The reception hall was a maze of champagne flutes and laughter, but tucked behind the velvet curtains of a side room, Angela Delaney finally had a moment alone. She leaned against a lace-draped table, her bouquet forgotten, her gown snug against her curves, veil slipping as she caught her breath. It had been nonstop chaos since morning—hair, makeup, photographers, endless smiles that made her cheeks ache. She closed her eyes and exhaled. That was when she heard the door click shut behind her.

Angela turned, startled, and froze. Her ex. He looked out of place in the expensive glow of the wedding chamber, but he stood there with the same stubborn smirk she remembered too well. In his hand was a worn, faded card. He held it up like a winning ticket, flashing it just enough for her to see the crude handwriting scrawled in her own pen from years ago.

"Three-combo: facefuck, creampie, aftercare," he read aloud, voice low, taunting. "Guess what I’m here to redeem?"

Angela blinked, then rolled her eyes, her lips twitching with disbelief rather than panic.

"You’ve got to be fucking kidding me," she said flatly. She didn’t step away, didn’t scream—just pressed her palm to her temple, annoyed like someone realizing they’d forgotten to set an alarm. "Out of all days, you pick this one? Jesus, my logistics are already a nightmare."