I Took Off The Dress And Took Back My Life Chapter 01
The day before we were set to sign the marriage license, we were at our new home trying on the wedding dress. My fiancé, Julian Sterling, took a call and hurried away.
Half an hour later, he sent a photo of a home equity mortgage deed:
“Scarlett’s brother got into some trouble and needs to pay a settlement. I’ve mortgaged our wedding house for six million dollars to help her out of this emergency.”
“It hasn’t been easy for her, raising her brother alone. Don’t you still have that small loft in your name? Let’s move in there and get married first.”
“You cover the mortgage payments with your salary for now. Don’t tell my mother this is for Scarlett; just tell her you wanted to trade up for a larger single-level penthouse.”
I took off the designer lace bridal gown and replied with a single message:
“Understood.”
I don’t want the house anymore. This trash of a man—whoever wants to collect scrap metal can have him.
***
“What do you mean? One ‘understood’ and that’s it?”
Julian’s call came in while I was folding the gown.
I tucked the dress into the dust bag and pulled the zipper all the way to the top. “Exactly what it says.”
“I know you’re upset, but Scarlett’s situation was truly urgent. Her brother hit a Porsche, and the owner is demanding six million for a private settlement, or they’ll call the police—”
“So you skipped even a word of discussion and just mortgaged the house?”
He was silent for two seconds.
“Would you have agreed if I discussed it with you? By the time you finished overthinking it, her brother would already be in jail.”
“Julian, the down payment for this house was $800,000, and I paid $500,000 of it. Before you mortgaged it, did you even think to ask me?”
“We’re about to get married; why are you drawing such a sharp line between yours and mine? It sounds so petty.”
The suitcase was open. Makeup bag, curling iron, spare pearl earrings—I stuffed them in one by one. The wheels of the suitcase rolled across the floor, making a crisp, hollow sound.
He heard it over the phone. “What are you doing?”
“Packing.”
“Packing what? We’re signing the license tomorrow—”
“We aren’t.”
Three seconds of silence.
Then he let out a short laugh. “Audrey, all the invitations are out. Both sets of parents land tomorrow morning. And you’re telling me we aren’t signing?”
“Yes.”
He hung up before I could finish.
Twenty minutes later, the lock turned. Julian pushed the door open, his shirt collar open, hair windswept. His eyes swept over the ring on the coffee table and the garment bag, and his face instantly darkened.
“Are you serious?”
“Dead serious.”
He strode over and began pulling things out of my suitcase. “Can you stop acting out? The ceremony is tomorrow—”
“If it doesn’t happen, then it’s not a problem.”
I stuffed things back in; he pulled them out. After two rounds of this, he grabbed my wrist. “Audrey, the six million is a loan for an emergency, it’s not just giving her money—”
His phone lit up. Facing up, the caller ID showed one word:
Scarlett
He instinctively flipped the phone over, but it was too late.
“Just a friend. You use a flower emoji for ‘just a friend’?”
“It’s just a nickname—”
Scarlett’s call didn’t go through, so she called again. This time he didn’t hesitate; he walked to the balcony and answered in a hushed tone.
The fragments of words drifted in—”Don’t cry,” “I’ll handle it,” “Take care of yourself first.”
Three minutes later he walked back, his expression replaced by one of anxiety. “Scarlett’s brother’s situation is worse than I thought; I have to go over there. Don’t leave yet; we’ll talk about tomorrow when I get back—”
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
I pushed the ring across the coffee table and dragged my suitcase to the door.
He chased after me, grabbing the handle. “Audrey, I apologize, okay? I really should have told you about the house beforehand—”
“It’s not a matter of whether you told me or not.” I pried his hand off.
“You only notified me after the decision was made because you didn’t feel you needed my consent at all. You spent six million as casually as ordering takeout, and I didn’t even have the right to cancel the order.”
“What do you want? For her brother to go to prison?”
I pulled the door open and didn’t look back.
“Julian, go be busy with your Scarlett. My marriage doesn’t need a fiancé who keeps other women under pet names. As for who you want to marry or who wants to marry you—go ask her.”
Ten minutes later, a voice note popped up on Instagram.
His voice was still certain: “Calm down. I’ll come find you tomorrow morning. The wedding has to happen, you know that.”
