came through.
“Isn’t she with you guys?”
The smile froze solid on Fred’s face, then dropped clean off.
The next second, the big screen in the wedding hall lit up.
A dead hush fell over the crowd.
