The elevator climbs toward the penthouse.
Forty-four. Forty-eight. Fifty-two.
I catch my reflection in the brass doors. White silk robe. White lace lingerie underneath. White veil pinned in my hair like a cruel joke.
The perfect bride. About to get gangbanged by her fiancé’s entire wedding party.
Fifty-six. Penthouse.
Three weeks ago, I came home early to surprise him. Found him balls deep in his coworker. In our bed. The same bed where he swore saving ourselves for marriage would make it special.
Three years of “let’s wait.” Three years of keeping my legs closed while he f****d half his office.
Tonight, I stop waiting.
The doors open and I step into chaos.
Music thumping. Glasses clinking. Five groomsmen scattered around a suite that costs more per night than my wedding dress. Fl
