Weddings are supposed to be joyful. Beautiful. Full of love and anticipation. But nothing could have prepared me for the moment I saw my husband stepping out of the groom’s limousine — at a wedding I was hired to organize.
My name is Amanda, 28, and I work as a professional event planner. I’ve managed countless events in my career, but Catherine’s wedding was different. She’s a 38-year-old heiress to a luxury fashion empire, and she wanted nothing short of perfection for her big day. Every flower, every light, every plate had to be flawless. I flew two hours just to oversee every detail myself.
The venue was breathtaking. The guests, elite. The budget? Unlimited. It was a dream gig… until it turned into a personal nightmare.
I was standing near the aisle, doing a final sweep with my checklist, when the groom’s limousine pulled up. I watched casually — until the door opened. My clipboard slipped from my hand. My heart stopped.
It was my husband.
John. My John. The man I’d been married to for six years. The man who told me he was away on a business trip. The man who promised me forever — now standing there, fixing his tie, preparing to marry another woman.
I froze. Was it a mistake? A lookalike? No. It was him. My phone buzzed with a message from him saying, “Miss you, love. Can’t wait to see you soon.” While he was here. Dressed as the groom.
That day was supposed to be someone else’s dream wedding…
But for me, it became a living betrayal.