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My wedding dress was being torn apart piece by piece, and my groom stood there watching with a smile. "I'm having fun," Chelsea said, tugging at my gown like she owned it. "Name your price." She yanked again. The fabric ripped. The crowd cheered. "Five th0usand!" she announced, phone already in the air. Brody took the torn silk from her like it was nothing. Like I was nothing. "Don't be so serious," he said, not even looking at me. "It's just a game." But this was the same man who called it fun when Chelsea faked a pregnancy and left me half-deaf. The same man who called it fun when she dumped me drunk on a street corner at two in the morning. Now they were shredding my wedding dress, and he was still smiling. The crowd pressed closer. Hands reached for me. Someone shouted thirty th0usand. "Brody," I said, my voice flat. "If you let this happen, we're finished." He didn't flinch. "Don't make a scene, Erin." Chelsea laughed. "Always such a downer." The next moment, my phone buzzed. M0ney hit my acc0unt. Amid all the noise, I suddenly felt eerily calm. They were right about one thing. This was a downer. So I decided right there—I was done. At the wedding, Brody Whitmore's wild best friend from childhood, Chelsea Hart, complained the ceremony was boring and proposed a game called "The Dress Dash." "Everyone tears a strip of fabric from the bride's dress! Name your price, and the groom has to buy every piece back!" "Then we'll stitch all the pieces into a brand-new wedding gown—like a patchwork of good luck!" Chelsea yanked down the shoulder strap, and I nearly flashed half the room. "Like this! I'm bidding five grand!" Brody gave an indulgent smile and took the sheer fabric from her. Chelsea winked and flashed her phone at the big screen, showing the transfer confirmation. "Now that's how Chelsea plays." "True love costs m0ney!" Brody's circle of friends whooped and hollered in approval. I clenched my fists, about to refuse, but he stopped me in a low voice. "Chelsea'
