I can't move as I stare at the paper in my hands.
Certificate of No Marriage Record.
For a second, the words don't register. They wobble on the page, as if my vision is trying to protect me from the truth by blurring it out.
My fingers go numb, and a strange ringing fills my ears, like my own mind is refusing to accept what I'm seeing.
But how can this happen?
Logan and I had a wedding. A real one with families present, rings exchanged, and vows said. My mother cried into her lace handkerchief, and my father gave that rare proud smile he always reserved for big milestones.
His relatives attended. Mine did too. It wasn't a grand event, but it was known. I even filed a legal name change because my parents insisted I should carry Logan's surname.
Yet here I am, staring at a document that tells me the last three years of my life were built on a formality that never legally existed. I've been using a surname that, apparently, belongs to a man who was never my husband.
My chest tightens. Not with grief, but with a hollow, stunned ache that makes breathing feel foreign.
I feel foolish. Duped. Like someone rewound the story of my life and scribbled out an entire chapter while I wasn't looking.
"This is unbelievable," I whisper to myself before forcing my gaze upward.
I lift my eyes to Mr. Brandt. "Is this really true? You didn't make a fake one just to convince me I was never married?"
"If you have doubts, you can get another copy yourself."
Sadness isn't what I feel. Not exactly. There's no heartbreak for a marriage that was never warm to begin with.
But shock? Disorientation? A creeping sense that the ground under me might not be real? Those settle like stones in my stomach.
The family lawyer of the Hansleys handled all the paperwork. So how come there was no marriage recorded? Was it Logan? Did he know? But what purpose would that serve? He wasn't the type to stage something so intimate and then erase it from existence.
Mr. Brandt speaks again.
"I figure it must be Cora and Candice Hansley's doing. They don't want your hands anywhere near your ex-husband's company or assets."
It's the only explanation that makes sense. And yet it still feels unreal.
"You had a wedding, but you were never legally married," he continues. "We can expose that and tell the public you weren't on good terms with Logan. That way you won't appear like an unfaithful wife who immediately fell for another man after his death."
I swallow hard. That version isn't exactly a lie.
We rarely saw each other. Logan was always consumed by business, I was busy with work too. Our conversations were brief, our check-ins irregular. Our relationship couldn't even qualify as lukewarm. He was distant, aloof, barely present, and I never had the courage to demand more.
A month before his death, I tried to fix things. I suggested a vacation abroad, a desperate attempt to salvage whatever fragile connection we had left.
To my surprise, he agreed. For a moment, I thought we had a chance.
But the moment we arrived at our hotel, he received a call and left without warning. He didn't tell me in person. He didn't even try. He just flew back to the country and informed me over the phone that we'd have dinner once I returned.
That dinner never happened, of course.
So now, to discover that our marriage, this quiet, cold arrangement I spent years trying to endure and make sense of, was never real…
It's a different kind of grief.
Not for him, but for the version of myself who stayed, who tried, who believed she owed it to her parents to make something work that never had a foundation to begin with.
If my parents were alive to see this, the disappointment would crush them.
"About the wedding, it will be held privately here. Stannis will assist you with the preparations," is all Mr. Brandt says before leaving the residence.
I go back to my room. I lie on my bed, with my thoughts making my head ache.
* * *
Stannis comes after what feels like a hundred hours.
He leads me to a room downstairs. My lips part when I see a bunch of wedding gowns.
"These are ready-to-wear since we don't have time for a custom-made, but the size will be adjusted accordingly. Please choose one so we can send it to the tailor for necessary adjustments."
I check the dresses one by one. In my first wedding, I remember how my mom was so excited about it, but it wasn't my choice of gown I wore but hers. She said she wanted something grand, so I just let her have her way even when I hated the gown she picked.
Now I can finally choose a wedding gown of my liking.
"Too many ruffles," I mutter to myself while looking at a gown, my nose wrinkling in distaste.
"Laces? No."
I keep shaking my head until I find the perfect one. Nothing grand, just something simple and flowy.
Stannis informs me about how the wedding will be, which part of the residence it will be held in, and how many people will come. It will be an intimate wedding but won't be hidden from the media. After all, that is what Mr. Brandt is after. Publicity.
That afternoon, I realize I haven't paid attention to my phone. There are more than twenty missed calls from Dahlia, and the moment I answer her call, her voice rings in my ear.
"Why have you been so unresponsive? Were you purposely ignoring my calls? Am I nobody to you now?"
I chuckle at Dahlia's dramatic last line. "Yes, I don't care about you now."
"Tsk! Can you tell me where you are? I am worried! And I am also very stressed because people are contacting me! Your manager and agency want to talk to you so bad. Mr. Lim says that more agencies are interested in working with you now and that your album release will push through, so everyone's looking for you!"
"They will release my album?" I smirk. "Now that my name is cleared, they want me back? Those assholes. I won't work with them anymore, and do me a favor. Block Mr. Lim after telling him that I'll terminate the contract with my agency. I don't need a manager who's the first one to abandon me when trouble strikes."
"Are you sure about that?"
"Of course."
"Should I start looking for a new agency to work with? You are getting a lot of offers!"
"I don't know yet. I'd like to have a rest for now," I say.
The President wasn't home for dinner. I didn't ask Stannis or text him. I want to talk to him about my own plans, but it's better to talk in person. I figure I'll just wait until the wedding is over.
I'm done with my night routines when I received a message from him.
[Have you chosen a wedding gown?]