“Do you like this one?”
Before Mia could react, he swiped again—another gown. Then another.
“Or this?” he continued. “This one? How about this?”
The images kept changing, one after another, until he finally stopped on a photograph of an elegant wedding venue, lights glowing softly beneath sweeping arches.
“This is the venue I thought you’d like when we remarry,” James said.
His voice was calmer now, almost composed—but the intensity behind it hadn’t faded.
“I’ve shortlisted a few,” he continued evenly. “Choose the one you want, and we’ll book it.”
Mia sat silently on the couch, one hand pressed to her chest as she stared blankly ahead. She didn’t look at the photos anymore—didn’t even register them. Her thoughts were spinning too fast, colliding into one another.
‘What the hell is happening? Why is he suddenly acting like this?’
James pulled her closer, his arm locking tightly around her waist, drawing her flush against his chest as if afraid she might disappear if he loosened his hold. With his other hand, he pushed the phone closer to her face. His voice softened—gentle, coaxing—completely at odds with the fevered look in his eyes.
“Don’t you like roses?” he murmured, his breath warm against her cheek. “Look—this venue has roses everywhere.” He swiped slowly. “Which color do you want?” A pause. “I even ordered your favorite champagne for the party.”
Mia’s chest constricted so suddenly it stole the air from her lungs.
The images on the screen blurred as a cold, ironic ache rushed through her.
Because when they had gotten married—
He had never asked her opinion.
Not once.
Not about the ceremony.
Not about her dress.
Not about the food, the guests, the venue—nothing.
He had even declared that her friends could attend only if there was “space left” after his business guests. That wedding hadn’t belonged to her at all. Every detail had been chosen by him. Approved by him. Designed to suithim.
Seeing wedding photos now didn’t feel romantic.
It felt like a punch to the stomach.
A reminder of everything she had endured.
A reminder of a marriage where she had existed as nothing more than a quiet shadow at his side.
She turned her face away from the screen, irritation, exhaustion, and numbness washing over her all at once.
“I don’t want to marry you,” Mia said quietly, her voice flat.
James froze.
His fingers tightened around the phone as his head snapped toward her. “Why?” he demanded, disbelief flashing across his face.
Mia shoved at the arm wrapped around her waist, struggling out of the hold that pinned her to him. She slid sideways on the couch, deliberately creating distance between them.
James stared at the space she’d put between them. Confusion flickered across his face—then hurt, then something dangerously close to offense. He looked up at her again.
