My fiancé said, “Don’t call me your future husband.” I nodded. That night, I quietly removed my name from every guest list he’d made. Two days later, he walked into lunch and froze at what waited on his chair.

He said it gently. That somehow made it crueler.

Across the table, his sister Camille smirked. His mother, Vivienne, lowered her eyes to my engagement ring like she was checking if it had suddenly turned counterfeit.

I blinked once. “Excuse me?”

Adrian leaned back in his chair. “We’re engaged, Mara. Not married. Don’t make it sound so… permanent.”

Vivienne released a delicate sigh. “Men need space to breathe, darling.”

Camille lifted her champagne flute. “Especially when they’re marrying above themselves.”