Soon after, I was called up to the stage. Claire waited outside the door until the music started, then walked in slowly, gracefully, like the perfect bride.
The officiant handed me the microphone.
"Mr. Miller, do you have something you’d like to say to your bride?"
I took the mic, looked through the crowd at Claire, and said coldly,
"What I want to say is this: this wedding is canceled."
Gasps rippled through the room. Every head turned toward me in shock.
Claire’s friends tried to smooth things over.
"He must be too excited—he just misspoke! I think what he meant was the wedding starts now!"
"Exactly, he’s just nervous. First-time grooms always mess up a little."
But I stood there, unmoved. Nervous? Not even close.
"You heard me right. This wedding is canceled. It shouldn’t be me marrying Claire—it should be Ryan."
The room went dead quiet. People who knew the truth exchanged quick glances; those who didn’t were getting agitated, especially Mr. and Mrs. Dawson.
They had never liked me, always treating me like some outsider who didn’t deserve their daughter.
I had worked for years to win them over. They had demanded I buy a luxury condo in Manhattan and a car worth at least six figures.