I froze. “Evan, what?”
“You’re nice,” he said quickly. “You make pancakes better than anyone. And you don’t yell. But if you marry him, he’ll hurt you.”
He handed me a thick envelope.
Inside: lawsuits. Demands. Emails addressed to a man named Greg.
He has no family. He has vast savings. Marry her, wait two years, and tell her she’s emotionally traumatized. Take half your money.
“This is quickly losing its meaning. I told you the magic worked. I’m drowning in debt. This will save me.”
I stared at the printed words. A deception. A plan.
“How long have you known?” “I overheard that phone call a few weeks ago. I thought if you stayed calm, maybe you’d leave.
” “You protected me.”
He nodded.
“You didn’t abandon me,” I whispered. “You saved me.” A rocky start.
Evan was polite. Too polite. Every word seemed rehearsed, every look reserved. He called me “ma’am” and clung to the answer “yes” or “no.” A veritable fortress, reinforced by good manners.
Daniel said, “I just need time.”
So I waited. I came. I tried.
On a rainy November evening, Daniel proposed to me in the same restaurant where we’d laughed so loudly over crème brûlée. He was nervous and had tears in his eyes. I said yes.
When we told Evan, he whispered, “Congratulations,” but I took that as progress.
He wasn’t.
The morning changed everything.
The wedding day was cold and bright. My dress gleamed. The garden was full of white ribbons and roses. But something inside me was strange: tense, restless.
Suddenly, someone knocked. It wasn’t my maid of honor, but Evan, serious and in an oversized suit.
“Can we talk?” he asked.
We stepped out onto the quiet terrace.
“Don’t marry my father.”
I froze. “Evan, what?”
“You’re nice,” he said quickly. “You make pancakes better than anyone. And you don’t yell. But if you marry him, he’ll hurt you.”
He handed me a thick envelope.
Inside: lawsuits. Demands. Emails addressed to a man named Greg.
He has no family. He has vast savings. Marry her, wait two years, and tell her she’s emotionally traumatized. Take half your money.
“This is quickly losing its meaning. I told you the magic worked. I’m drowning in debt. This will save me.”
I stared at the printed words. A deception. A plan.
“How long have you known?” “I overheard that phone conversation a few weeks ago. I thought if you stayed calm, maybe you’d leave.
” “You protected me.”
He nodded.
“You didn’t abandon me,” I whispered. “You saved me.”
Rush
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