The oppressive weight of expectation pressed down on me as Betty Adams' voice, like a grating violin, scraped at my ears. "It’s a very important day for your sister. The least you can do is to be happy for her. Put up a fake smile if you must, but please, dear, let go of that frown on your face."

Blood hammered in my veins. Today, the twenty-first day of March, I, Zera Adams, was walking my younger sister, Tatiana, down the aisle. Her groom, Owens Pierce, was the man I'd loved just four weeks ago.

My story was a short, bitter one. Three years with Owens, believing we had something magical, only to discover I was a pawn in his game to get closer to Tatiana. I was the fool, and they were the happy couple. They announced their engagement a week after telling me the truth, eager to seal their 'love.' Owens never spoke of marriage with me, but I guess when you meet "the right one," you just know.

I was the wrong one, all along. And now, I was her maid of honor.