Chapter 1
I’ve walked down the aisle with Tyler Andrus 99 times. And he had ditched me 99 times.
Every single time, just seconds before saying “I do“, he’d bolt. He’d leave me standing there alone, humiliated, in front of everyone.
“Sharon, forgive me,” he’d say after each disaster, “I was being impulsive. I swear, at our 100th wedding, I won’t run.”
But on our 100th wedding?
Just as we were about to exchange rings, he jumped into the ocean. He swam right to shore, where he kissed another woman in front of
everyone.
Later, when he finally got tired of the game, we held our 101st wedding. This time, he surprised everyone by handcuffing himself and giving me the key.
“Babe, if I cuff myself,” he smiled, “I can’t run anymore.”
I didn’t even blink. I tossed the key straight into the trash.
“Your love? Your freedom? I don’t want either anymore.”
I’d already been a fool for 100 weddings.
The 101st time? That was finally my turn to disappear.
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I stood at the front of the boat, watching Tyler cut through the waves in his sleek Sharkskin wetsuit.
His swimming form was beautiful–graceful, smooth, like a dolphin slicing through the sea.
As for me, I probably looked like a bad joke. A clumsy clown in comparison.
After 100 weddings, our families had long stopped caring. Embarrassed, angry, exhausted—they’d all backed out.
But the boat we’d rented today was packed with spectators.
They excitedly took photos, shot videos, and livestreamed Tyler’s runaway groom drama across social media. Within minutes, it shot to the top of the trending list.
Ever since we broke the Guinness World Record two years ago by holding our 33rd wedding, Tyler and I have become a constant source of public fascination.
Every wedding after that only pushed the record higher.
The number of family and friends dwindled until not a single one showed up.
Meanwhile, influencers and vloggers kept piling in. At this point, even attending our wedding required a raffle ticket.
As expected, our 100th wedding ended in yet another disaster. The internet exploded again.
Within half an hour, millions of comments flooded in as netizens jumped into the debate, mocking and dissecting every detail.
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“No way! I thought this one would work for sure. The 100th wedding? Come on, it’s supposed to mean forever! But nope. It’s just another show for this no–show groom.”
“This guy’s insane. He wore a wetsuit just to escape faster?! I’m betting next time he uses a helicopter.”
“That poor bride… She’s seriously too tragic!”
“Tragic? Please, this is performance art at this point.”
“Performance art? Are you kidding? This whole thing is a PR stunt. They’re probably not even married for real–just clout–chasing influencers ready to sell stuff.”
“Haha, if he’s not cast in Dancing with the Stars, I’m not watching!”
“Placing bets now! What’s the escape strategy for the 101st wedding?”
Online, it was like a festival. People went wild.
And I, the so–called bride at the center of it all, just stood there. Calm. Detached. Like none of it had anything to do with me anymore.
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