“Selena, stop. He’s innocent,” Leah chimed in.
Her hands twisted the fabric of her dress. Tears welled in her eyes, but something told me these weren’t just tears of fear. They were tears of frustration, of something gone terribly wrong.
Alan stood nearby, rigid as a statue, his jaw clenched so tightly I thought it might shatter.
“Protect me? From what?” I asked. “Weeks ago, I started noticing things when I visited to help you with the wedding preparations.” Leah’s words came faster now, a desperate confession tumbling out like a river breaking through a dam.
“Alan’s late nights. Those endless gym visits. The way he’d always look so perfect… pressed shirts, perfectly styled hair, and always smelling like he’d just stepped out of a magazine.”
I remembered those mornings.
Alan, meticulously preparing for work. Always looking immaculate. The crowd gasped.
My mother, sitting at the front table, leaned forward, her fork suspended midair. “What does that have to do with this?” I confronted her. “I couldn’t shake the feeling something was wrong,” she said.
“So I did something crazy. I hired a private investigator who captured these photos. My intention was to expose Alan’s supposed infidelity before you walked down the aisle.”
“I arranged for a courier to deliver the photos to your hotel room.
