Chapter 5 The Dress Rehearsal

# Chapter 5 — The Dress Rehearsal

The hotel gardens were still damp from the morning's rain when I met Toby. He stood beneath a white pergola draped with climbing roses, looking more serious than I remembered him. The wedding preparations were in full swing around us—staff arranging chairs, florists hanging garlands—but we found a quiet corner away from the activity.

"Thank you for meeting me," he said, his voice low. "I wasn't sure you would."

I studied him, trying to reconcile this man with the boy I'd briefly dated in high school. "I'm still trying to make sense of everything. Rowan came to my room this morning."

"I figured she might," he nodded. "What did she say?"

"That this wedding is her revenge for me dating you twelve years ago," I replied, watching his reaction carefully. "Among other perceived slights."

Toby winced. "I was afraid of that. She's... not well, Hazel. Hasn't been for a long time."

"Why are you here?" I asked directly. "At her wedding, I mean."

He hesitated. "Initially because her mother invited me. But when I found out who she was marrying..." He trailed off, looking troubled. "I couldn't stay away. I needed to see if he knew what he was getting into."

"And does he?"

Toby's expression darkened. "I don't know. But I think you should talk to him before the ceremony. He deserves to know the truth."

I laughed humorlessly. "Rowan made it clear what would happen if I interfered."

"And you believe her?"

"I believe she's capable of almost anything right now," I said. "You didn't see her this morning. This isn't just about winning Caleb. It's about destroying me."

Toby glanced at his watch. "The ceremony's in less than two hours. If you're going to do something, it needs to be now."

I looked out at the garden, at the white chairs lined up in neat rows, at the flower-covered arch where Caleb and Rowan would soon exchange vows. Could I really let this happen? Let Caleb marry someone who saw him as nothing more than a tool for revenge?

"I need to think," I said, rising. "Thank you for trying to help."

He caught my hand. "Hazel, whatever happened between us years ago—it wasn't your fault. I asked you out because I liked you. Rowan has twisted that memory into something it never was."

I squeezed his hand gratefully. "I know. But that doesn't make her feelings any less real to her."

As I walked back toward the hotel, I noticed a flurry of activity near the bridal suite—bridesmaids in matching robes hurrying in and out, Judith directing staff with imperious gestures. The wedding machine was in full motion. If I was going to act, it would have to be now.

I took the elevator to Caleb's floor, my heart pounding. What would I say to him? How could I explain Rowan's decade-long vendetta without sounding like a jealous ex-wife?

I was so lost in thought that I almost collided with him as he exited his room.

"Hazel!" He looked startled, then wary. "What are you doing here?"

He was half-dressed for the wedding—dress shirt and slacks, but no tie or jacket yet. His hair was still damp from the shower, and he smelled of the same soap he'd used throughout our marriage. The familiarity of it made my chest ache.

"We need to talk," I said. "About last night. About everything."

He glanced nervously down the hallway. "This isn't a good time."

"It's the only time," I insisted. "In an hour you'll be getting married."

Something flickered across his face—doubt? regret?—before he stepped back, holding the door open. "Five minutes. That's all I can give you."

His suite was larger than mine, with a sitting area where a tuxedo jacket hung waiting. An empty whiskey glass sat on the coffee table—hair of the dog, I guessed, for his hangover.

"Do you remember calling me last night?" I asked, not bothering with preamble.

He winced, running a hand through his hair—that familiar gesture that still made my heart skip. "Vaguely. I was pretty drunk."

"You told me you still love me," I said quietly. "That you're only marrying Rowan to stay connected to me."

He looked away, his jaw tight. "I was drunk, Hazel. People say stupid things when they're drunk."

"So you didn't mean it?"

His eyes met mine, and for a moment, I saw the raw truth there before he masked it. "It doesn't matter what I meant. I'm getting married today."

"To someone who doesn't love you," I said. "Someone who's only marrying you to hurt me."

His expression hardened. "That's a hell of an accusation."

"It's the truth. Rowan told me herself this morning." I stepped closer. "This is all about revenge, Caleb. Revenge for a high school boyfriend, for perceived childhood slights. She's been planning something like this for years."

He shook his head. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"She showed me her diary," I pressed. "Entries going back to high school, plotting to take away everything I love. Including you."

"Stop it," he said sharply. "Just stop. You're just... you're jealous."

"Am I?" I challenged. "Then why did you call me last night? Why tell me you still love me if you're so happy with her?"

He turned away, moving to the window. "It was a mistake. I was drunk and... nostalgic."

"It wasn't nostalgia, Caleb. It was the truth." I followed him, close enough to touch but holding back. "You know this marriage is wrong. You know she's not right for you."

"And you are?" He turned back, anger flashing in his eyes. "You're the one who wanted the divorce. You're the one who said we wanted different things."

"We did!" I exclaimed. "But that doesn't mean I stopped loving you. It means I couldn't be the person you needed then."

"And now?" The question hung between us, loaded with possibility.

Before I could answer, a sharp knock came at the door. "Caleb? Are you ready? The photographer wants some pre-ceremony shots."

It was Rowan's father. Caleb called back, "Just finishing up. Be there in five."

We stood in silence until the footsteps receded. Then Caleb sighed, looking suddenly exhausted.

"You should go," he said quietly.

"Caleb—"

"Please, Hazel." His voice was strained. "Just go. I need to think."

I moved toward the door, but stopped with my hand on the knob. "If you marry her, you'll regret it. Not just because she doesn't truly love you, but because you don't truly love her."

I left before he could respond, my heart hammering in my chest. Had I gotten through to him? Or had I just made everything worse?

I returned to my room to finish getting ready, my mind racing. As I zipped up my dress—a deep midnight blue that had always been Caleb's favorite color on me—another knock came at my door.

This time, it was Caleb.

He looked wild-eyed, his tie askew. "I can't do it," he blurted out as soon as I opened the door. "You're right. This whole thing—it's wrong."

Relief flooded through me. "Caleb—"

"But I can't just leave her at the altar," he continued, pacing my small room. "That would destroy her, and whatever her reasons, I did agree to marry her. I made a commitment."

My relief faded. "So what are you saying?"

He stopped pacing, turning to face me with determined eyes. "Help me get out of this. Not by running away, but by making her end it."

"How?"

"We create a scene at the ceremony," he said, his words coming faster now. "Something that makes her call it off herself. Something public enough that she can't manipulate the narrative afterward."

I stared at him, incredulous. "You want to deliberately sabotage your own wedding?"

"It's not a real wedding if it's based on lies," he said fiercely. "You were right—I don't love her. Not really. And after what you told me about her motives..." He shook his head. "I can't go through with it."

Hope and suspicion warred within me. "Why the elaborate plan? Why not just tell her the truth?"

"Because you don't know Rowan like I do," he said, lowering his voice. "If I reject her privately, she'll find a way to spin it, to make herself the victim and both of us the villains. It needs to be public, something she can't control."

Something about his intensity troubled me. This didn't feel like the Caleb I knew—the straightforward, honest man who faced problems directly.

"There's something you're not telling me," I said slowly.

He hesitated, then moved to sit on the edge of the bed. "There's... there's been something off about Rowan lately. Possessiveness, jealousy. She checks my phone, my emails. Questions where I've been, who I've talked to."

"That doesn't sound healthy," I said carefully.

"It's not." He looked up at me, his expression haunted. "But every time I try to address it, she turns it around on me. Makes me feel like I'm the one with the problem. And then she's sweet again, loving, and I think maybe I imagined it all."

The pattern he described was alarming. "Caleb, that sounds like emotional manipulation."

"I know," he said quietly. "I've known for a while. But leaving seemed... complicated."

I sat beside him, not touching but close. "Because of me? Because she's my step-sister?"

He nodded slowly. "Partly. And partly because..." He trailed off, seeming to struggle with his words.

"Because what?"

"Because I was afraid of being alone again," he admitted, his voice barely audible. "After we divorced, I was... lost. Rowan was there, understanding, supportive. By the time I realized what was happening, I was already trapped."

My heart broke for him. "Oh, Caleb."

He looked at me then, his eyes clear and determined. "Help me end this, Hazel. Help me get free."

I wanted to believe him. Wanted to trust that this wasn't just pre-wedding jitters or a reaction to my accusations about Rowan. But something still felt wrong.

"Let me see your phone," I said suddenly.

He blinked. "What?"

"Your phone," I repeated. "If Rowan's been as controlling as you say, I want to see for myself."

After a moment's hesitation, he handed it over. I opened his email, scrolling through recent messages. And there it was—an entire folder of correspondence with Rowan, dating back to just after our divorce. I opened one from six months ago:

*Caleb, I know seeing Hazel at the family dinner was hard. But remember our plan. This will all be worth it when she finally realizes what she's lost. Trust me. Just a little longer and we'll have everything we want. - R*

I looked up, my blood running cold. "What plan, Caleb?"

His expression shifted, guilt replacing concern. "Hazel, I can explain—"

"What plan?" I repeated, my voice hardening as I scrolled through more emails. Each one revealed more of their conspiracy—deliberate encounters at family events, staged photos, carefully crafted messages designed to make me jealous.

"It wasn't supposed to go this far," he said, reaching for the phone. I pulled it away. "It was just supposed to be a few dates, to make you see what you'd given up. But then things got complicated, and Rowan became... intense."

The truth hit me like a physical blow. "You've been manipulating me. Both of you. This whole time."

"Not exactly," he said quickly. "Yes, it started that way, but then I realized Rowan was serious about the wedding, about everything. And I panicked."

"So you called me last night," I said, the pieces clicking into place. "To try to get out of a trap of your own making."

He reached for my hand. "Hazel, please. What I said last night was true. I do still love you. That part was never a lie."

I pulled away, disgust and betrayal washing over me. "Get out."

"Hazel—"

"GET OUT!" I shouted, throwing his phone at him. He caught it reflexively. "Go marry your co-conspirator. You deserve each other."

He stood, his expression pleading. "It's not what you think."

"It's exactly what I think," I said coldly. "You used me, just like she did. The only difference is your motive."

As he left, shoulders slumped in defeat, I realized I'd been played by both of them—Rowan with her revenge fantasy, and Caleb with his manipulative games. I'd been a pawn in their twisted chess match, nothing more.

The wedding was in thirty minutes. And despite everything, I knew I would still be there—not for either of them, but for myself. To finally see the truth, and maybe, at last, to be free of them both.