My Wedding Hall… Or Not?

Diana’s pov

I had no destination in mind. The sound of my footsteps was the only thing that drowned out the chaos in my head.

“Why can’t I enter my own wedding reception?” I asked the bouncers, my voice shaking with disbelief.

I was standing outside my wedding hall, the one I’d paid for. The one I’d painstakingly planned every detail of, down to the color scheme and decor.

Everything was exactly as I’d envisioned it: the flowers, the candles I’d bought off A****n, the fancy drapes, everything was there … except me.

I looked around and saw everyone I’d invited. Everybody was here, without me.

“My fiancé is in there,” I said, my voice rising. “I want to go in. Now.”

“We’re sorry, Mrs.—sorry, Diana, but Brian gave orders not to let you in.”

Wait. What? Brian gave orders to keep me out of a venue I paid for? I laughed, thinking it had to be some kind of joke. But when the bouncers didn’t even crack a smile, that’s when it hit me.

They were serious. Brian had kicked me out of my own wedding hall.

I took a deep breath, remembering the doctor’s orders to take it easy because of my dangerously high blood pressure.

“I paid for this hall,” I said, my voice cold and sharp, anger clawing its way up my throat. “I decide who gets in and who doesn’t. It’s my wedding!”

They didn’t move. They didn’t blink. They just stared at me, expressionless, as if my words meant nothing.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Samantha, the event planner, rushing toward me. Good.

“Diana, I’m so sorry,” she said, her eyes filled with pity.

I stared at her, struggling to process her words. They didn’t make sense. She’s so sorry? Sorry for what?

“What’s this, Samantha?” I asked, my voice trembling. “Why can’t I get into my wedding hall?”

Samantha hesitated, her hands twisting nervously. “Diana… Brian changed the plans. He said you wouldn’t be attending."

My stomach dropped. “What are you talking about? This is my wedding. I paid for everything. How could he…"

I was on the verge of losing it. I knew I must’ve looked horrible— my makeup smeared from all the crying, but I didn’t need pity from my event planner right now. I needed her to do her job. That’s why I’d paid her.

I reached for my phone to call Brian, but my hands were shaking so badly I could barely unlock the screen.

Get yourself together, Diana!

I needed Brian to tell me why I wasn’t in there with him and the rest of our guests. Why was I missing from my own wedding?

I stepped forward, fists clenched at my sides, struggling to hold it together.

“Stop looking at me like that,” I snapped at Samantha, my voice trembling with frustration. “Do something about this, now. Stop feeling sorry for me. I’m paying you to fix this. So fix it!”

“I… I can’t. You don’t understand…” she began, but I cut her off, my patience completely snapping.

“Then make me understand,” I demanded, my voice rising. “Make me understand why you’re standing here doing nothing while the bride is outside. What’s going on?”

“Brian made the decision,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, too quiet for my liking.

I’d heard that before. What I hadn’t heard was why and how the hell he was able to do this. I paid for everything, for fuck’s sake!

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself, but the knot in my stomach tightened.

“It’s his signature on the payment slips, remember?” she continued.

Yes, I did. I remembered very well. His name and signature were right there on the dotted lines as the wedding sponsor. He’d convinced me to let him sign as my fiancé.

He’d promised it would make things easier. He’d said he wanted me to heal from the trauma of losing our baby without having to deal with the wedding stress too.

How could I have been so blind? So so stupid?

My chest tightened. “What does that mean?” I whispered.

Of course, I knew exactly what it meant. I just wanted her to say I was wrong.

But she didn’t answer. She just looked at me, that same stupid, pitying expression on her face.

“Where is my sister?” I demanded, clenching my fists tighter.

I wanted to scream—not from the pain in my heart because of their betrayal, but from the cold realization that his signature was also on the house documents I’d just bought for us.

Our house. The house he’d promised would be our new beginning, where we’d build our life together, where we could finally heal.

I’d imagined living in it as his wife—the garden out front where our children would play, the kitchen where we’d cook together. I’d chosen the colors for the rooms and the flowers myself.

What is this? The thought hit me like a punch to the gut. A nightmare? A cruel joke? This couldn’t be real. Right?

“Where is she?” I demanded again, my voice strained, but it came out more like a plea than a command.

Samantha cleared her throat, her discomfort palpable. She scratched her neck before speaking.

“She can’t move… Doctor’s orders, because of the pregnancy.”