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My phone rang for the tenth time. It was Olivia. The woman I was supposed to marry in thirty minutes. "Liam needs me," she said, distant and thin. "He fell during a stunt on set. The doctor said it' s serious." This wasn' t new. It was always Liam. Two months ago, she left our engagement party for him. Last month, she skipped our final wedding planner meeting for him. Each time, I forgave her, telling myself her heart was too kind. "So that' s it?" My voice was dangerously calm. "You' re choosing him over me. On our wedding day." "You' re making me choose. It' s not fair," she accused. "I thought you loved me. I thought you would support me." She hung up before I could respond. Humiliation washed over me, hot and suffocating. My mother' s worried voice reached me, asking where I was. Something inside me snapped. With a roar of pure rage, I hurled my phone against the wall. It shattered like broken promises. I kicked over a table, sending white lilies crashing. Then, a reckless, insane idea formed. I pulled over, grabbed my spare phone, and dialed a number I knew by heart. "Chloe Adams," I said, my voice steady. "Marry me. Right now."