Chapter 2 - My Best Friend Was Wearing My Ring
I should have asked Zachary why he was there.
Instead, I followed him.
Maybe it was shock.
Maybe it was exhaustion.
Maybe after operating for hours and then discovering my fiancé had married my best friend, I simply had no decisions left in me.
Zachary walked beside me down the stone stairs.
Behind us, whispers exploded.
I could feel Andrew watching.
Then his voice came.
“Samantha.”
I stopped.
For one humiliating second, hope flickered.
Some foolish part of me imagined he might run after me.
Apologize.
Explain.
Tell me the ceremony had been symbolic.
Tell me there had been some terrible misunderstanding.
Instead, he said, “We need to talk about the house.”
The house.
Not us.
Not betrayal.
Not the fact that another woman was wearing the ring he had promised to put on my hand.
The house.
I turned.
Andrew stood at the entrance with Gemma behind him.
Brenda remained beside them.
“What about it?” I asked.
His expression was almost businesslike.
“You shouldn't go back there tonight.”
I stared at him.
“My name is on the deed.”
Brenda folded her arms.
“Andrew needs privacy with his wife.”
That almost made me laugh.
Zachary shifted beside me.
Not threateningly.
Just enough to remind them I was no longer standing alone.
I looked directly at Andrew.
“I paid the down payment.”
His face tightened.
“We'll sort everything out.”
“We will.”
Then I left.
Zachary's vehicle was parked near the side garden.
A black SUV.
When he opened the passenger door, I hesitated.
“I have my car.”
“You've been awake since before sunrise.”
“So have you.”
“Yes.”
His eyes softened.
“But I'm not the one who just discovered her fiancé married somebody else.”
Fair point.
“I can't leave my car.”
“I'll have someone bring it.”
I looked back at the estate.
Guests pretended not to watch.
Gemma had disappeared inside.
Andrew was speaking intensely with Brenda.
Something about that bothered me.
Not the betrayal itself.
Something else.
They did not look like people celebrating.
They looked worried.
I climbed into Zachary's SUV.
For the first five minutes, neither of us spoke.
I stared at my hands.
There was still a faint mark near one wrist from surgical gloves.
My nails had been done for the wedding.
Pale pink.
Perfect.
Ridiculous.
“I shouldn't have come,” Zachary finally said.
I turned.
“To the wedding?”
“I wanted to thank you.”
“You already did.”
“It didn't feel like enough.”
He paused.
“Paisley woke briefly.”
My entire body shifted toward him.
“She did?”
“She asked whether the doctor missed her wedding.”
Despite everything, I laughed.
A tiny, broken laugh.
“What did you tell her?”
“That the doctor saved her life.”
My eyes burned.
I looked out the window.
For the first time all day, tears came.
Quietly.
I wiped them away.
Zachary pretended not to notice.
That kindness nearly made me cry harder.
He drove me back to the hospital because I wanted to check on Paisley.
I knew it was partly avoidance.
I did not want to go home.
I did not want to call my parents yet.
I did not want to explain to anyone that the man I was supposed to marry had apparently replaced me before the flowers wilted.
Paisley was asleep in pediatric intensive care.
Zachary stood beside her bed.
I checked the monitors.
Stable.
Her color was better.
Seeing her alive reminded me why I had made the choice I had made that morning.
I would make it again.
Even knowing what waited at the estate.
Even knowing what it cost.
I would still choose the child.
That realization settled something inside me.
Andrew had accused me of always saving someone.
Maybe he was right.
I just hadn't realized until that day that one of the people I needed to save was myself.
I left Paisley's room around five.
As I stepped into the corridor, Zachary called after me.
“Doctor?”
“Samantha.”
He nodded.
“Samantha.”
He seemed uncertain.
“There is something I should tell you.”
The tone stopped me.
“What?”
“This morning, while you were in surgery... I saw your fiancé.”
Every nerve in my body went still.
“At the hospital?”
Zachary nodded.
“What time?”
“Maybe eight-thirty.”
That made no sense.
Andrew should have been at the estate.
Preparations began at nine.
“Are you sure?”
“I recognize him from today.”
“Was he alone?”
Zachary's hesitation gave me the answer before he spoke.
“No.”
My throat tightened.
“Who was he with?”
“The woman he married.”
Gemma.
I leaned against the wall.
“What were they doing?”
“They were outside the administrative offices near the private consultation rooms.”
“Why were you there?”
“Insurance paperwork. They sent me to the wrong floor.”
“What did you see?”
He rubbed the back of his neck.
“I didn't think anything of it then. They were arguing quietly.”
“About what?”
“I couldn't hear everything.”
“Anything.”
He looked uncomfortable.
“He said, ‘Once she's tied up in surgery, we have the window.’”
I felt cold.
“What?”
“And the woman said something like, ‘What if she gets out early?’”
My wedding was scheduled for noon.
Paisley's surgery had begun around seven.
There was no possible way Andrew could have known how long it would take.
Unless—
No.
I stopped myself.
“What else?”
“He told her, ‘Brenda has everything handled.’”
The hallway seemed to narrow around me.
Zachary continued carefully.
“I assumed they were talking about wedding logistics. I didn't know who they were.”
I could barely hear him over my heartbeat.
“How did Andrew know I was in surgery?”
“You left him a note.”
“Yes.”
But I had left before Paisley even arrived.
Andrew could have awakened and read it.
Still, why come to the hospital?
And why with Gemma?
“Did they see you?”
“I don't think so.”
A nurse walked past.
I waited until she disappeared.
“Was Brenda there?”
“No.”
I pulled out my phone.
Twenty-six missed calls.
I began examining the timestamps.
The first from Andrew came at 8:03.
Then 8:07.
8:08.
8:16.
Gemma called at 8:22.
Brenda at 8:30.
Then nothing from Andrew between 8:34 and 9:12.
That matched Zachary's memory.
My hands began shaking.
Maybe Andrew had come to find me.
Maybe Gemma had driven him.
Maybe the conversation meant something harmless.
But none of it felt harmless anymore.
My phone buzzed.
Andrew.
For a second I considered ignoring it.
Then I answered.
“What?”
His voice was clipped.
“We need to meet.”
“Why?”
“Because you're emotional right now and there are practical matters.”
I almost laughed.
“I watched you marry my best friend four hours ago.”
“And that's exactly why we need to keep this civil.”
“Civil?”
“Samantha, don't do this.”
“Do what?”
“Turn everything into drama.”
The irony was so enormous I couldn't speak.
He continued.
“I boxed some of your things.”
“You did what?”
“You can collect them later.”
“My house.”
“Our house.”
“My money paid the down payment.”
“We both contributed.”
I remembered something.
Three months earlier, Andrew had asked me to sign refinancing documents.
He said lower interest rates would save us thousands.
I had been between surgeries.
He had placed tabs beside each signature.
Had I read every page?
My stomach twisted.
“Andrew.”
“What?”
“What exactly did you have me sign in June?”
Silence.
A fraction too long.
“Mortgage documents.”
“Send them to me.”
“Why?”
“Send every page.”
“You're being paranoid.”
There.
A word people use when they desperately want you to stop looking.
I hung up.
Zachary was watching me.
“What happened?”
“I think there's more to this.”
He nodded slowly.
“I think so too.”
That evening, I checked into a hotel near the hospital.
I called my parents and told them enough to stop them from driving six hours in the middle of the night.
My mother cried.
My father did not say much.
That was worse.
Around ten, Gemma finally texted.
I'm sorry. It happened so fast. Andrew was devastated. Brenda said you might not come. Please let me explain.
I stared at the message.
Then typed:
Did you go to the hospital with Andrew this morning?
Three dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
Then nothing.
I sent another message.
Zachary saw you.
This time her response came quickly.
Who is Zachary?
I did not answer.
Five minutes later, Andrew called.
Interesting.
I let it ring.
Then Brenda called.
More interesting.
I turned the phone face down.
At 10:38, an email arrived from an unfamiliar address.
No subject line.
There was one attachment.
A scanned document.
I opened it.
At first I didn't understand what I was looking at.
Then I saw my name.
SAMANTHA MILLER
Beneath it:
Transfer of beneficial interest.
The document involved a holding company I had never heard of.
Foster Meridian Holdings.
There was a signature at the bottom.
Mine.
Except I had never signed it.
I zoomed in.
It looked almost perfect.
Almost.
Then I saw the date.
June 17.
The same day Andrew had brought me those refinancing documents.
My breath stopped.
The email contained one sentence.
If they believe the wedding solved their problem, they're wrong. Ask who owns Foster Meridian after your marriage.
I read it three times.
Then my phone rang again.
Unknown number.
I answered.
A woman's voice whispered,
“Dr. Miller?”
“Yes.”
“You don't know me.”
“Who is this?”
“I work for the attorney who prepared the documents.”
I stood slowly.
“What documents?”
“The ones Andrew Foster needed you to sign before the wedding.”
My chest tightened.
“Why are you calling me?”
“Because what they did wasn't legal.”
I closed my eyes.
“What did they do?”
She took a breath.
Then said the sentence that changed the entire meaning of my stolen wedding.
“Andrew wasn't desperate to marry Gemma because you were late.”
Silence.
“He needed to be married today because by midnight, control of a trust worth more than twenty million dollars was going to change.”
And suddenly, everything—the hospital visit, the hurried ceremony, Gemma in my dress rehearsal venue, Brenda's satisfaction—stopped looking like emotional cruelty.
May you like
It began looking like a plan.
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