Chapter 2
Like they say–there’s no magic, just practice.
Turns out, that applies to being ditched at your own wedding, too.
The first time Tyler ran off, I was shocked. Furious.
The second time? I broke down. Completely lost it.
By the third, I was crying like a total idiot.
By the 10th, I got blackout drunk and couldn’t even stand.
By the 15th, the heartbreak had me questioning my entire life.
By the 70th, I was questioning the entire world.
At the 99th wedding, I got caught in a downpour and ended up with a nasty flu.
I drank antibiotics with alcohol–and almost died. They barely managed to save me in the ER.
At my hospital bedside, Tyler bawled his eyes out, swearing he’d change. He said he wouldn’t hurt me again.
“I want to be your husband,” he sobbed. “I don’t want to be a widower, please…”
I can still hear his voice in my head. But just like clockwork, he vanished again at wedding number 100.
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Chapter 2
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By now? I felt nothing.
Didn’t even want to cry anymore. In fact, I almost laughed,
The diamond ring in my hand never got the chance to be exchanged. So I threw it–hard.
It sailed through the air in a graceful are and sank to the bottom of the
sea.
“Tyler, I’m done with you,” I thought.
I came back from the yacht to an empty house. Quiet. Tyler still hadn’t come home.
I started packing my things in silence. I was done. Even getting ready to quit my job.
We had met in college.
He’s an only child, heir to a multi–billion–dollar empire.
I studied finance and worked for his company after graduation, handling all the accounting.
I stayed out of the spotlight, happy to support him from behind the
scenes.
We built the company together. It thrived. But this relationship? It was falling apart.
Tyler thought I didn’t know, but he had an alt account on Instagram.
I saw everything. Photos. Videos. He and Michelle Carlson were all over each other.
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Chapter 2
288 Vouchers
Every time he ditched our wedding, he had an excuse. “It’s fun,” he’d
say.
He claimed the stress from work was too much, and that life moved too
fast.
Running away from our weddings was his way of decompressing, of letting off steam–his version of stress relief.
“Sharon, you get it, right? Can’t you just be a little more understanding?
“Men never really grow up. We’re just big kids. If you love me, you should accept all of me.
“I’m going to be your husband eventually, anyway. Don’t be so anxious. Let me enjoy my youth while it lasts.
“I just don’t want to look back and realize my life was too boring. I want memories. Something wild to laugh about when I’m old.”
But the truth? He wasn’t escaping stress. He was running straight into the arms of Michelle, a wandering singer.
She had tattoos all over, talked like a thug, and even did jail time for fighting in bars.
And sure enough, by sunset that day, his alt account had a fresh update.
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At the bar, Michelle–rocking heavy smoky eye makeup and a ripped mini skirt that barely covered half her butt–was grinding on Tyler, who looked just as ridiculous in his nose ring and punk–club getup.
He even wrote a dramatic caption to go with it.
“I ran away again. I know I hurt Sharon, but I can’t help it. I don’t want
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ZUQIA j sĮ “Yồnowa Zuoj sins waar die pood on smird stop my.
PRIMOY MOGE ZY OF
to want freedom? To be rebellious?
“Sharon’s a great person, and she loves me. I know that. But she’s dull.
Parra jys in Zumor me a s ureg
„“suonom din yanoup of isal jou pre y de HƏM N
So I’m the dull one, huh?
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