At first, I ignored it. Then I heard my maid of honor, Vanessa, unmistakably clear.
“Spill wine on her dress, lose the rings, whatever it takes,” she said. “She doesn’t deserve him.”
Another voice—Kendra, one of my college bridesmaids—snorted. “You’re evil.”
Vanessa laughed. “I’ve been working on him for months.”
A chill ran through my entire body.
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There are moments when your brain refuses to process what your ears just heard. I sat frozen on the edge of the bed, convinced I must have misunderstood, until another bridesmaid asked, “You really think he’d go for you?”
Vanessa answered without hesitation. “He already almost did. Men like Ethan don’t marry girls like Olivia unless they want someone safe. I’m just trying to correct his mistake.”
I clamped a hand over my mouth.
Olivia. Me.
My wedding. My maid of honor. My closest friends.
The room seemed to sway. Every memory from the past six months came rushing back, sharpened into something ugly. Vanessa insisting on controlling every detail. Vanessa volunteering to hold onto the rings. Vanessa making small remarks about how lucky I was Ethan “preferred sweet over exciting.” Vanessa lingering too long beside him at the engagement party, brushing his sleeve, laughing too loudly at his jokes. I had told myself not to be insecure. I had trusted her because that’s what you do with your maid of honor.
Through the wall, Kendra asked, “What if she finds out?”
“She won’t,” Vanessa said. “She never notices anything until it’s too late.”
Something hot and steady rose through the shock.
No panic. No tears.
Clarity.
