Under Lights, I End Our Story

At the Sweethearts' Light Festival, I head to Truelove Bridge to film vlog footage for my wedding next month. But through the camera's viewfinder, I spot my younger sister, Mona Jensen. Standing right beside her is my fiance, Weston Shaw—who is supposed to be working overtime at the office tonight. As Mona browses a vendor's stall, the strap of her bag slips off her shoulder. Weston catches it almost on instinct and casually slings it over his own shoulder. The glittery, sequined bag, covered in plush charms, looks absurdly out of place against his tailored dark gray suit. Maybe it's just a coincidence. Yet, the bag remains on his shoulder. People stream past them down the crowded street, but he makes no move to hand it back. When Mona finishes picking something out and reaches for the bag, he turns aside, keeping it out of her reach. He says something, and they both laugh. I remember our first date after we make things official. I ask him to hold my bag, which has a plush doll dangling from it. He holds it by the very edge of the strap with one hand. The instant I hang up and turn around, he shoves it right back into my hands. "That thing hanging off your bag doesn't go with my clothes," he says flatly as the tips of his ears turn bright red. I notice a few passersby shooting looks our way and even teasing him about it. Once I realize he really doesn't like it, I never ask him to carry my bag again. Back in the viewfinder, the two of them haven't moved, but everything has blurred into streaks. A voice comes over the bridge speakers. "May all lovers end up together." I stop the recording, my fingertips turning ice-cold and numb. I'm not going to be part of this ending. Chapter 1 Liana's POV I put my camera back into my bag, turned around, and locked eyes with my younger sister, Mona Jensen, just as she came running onto the bridge, breathless with excitement. The moment she spotted me, she instinctively stepped back. My fiance, Weston Shaw, was a step behind her. He glanced at Mona in confusion, followed her gaze, and finally spotted me. Instantly, he stepped between us. That unmistakably protective gesture toward her stung. Maybe the hurt on my face was too obvious, because Weston seemed to realize he'd overreacted. He relaxed slightly, though his brows quickly furrowed again. "Why are you still here?" Yesterday, I'd told him I was coming at 7:30 pm to film some vlog footage for our wedding next month, and that it would take about half an hour. It was already 9:00 pm. I shouldn't have still been there. "Two hours ago, I texted you that my camera broke and I needed to find someone to fix it," I replied. "Didn't you see it?" Weston froze for a moment, then looked away. "I was busy with work. I didn't notice." The last time he'd replied to me was that morning, when he'd apologized for not being able to film with me because he had to work overtime. "If you got off work early, why didn't you tell me?" I asked, looking him straight in the eye. Before Weston could answer, Mona peeked out from behind him. "Liana, don't blame Weston. I kept talking to him, so he didn't get a chance to check his phone. I failed my interview, and I wanted to come to the Sweethearts' Light Festival to take my mind off things. Weston was worried something might happen to me because I was so upset, so he came with me." She sounded so aggrieved. "You don't mind, do you? I was just feeling so down. I didn't mean to get in the way of you two enjoying the festival." Weston turned to her, his voice impossibly gentle. "This has nothing to do with you. You don't need to apologize." Then he turned back to me, his voice hardening. "Mona's had a hard enough day as it is. Don't keep harping on this right now." He looked like he wanted to say more, but Mona tugged at his sleeve. Weston fell silent and let her keep clutching his cuff. I opened my mouth, but in the end, all I did was hitch the strap of my camera bag higher on my shoulder. The strap dug into my skin, still chilled from the wind, and it stung. Apparently, even asking "why" was a mistake. I had nothing left to say, so I turned to leave, only to find the two of them standing right by the exit. Weston reached out to grab my arm. "Ah!" Mona gasped softly. Her long, loose hair had snagged on the bag's sequins when Weston reached for me. He hurriedly guided her under one of the bright lights, carefully untangling the trapped strands one by one. Then he reached into Mona's bag, searched around for a hair tie, and casually tied her hair back. I reached up to touch the ends of my shoulder-length hair. Five years ago, my hair had been even longer than Mona's. Once, while I was carrying a bag, my hair got tangled in the sequins. No matter what I tried, I couldn't get it free, so I asked Weston for help. He'd walked over, lowered his head, and moved the bag's chain out of the way. His hand paused briefly when his fingertips brushed the ends of my hair, but then he gave it two sharp yanks. Tears welled in my eyes from the pain, and I asked him to be gentler. He only frowned. "It's just a few strands of hair. Don't be so delicate. Your hair is so fine, and the bag has all these decorations. Of course it's hard to untangle once it gets caught in all that." That night, I went out and got my long hair cut off. When the stylist asked how short I wanted it, I said, "Short enough that I'll never have to bother anyone with it again." When I got home, Weston took one look at it and said that the new style suited me. Since then, I'd never grown it long again. A short distance away, Mona was still tugging at Weston's sleeve, complaining that she didn't like how he'd tied her hair and asking him to redo it. Weston gave her a helpless smile, but his fingers were already pulling the hair tie free. I turned and walked away. My phone buzzed with a text from Weston. "You head home first. Mona hasn't seen the view from the bridge yet, so I'm going to walk around with her a little longer. Be careful on your way back." I opened the flight-booking app and tapped Confirm. [Your flight to Casavera has been successfully booked. It departs in two days. Have a pleasant trip.] Casavera—a place where the mountaintop view revealed a valley carpeted with colorful buildings. "Go see the sights with her, Weston," I thought. "I'll see mine alone." Chapter 2 Liana's POV Weston didn't get home until almost midnight. I was a light sleeper, so the sound of the front door closing jolted me awake. Then I heard a flurry of footsteps drawing closer and closer. The light clicked on, and the sudden brightness made me squint. "Sure enough, it woke you up," Weston muttered as he pulled a box out of a shopping bag and set it down right in front of me. Then he pointed his phone camera straight at my face. "Mona insisted I bring this to you as an apology. Even though there was a reason for what happened, she still feels bad about disrupting our plans." He gestured toward the box. "Come on, take a bite. I need to send her a video. Once she sees for herself that you've eaten some, she can finally get some sleep." My blurry vision slowly focused on the box in front of me. It was a strawberry cream cake—red velvet sponge dotted with delicate little strawberries. It was Mona's favorite. I looked up at the dark camera lens pointed at me and said, "I'm not eating it." Weston sighed and lowered his voice. "Mona was just crying. Don't upset her again." "None of this was her fault anyway," he added. "She's worried about how you feel, afraid you'll hold it against her. Just take a bite so we can all get some sleep." Without waiting for my answer, he pressed the spoon right up to my lips. The cloying smell of whipped cream hit my nose. I couldn't hold back the surge of stomach acid and started dry-heaving uncontrollably. He stared at me in shock. "I told you. I don't eat whipped cream," I said. I gripped the edge of the bed, my knuckles turning white as the sour taste burned in my throat. When we were kids, Mona couldn't resist sneaking a taste of a three-layer strawberry cream cake at a bakery. Since she'd taken a bite out of it, we had to buy it. Money was tight at home back then, and a cake that big was an unnecessary expense we simply couldn't afford. Mom and Dad took their anger out on me, blaming me for not keeping an eye on her. They punished me by refusing to let me eat anything else until I finished the cake. Even now, I could still remember the greasy cream coating the back of my throat and the heavy nausea in my stomach. Mona had always been frail and couldn't eat much of it, which only made her crave it more. On our first anniversary, after seeing how badly I reacted to a cream cake, Weston apologized over and over. He swore he'd never let me anywhere near whipped cream again. It took only him six years to forget completely. "Fine. If you're not going to eat it, don't. Just pretend I never brought it." Weston stopped recording, quickly packed up the cake, and carried it out of the bedroom. When I walked into the living room, I saw Weston out on the balcony, eating the cake one spoonful at a time while his phone sat propped up on the table. His tone was light and cheerful. "Liana already had some. It's late, so she shouldn't eat too much. Looks like I lucked out." After a brief pause, he added, "Feel better now? Good night." The woman on the other end of the line seemed to have fallen asleep already, but the video call was still connected. Even after finishing the cake, Weston stayed right where he was. I loosened the fingers digging into my palm and turned back toward the bedroom. … When I woke up the next morning, Weston was already gone. I started clearing my things out of the house, tossing anything I hadn't used in ages and dropping old clothes into recycling bins. In the end, everything I had left fit into a single suitcase and a bag. I sat by the windowsill, running my fingers over the freesia petals, wondering what to do with them. That was when Weston called. He said my wedding dress had arrived and asked me to come try it on. The soft scent of freesia lingered around me. I'd personally overseen the making of that dress, so I figured I might as well say a proper goodbye to it. I walked down the corridor and saw Weston sitting on a couch. The curtain in front of him was drawn tightly shut. I didn't think much of it and assumed another customer was inside. The next second, the curtain was pulled open. Mona was standing on the fitting platform, wearing my wedding dress. Chapter 3 Liana's POV The sight of Mona standing there in my wedding dress froze me in place. Weston shot to his feet, his eyes lighting up with open admiration. Mona clutched the skirt, blushing as she stole a glance at him. Standing together, they looked just like a bride and groom preparing to walk down the aisle. "Do I look good?" Mona asked sweetly. "You're gorgeous!" Weston blurted out without missing a beat, as though even a second of hesitation was too long. The blush spread to the tips of Mona's ears. I stepped out from behind the partition and stared straight at Weston. "Why is she here?" Panic flashed across Weston's face the moment he saw me, but he quickly composed himself and cleared his throat. "Mona heard I was coming with you to try on your dress today. She insisted on coming along to give you a second opinion." I said nothing, shifting my gaze to the wedding dress Mona was wearing. "Then why is she wearing my dress?" "She thought it looked pretty and wanted to try it on," Weston said casually, as if it were something completely ordinary. "You weren't here yet anyway, so I let her have some fun trying it on first." "Liana, I was just trying it on to help you see how it looks," Mona said, pouting as she carefully stepped down from the fitting platform. "Don't be mad. I'll take it off right now." She paused, running a hand over the fabric. "But… why did you choose a pattern like this? It looks kind of cheap. Big, bold embroidered flowers would look so much more elegant." "Liana's taste is a little conservative," Weston chimed in, nodding in agreement. Back when he was pursuing me, he'd searched half the city for a bouquet of freesias and told me they symbolized everlasting love, as unwavering as his feelings for me. So when it came time to choose the pattern for my wedding dress, I hadn't hesitated to sketch freesias onto it. It was meant to be a testament to our love. Looking back now, it was nothing more than my own wishful thinking. "Aren't you going to take it off?" I asked, looking calmly at Mona. Her eyes reddened instantly, tears welling up and threatening to spill over. Weston's voice dropped, his eyes filled with displeasure. "Why are you making such a big deal out of this with your own sister? Letting her wear it a little longer won't hurt the dress." Mona stormed out of the dressing room and threw the wedding dress at me. "Here! Take it back!" Tears streamed down her face. Weston quickly pulled her aside and comforted her in a soft voice. I ignored them and began looking over the wedding dress. "I don't want this dress anymore," I said calmly. The moment the words left my mouth, some of the weight on my chest lifted. Mona looked up at me in shock. Weston frowned and grabbed my wrist. "Don't make a scene in public. I'll make it up to you when we get home." I shook off his hand, looked Mona straight in the eye, and repeated myself. "You wore it, so I don't want it anymore." "Is messing with me like this fun for you?" Her face flushed with embarrassment as she clung to Weston, weeping pitifully. Weston moved in front of her, shielding her behind him. "Is there something wrong with the dress?" I said, "No." "Then what are you throwing a fit for?" Weston grew visibly impatient. "She wore it once. Is it really that big a deal?" "It is," I replied, holding his gaze. "It's my wedding. I want a wedding dress that's wholly mine, one that belongs entirely to me from start to finish. I don't want anyone else to have worn it." For more than 20 years, I'd had very few things that were truly mine. Mona was constantly on medication, and a large share of the family's spending went toward her. Everything she used had to be brand-new and high-quality. As a healthy child, I was always expected to make do with hand-me-downs. We were only a year apart, so we could swap just about everything. Everyone got used to living that way. Even after Mona got better, nothing changed. I'd tried to speak up for myself before, but Mom and Dad always ended up accusing me of being inconsiderate toward them and the family. They called me dramatic. So I learned to stay quiet. From the initial measurements to the finished dress, I'd made seven trips to the boutique. Every single stitch was exactly the way I wanted it. At my own wedding, I just wanted to have this one thing entirely to myself. But now, that wish had been shattered. The day I ordered it, he'd promised me it would be mine alone. I looked up, ready to remind him, only to find nothing but confusion in his eyes. The words died in my throat. "Forget it." The words were so faint that no one heard them. Ignoring the voices calling after me, I turned and walked away. Chapter 4 Liana's POV After wrapping up the last bit of work on my plate, I headed home. To my surprise, Mom and Dad were sitting in the living room with Mona beside them. I instinctively glanced toward the bedroom. My packed luggage was tucked behind the door, safely out of sight. "How did you get in?" I asked. Only Weston and I knew the keycode to the front door. "Never mind how we got in," Mom cut me off, her words tumbling out fast and frantic. "What's gotten into you? Mona says you don't want your wedding dress anymore. That custom dress took three months to make, and the wedding is only a month away. Where are you supposed to get another one now?" "We've already sent out all the invitations," Dad chimed in. "All our friends and relatives know the date. If we delay the wedding, what are people going to think of us?" Having spent half their lives in poverty, they valued their pride more than anything. Even now that our lives were better, they still instinctively placed themselves beneath everyone else. A sudden impulse rose in me. I wanted to try one last time. "She tried on my wedding dress in front of Weston without asking me." Mona snapped her head up. I could tell right then that she hadn't given Mom and Dad the full story. Mom didn't even raise an eyebrow. "So she tried it on. It's not like anything happened to it. You're still the one wearing it at the wedding. Stop being so dramatic." Her tone softened slightly. "You should be happy Weston treats your sister so well. It shows he cares about you." Dad stubbed out his cigarette, his mouth pulling into a frown. "Did you really have to make an issue out of something so trivial? The banquet and wedding arrangements are already booked. If there's even a second's delay, we'll have to pay penalty fees, and we can't afford that." It felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over my head. I should have known better than to hold on to any expectations. Mom wanted to say more, but I didn't want to hear another word. I stood up and caught sight of the bag sitting behind Mona—the same one she'd carried at the Sweethearts' Light Festival. Looking closer, I saw that a few of the sequins clearly didn't belong on it. An ominous feeling hit me all at once. I stumbled into the storage room. With trembling hands, I pulled my bag from the cabinet, still wrapped in its dust cover. A whole row of sequins was missing, and the rest dangled loosely from broken threads. Mona stood in the doorway, her lips trembling, but her eyes never left my ruined bag. "The sequins on my bag came off," she said. "Mom didn't want me spending money on a new one, so she offered to fix it for me. Weston remembered you had an old bag you never use. It was just going to waste anyway, and the different colors actually worked really well on mine. He gave us the keycode. Since you weren't home yet, we just went ahead and got started." She looked at me, her voice soft with practiced innocence. "Liana, you won't blame me for this, right?" That sequined bag was a gift I'd bought myself when I came of age. It wasn't a designer brand. In fact, the craftsmanship was pretty rough. But it was the first thing that had ever truly belonged to me. None of them knew I loved bright, vibrant colors. They made me feel like there was still something to hope for. Between work and dating, I rarely had a chance to carry it, but whenever I felt down, I would sit in my room with it. Even through the dust cover, I could feel my strength returning. And now, without so much as asking me, they'd torn pieces off it to patch up something else. I slapped Mona hard across the face. Weston walked in right at that moment. He dropped the bags, shoved me away, and cupped Mona's face tenderly. The look he shot me was cold and hard. "No matter what happens, you don't get to hit someone. Especially not your sister." My knee slammed hard into the corner of the table, sending a sharp jolt of pain all the way up to my head. Yet, I burst out laughing. "She keeps touching my things without permission. Doesn't she deserve to be slapped?" "I took it. I tore it apart. What, are you going to hit me too?" Mom rushed in at the commotion, pulling Mona into her arms and wiping the corners of her eyes. "You used to be so sensible. How did you turn into such a raving lunatic? Weston spoiled you far too much." Dad leaned in close and whispered in my ear, "Cut out the attitude. If you piss Weston off, we can't afford that kind of money." Mom and Dad left with Mona, and Weston hurried after them to see them out. … Day faded into night, and night turned back into day. I wheeled my luggage out of the bedroom and spotted a pink sequined bag sitting on the table. It was prettier than mine and from a designer brand. I didn't touch it. Instead, I left my key on the entryway cabinet and pulled the door shut behind me. A text from Weston came in. "Did you see the bag on the table? Mona ruined yours, so I bought you a replacement on her behalf. Stop throwing a fit. We're family." I powered off my phone. The plane took off. As I gazed out at the endless layers of clouds, I felt a sense of freedom I'd never known before.