Deep Love in Vain Words

On the eve of my wedding, I overheard my fiancé’s wicked plan through the car’s dashcam.

He said he was only marrying me to spite my ex. He planned to publicly call off our wedding during the broadcast to utterly destroy my reputation.

He thought I was oblivious, still dreaming of becoming Mrs. Gerald.

He had no idea I’d already replaced the ceremonial video file with that very recording, along with undeniable proof of his affairs.

Caroline POV

In seven days, I would marry Isaac.

Our entire social circle buzzed with the same gossip: how I’d hit the jackpot, transforming from Floyd’s persistent admirer to Isaac’s cherished fiancée.

Even I started to believe it.

For years, Isaac had treated me like a treasure.

He would drive across the city through a storm to bring me hot soup. He would postpone billion-dollar mergers to sit with me when I was unwell.

He’d said, “Caroline, I’m going to give you a wedding for the century. The kind that silences every critic for good.”

I believed him.

Until ten minutes ago, when I received his text.

“Honey, I had someone drop off the dashcam’s SD card. Could you grab the video of the fender bender for the insurance company?”

This was followed by a voice message. “Thanks, babe. I’ll take you to that French restaurant tonight.”

I smiled, typing “Okay” back, and inserted the card.

The video was easy to find.

After handling the accident, Isaac didn’t head to the office. Instead, he picked up two friends.

I was about to close the file when a mocking laugh echoed from the speakers.

“Isaac, that female driver was really checking you out. Caroline would be so jealous if she knew, right?”

My hand, on the mouse, froze.

I expected Isaac to defend me.

“Jealous?”

Isaac’s voice was cold, accompanied by the crisp click of a lighter. “Right now, all she can think about is being the most beautiful bride. She wouldn’t have time for jealousy.”

My smile stiffened on my face.

The conversation in the car continued, every word like a dagger.

“Spending millions on this wedding just to spite Floyd, is it really worth it?”

“What if Caroline clings to you afterward? You’ve been living together for four years, after all.”

On the screen, Isaac exhaled a smoke ring, blurring his handsome profile.

But it didn’t hide the coldness in his eyes.

“A few million to see Floyd’s face fall flat? That’s a bargain.”

He chuckled, as if discussing a worthless object. “On the wedding day, I’ll announce ‘game over’ in front of everyone.”

“Floyd’s reaction will be priceless.”

The car filled with the men’s crude laughter.

“What about Caroline then? Getting dumped at the altar, live-streamed across the city - her life will be ruined, won’t it?”

Isaac flicked his cigarette ash, indifferent.

“It’s an adult game. If she’s stupid, who’s to blame?”

The video cut abruptly.

My study was deadly silent.

I sat frozen in my chair, my blood turning to ice.

So, those four years of deep affection were nothing but a meticulously planned deception.

My stomach churned.

I rushed to the bathroom, retching over the toilet, but nothing came up.

Tears splashed onto the floor, and I fiercely wiped them away.

Caroline, don’t cry.

He’s not worth your tears.

I splashed cold water on my face, looking at my pale reflection in the mirror.

So, you want to play dirty? Fine, I’ll play along.

I returned to my computer, my hands still trembling, but my eyes had grown cold.

I backed up that five-minute recording of their car conversation, along with the accident video, to my cloud storage.

Then, I only clipped the accident footage and sent it to the insurance specialist.

My phone lit up with a message from Isaac:

“Did you send the video? I’ll be back to pick you up soon. Wear that red dress tonight, you look gorgeous in it.”

I stared at his familiar profile picture, my fingertips turning white from how hard I pressed them.

Finally, I replied: “Sent.”

Putting my phone down, I walked into my walk-in closet.

The red dress hung in the most prominent spot, flown in from Paris by him last week.

He’d said only my skin tone could pull off that shade of red.

Memories flashed back to that stormy night four years ago.

Floyd had thrown the birthday gift I’d made him into the trash, mocking me in front of everyone. “Caroline, do you not understand ‘no’? Just looking at you makes me sick.”

Everyone laughed, and I felt like a pathetic clown.

It was Isaac who emerged from the corner, draped his suit jacket over me, shielding me from those humiliating stares.

“Come with me,” he’d said. “I’ll take you home.”

That night, I thought he was my savior.

Now I knew, all of it, every single thing, was a lie.