On my wedding day, I was about to say my vows when my maid of honor stood up and announced she was pregnant with my husband’s baby. 300 guests gasped. But instead of crying, I just smiled and said I’ve been waiting for you to finally tell everyone the truth. Her face went white. She had no idea what was coming next…
The Pacific Ocean breeze whipped against the Malibu cliffs, whipping the white silk ribbons adorning the walkway. The Grand Vance estate was more magnificent than ever today. Over 300 guests – from Silicon Valley venture capitalists to Hollywood stars – sat in pristine white Chiavari chairs, awaiting the momentous occasion.
I, Elena Vance, the sole heir to the Vance Group, stood before the altar. I wore a custom-designed Vera Wang wedding dress, embellished with 2,000 Swarovski crystals. Opposite me stood Mark, the man I’d loved for four years. He stood there in a Tom Ford tuxedo, handsome, elegant, and seemingly nervous.
Standing right behind me was Jessica – my best friend from college, and today my bridesmaid. She wore a pale pink silk dress, carrying a bouquet of peonies.
Everything was perfect. Perfect, like a movie script.
Pastor Thomas smiled at us. “Elena, do you agree to take Mark as your husband…?”
“WAIT!”
A scream ripped through the solemn atmosphere. Not from the audience. But from right behind me.
Jessica stepped forward. She threw the bouquet of peonies to the ground. Her face was flushed, tears welled up, but her eyes looked at me with defiance and triumph.
“Mark can’t marry you, Elena!” Jessica yelled into the microphone she had just snatched from the pastor.
The entire auditorium gasped in horror. My mother nearly fainted in the front row. Mark stood frozen, his face drained of all color.
“Why?” I asked, my voice strangely calm, though my heart was pounding inside. Not from fear, but from adrenaline.
Jessica placed her hand on her stomach – the flat stomach beneath the silk.
“Because I’m pregnant,” she declared emphatically, turning to look at Mark with teary eyes. “I’m pregnant with Mark’s child. We’ve been in love for a year. He doesn’t love you, Elena. He only pities you. He’s with you for your family’s money!”
300 guests were stunned. Whispers erupted like a swarm of bees. Camera lenses flashed incessantly. This was the biggest scandal of the year in California’s high society.
Mark stammered, reaching out to Jessica. “Jess… what the hell are you doing? We agreed…”
“I can’t hide it anymore!” Jessica sobbed. “Our child needs a father!”
All eyes turned to me. The betrayed bride. The poor girl stabbed in the back by her husband and best friend on her wedding day. They waited for me to break down. They waited for me to tear my dress, scream, or run away in shame.
But I didn’t.
I adjusted my veil. I looked at Jessica, then at Mark.
And I smiled.
A radiant smile, cold and sharp as a surgical knife.
I stepped forward, gently taking the microphone from Jessica’s hand.
“Thank you, Jessica,” I said, my voice echoing clearly through the expensive speaker system. “I’ve been waiting for you to finally tell everyone the truth.”
Jessica’s face turned pale. The triumph in her eyes vanished, replaced by bewilderment. “You… what did you say?”
“I’ve been waiting for this moment for three months,” I said, gesturing to the technical crew.
Behind the altar, a giant LED screen – prepared to show the video “Mark and Elena’s Love Story” – suddenly lit up.
But there were no romantic images.
A computer interface appeared on the screen. It was a PowerPoint presentation.
“Everyone, please settle down,” I said to the clamoring guests. “The wedding is canceled, but the show has only just begun.”
I pressed the remote control in my hand.
Slide 1: Medical Report.
“Jessica,” I turned to my best friend. “You said you’re pregnant with Mark’s child, right?”
“Yes! I have a pregnancy test here!” Jessica shouted, trying to salvage the situation.
“I believe you’re pregnant,” I nodded. “But the baby can’t be Mark’s.”
A medical record with a red stamp from Johns Hopkins Hospital appeared on the screen.
“This is Mark’s surgical record from when he was 20 years old,” I explained. “Mark suffered severe mumps complications that resulted in complete infertility. He can’t have children. Mark never told me this; he kept it a secret because of his male pride. But I found out when we went for our pre-marital health checkup six months ago.”
Mark collapsed to the ground. His biggest secret had been revealed. He looked at Jessica with horror. “You… you’re pregnant with someone else’s child?”
Jessica froze. She had lied, or she had slept with someone else and deliberately framed Mark to ruin the wedding (and win Mark over). But whatever it was, the pregnancy was now proof of her infidelity.
“But that’s just the beginning,” I said, pressing the slide change button.
Slide 2: The Numbers Speak.
A series of bank statements and emails appeared on the screen.
“Mark,” I looked down at the man kneeling at my feet. “Do you think I don’t know what you and Jessica have been doing behind my back? You’re not just having an affair. You’re trying to seize my assets.”
I pointed to the screen.
“These are the emails.”
The conversation between Mark and Jessica was incredibly detailed: Mark would marry me, without a prenuptial agreement (because I loved him too much), then cause an accident to render me incapacitated, and Mark would become the guardian of my $500 million estate. Afterward, Jessica would move in under the guise of a ‘caregiver’.
The entire audience held their breath. This wasn’t adultery. This was a murder and robbery plot.
“I hired private investigators and cybersecurity experts to spy on you two for the past three months,” I said. “I let this wedding go on until the last minute.” “I spent $500,000 on this ceremony just to gather all the witnesses.”
I pointed toward the back row.
“Please.”
Four men in black suits stood up. They weren’t guests.
They were FBI agents and the Los Angeles County Sheriff.
Mark trembled, tears and snot streaming down his face. He crawled toward me, grabbing the hem of my wedding dress. “Elena! I’m sorry! It was her idea! She forced me! I was broke because of gambling debts!”
I lightly kicked him, pushing his hand away.
But Jessica was different. She didn’t kneel. After the initial shock, she started to laugh. A maniacal laugh.
“Well done, Elena,” Jessica clapped. “You won. Mark and I will go to jail. But you have nothing left. You’re a cuckolded bride, betrayed by your best friend, and nearly murdered.” “You’ll live your whole life in delusion.”
“Oh, Jessica,” I shook my head sympathetically. “You still don’t understand what’s going on.”
I pressed the button to switch to the last slide.
Slide 3: Shareholder Certificate.
On the screen was a complex legal document.
“Mark is in gambling debt, right?” I asked. “And you, Jessica, you’re also drowning in debt from your shopping addiction. You both need my money to pay off your debts to the gangsters.”
Jessica narrowed her eyes. “So what?”
“You think Mark is the CEO of the startup TechStream that I invested in?”
“Yes, Mark owns 51% of the shares!” Jessica yelled. “Even if I go to jail, those shares are still Mark’s. I’ll sue for a share of the assets!”
“Wrong,” I smiled. “Last week, Mark signed a set of documents that he thought were ‘Wedding Insurance Papers’.” “Mark never read what he signed carefully.”
I turned to Mark.
“You signed a document transferring all of your shares in TechStream to me for $1. And you also signed a personal promissory note for the entire $10 million loan to the company.”
“Currently,” I declared. “Mark is penniless. He owns nothing but massive debt.” And Jessica, since you secretly registered your marriage with Mark in Las Vegas a month ago (I found the certificate), you are jointly liable for the debt.”
Jessica’s face turned from pale to ashen.
“How… how did you know I married him?”
“Because I’m the one who sent you the plane tickets and booked your hotel rooms for Las Vegas under the guise of a fake ‘lottery prize,'” I said coldly. “I needed you two to get legally married so that Mark’s debt would become a burden for both of you.”
Chapter End: The Wedding of Justice
The police advanced onto the stage.
Mark was handcuffed, wailing desperately. He was arrested for Commercial Fraud and Conspiracy to Murder.
Jessica was also handcuffed. She struggled, cursing, the fake pregnancy (or real pregnancy with someone else) couldn’t save her from complicity.
I stood on the platform, looking at the two people who had once been my whole world. We were dragged away like two mangy dogs.
The guests remained silent, so shocked that no one dared to breathe loudly.
I picked up the microphone one last time.
“I apologize to everyone for the absence of the wedding,” I said. “But the celebration of freedom will still take place. Please have some champagne.” “Today I’m treating.”
I tossed the microphone to the ground. Thump.
I ripped the long train of my wedding dress, turning it into a stylish mini-dress. I removed the veil and threw it toward Jessica as she was being led away.
“Take this and wipe your tears, my friend.”
I walked off the stage, past the guests who were beginning to applaud – initially sporadically, then thunderously. They weren’t applauding for a wedding, but for the most spectacular revenge in Malibu history.
I walked toward the bar and grabbed a glass of Tequila.
Mark and Jessica thought they were the hunter, and I was the prey. They didn’t know that the most dangerous prey is the one that patiently waits until the hunter is in sight.
Today I lost a husband and a friend. But I kept my life, my possessions, and most importantly: I taught them a lesson: never, ever underestimate a woman. Betrayed.
I raised my glass, looking out at the blue sea.
“Cheers,” I whispered.
