July 18th, 2026
At Ian's house - 9:23 AM
The buzz of Ian's old phone vibrated against the rickety bedside table. A new text.
He ignored it at first, still half-asleep, his face buried into a flat, cold pillow. The scent of last night's burger grease still clung to his skin. But then the phone buzzed again. And again.
Groaning, he reached over.
Unknown Number: "The wedding is this Saturday. 3 PM. St. Mary's Cathedral, Tokyo. Don't be late <3"
That heart again. That damn, haunting little heart.
Ian stared at the message, fingers clenched tightly around the phone. A nervous flutter began in his stomach.
"So it's real…" he whispered.
He wasn't sure what he expected. A joke. A prank. Maybe even someone trying to humiliate him. But the tone was too calculated. Too personal.
He re-read the message three more times.
The place. The time. A countdown had just begun.
Saturday arrived like a storm waiting to break.
Ian stood in front of the mirror, trying to recognize himself.
Hair: slicked into a sharp pompadour, sculpted with care.
Stubble: clean-shaven, not a trace of roughness.
Eyes: enhanced by grey-blue contact lenses that made his gaze sharp, almost unnatural.
Suit: the one from the gift box — dark, luxurious, tailored to perfection.
For the first time in years, Ian looked... formidable. Like someone important.
But under the surface? His anxiety boiled.
His fingers trembled as he adjusted his cufflinks. His breath caught in his throat as he sprayed a bit of cologne. It was subtle, classy — the kind someone would wear to a funeral or a high-stakes poker table.
"Okay. You're not going for her. You're going for answers. This is about closure. Just closure." He muttered to himself.
A lie he repeated again and again.
July 20, 2026
At St. Mary's Cathedral, Tokyo. - 2:50 PM
The taxi stopped in front of St. Mary's Cathedral in Tokyo.
Majestic.
Beautiful.
Terrifying.
The towering spires reached into the blue afternoon sky, sunlight gleaming off the stained-glass windows. The cathedral was packed. Cars, limousines, guests draped in pearls and prestige. Everyone seemed polished, poised - a sharp contrast to the broken man beneath Ian's suit.
He stepped out, heart pounding.
Each step toward the entrance felt heavier than the last. His vision tunneled slightly, ears picking up the sounds of idle chatter, laughter, the occasional gasp.
And then he noticed it.
Women.
Dozens of them.
Staring at him.
Some smiled. Others whispered. Some looked at him with curiosity, others with amusement or hunger.
"They're looking at the suit," he told himself.
"Or maybe wondering who brought the lost dog to the party."
His throat tightened. His chest squeezed.
Social anxiety hit him like a wave.
But still, he kept walking.
One step at a time.
The massive cathedral doors loomed. Light poured through the open archway, and the sudden hush inside warned him — the ceremony was about to begin.
As if on cue, the voice of the host rang out, echoing through the massive stone halls.
"Ladies and gentlemen… please rise for the bride."
The organ music began, thunderous and holy.
Ian stepped just inside, heart thudding. The cathedral glowed with candlelight and stained glass, filled with hundreds of well-dressed guests turning toward the aisle.
And there...
There she was.....
The bride.....
White veil. Ivory dress that shimmered with pearls. Graceful footsteps, perfect posture, long black hair cascading down her shoulders like a waterfall.
Ruth Tachibana.
His first love.
His first heartbreak.
His first everything.
Ian's world stopped.
A cold, paralyzing chill ran down his spine. The air turned into knives. His chest seized. Sweat burst from his skin.
"No…"
He staggered back a step, the cathedral walls spinning around him.
"This can't be happening-"
But it was.
Ruth walked slowly down the aisle… her eyes scanning the crowd.
And then - their gazes met.
Her face shifted. It wasn't joy, or surprise.
It was longing.
Desperation.
Obsession.
Her lips parted slightly. The corners of her mouth twitched up. The veil still obscured her expression, but Ian saw her eyes, glistening, wide.
The look of someone who just found her soulmate again after years of waiting.
"She planned this."
Ian's heart raced. His breath shortened. His limbs stiffened.
He could feel it, the start of a panic attack.
He gripped the edge of a pew and tried to steady himself, but his legs threatened to give out.
Every second that passed, she got closer.
And she never stopped looking at him.
That look.
That haunted look.
The look that said:
"I found you. And I'll never let you go again."