Chapter 1

The night before the wedding, my fiancé Ryan brought his sick first love, Chloe, home.

"Evelyn, I'm only staying with her for three days. Three days, and then I'll be your groom—yours and no one else's."

He told me it was a "farewell tradition" where he was from—that before a man got married, he had to live with his first love for three days. And I was expected to accept it.

I let out a short, derisive laugh. No screaming, no tears. Just one calm word.

"Fine."

Over those three days, I watched every intimate moment play out on Chloe's social media.

When the three days were up and the wedding was about to begin, Ryan showed up with Chloe on his arm.

"You've already put up with these three days—so just let Chloe have the ceremony. It's only a formality."

"After it's over, you'll still be my wife."

Then came the wedding night. Ryan strode into the bridal suite surrounded by his friends, only to find a stranger lying on the marriage bed.

As every jaw in the room hit the floor, I settled myself in the man's arms and smiled faintly.

"Oh, I forgot to mention—my family has a tradition too. On the wedding night, the bride sleeps with her first love right in front of her husband."

. . .

. . .

Eight years ago, I'd turned my back on my family for Ryan. I'd made him my entire world.

We'd been together eight years, and we were finally talking about marriage.

The day we traveled to his hometown to discuss the wedding details, his mother brought a woman to meet me.

She wore a champagne-colored gown, red hair spilling over her shoulders, and when she smiled, she looked like a rose cultivated with painstaking care in a greenhouse.

Ryan's mother held the woman's hand, her tone as warm and familiar as if she were introducing her own daughter.

"Evelyn, this is Chloe Bennett. She and Ryan were inseparable growing up. She was his first love."

I froze.

Then his mother continued: "We have an old tradition here. Before a man gets married, he spends three days alone with his first love. A proper farewell to the past."

I thought I'd misheard.

"I'm sorry—what?"

Ryan's mother's smile didn't waver. "Don't be nervous. It's just tradition. After three days, Ryan will come back to you with a clean slate."

It was so absurd it was almost funny.

I looked at Ryan, waiting for him to object.

But all he did was frown slightly, as though I were being difficult.

"Evelyn, we're just living under the same roof for three days. Don't make it into something dirty. Chloe came back from overseas specifically to see me get married. She's not well. I don't want her to leave with regrets."

"So?" I asked.

Ryan stepped closer and lowered his voice. "You're always telling me you love me. Then respect my family. Respect how things are done here."

On cue, Chloe let out a delicate cough, her eyes reddening at the corners.

"Evelyn, if it bothers you, I can leave right now. I probably shouldn't have come back anyway."

Ryan's head snapped toward her instantly.

"Don't be ridiculous. This will always be your home."

Then he turned back to me. The tenderness he'd shown Chloe vanished in an instant, replaced by impatience and warning.

"Evelyn, you've been with me for eight years. This is a small thing. You can handle it, right?"

A small thing.

He called this a small thing.

I stood in that living room draped with white tulle and floral garlands, my gaze sweeping over the engagement photo on the mantelpiece and the wedding invitations scattered across the coffee table, and suddenly the whole thing felt like a fever dream.

In that moment, I understood.

This wasn't tradition.

This was a humiliation they'd designed just for me.

Everyone was watching. Ryan's relatives, his friends—and Chloe. She tilted her head slightly, studying me with something close to pity, a faint smile playing at the corner of her lips.

They were all waiting for me to break down. Waiting for the tears, the hysterics, waiting for me to lose my mind and demand answers like some unhinged woman.

But I just smiled.

"Fine."

Ryan looked genuinely stunned.

"You're agreeing to this?"

"You said it's tradition." I held his gaze. "Of course I should respect that."

Ryan let out a breath of relief. He even reached up and stroked my hair.

"I knew you'd be the reasonable one."

Reasonable.

For eight years, that word had been a collar around my neck.

Because I was reasonable, I'd cut ties with my family for him. I'd stood by him through the worst days of building his company. Because I was reasonable, he'd pushed me to give ground again and again.

And now he wanted me to hand my fiancé over to another woman's bed with my own two hands.

That night, Ryan didn't come back to the hotel with me.

He took his luggage and went to Chloe's villa.

Before he left, he kissed my forehead.

"I'll be there on time for the wedding. Don't overthink things."

I nodded, still smiling.

"Okay."

What he didn't know was that I had a phone call to make too.

When the line connected, a low, deep voice came through the receiver.

"Evelyn?"

I gazed at the darkening sky in the distance.

"Sebastian, you once told me that if I ever needed you, you'd be there."

Two seconds of silence on the other end.

Then he said: "I always have been."

I closed my eyes.

"Then come to my wedding."

Over the next three days, Ryan didn't call once. Didn't send a single text.

Not one.

We'd been together eight years—more than two thousand nine hundred days and nights. There was a time when even a single day on a business trip meant three phone calls home, terrified I wasn't eating well or sleeping enough. Now he was living in another woman's house, and he couldn't spare me so much as a goodnight.

For three full days, I didn't exist.

The night before the wedding, I tracked them down at a private bar.

Before I even pushed open the door to the private room, the noise spilled through the cracks.

"Ryan, you've really got it made, don't you? Reliving the glory days with your first love before the wedding, then going home to the wife afterward—best of both worlds!"

"Chloe's been back three days and Ryan looks ten years younger!"