The moment the call came through, Isabella's pulse skipped. She glanced at the clock: 3:42 p.m. Three hours before the wedding. That should have been enough time for anything, but her stomach knotted as the bride's frantic voice pierced the phone.
"Isabella! The florist… the flowers—they're gone! They didn't deliver!"
Isabella gritted her teeth, gripping the phone tighter than necessary. She had planned this wedding down to the last petal, rehearsed every timing, double-checked every detail. And now, chaos. Panic curled like smoke through her chest, and she forced herself to stay calm. "Where exactly are they?" she asked, her voice clipped, professional.
"I—I don't know! The delivery driver called and said he got lost, and now…" The bride's voice broke, a high-pitched whine that made Isabella's chest tighten. "I think everything's ruined!"
Isabella's mind raced. She could see it: the bride's perfect white gown, the aisle lined with empty stands where roses should have bloomed, the guests whispering in confusion. She imagined the bride's tear-streaked face—and, against her will, felt a twist of satisfaction. There it was, that familiar sting she hated about herself. She hated how much she hated the happiness she was supposed to help create.
"I'll handle it," she said, forcing calm into her voice, though her hands trembled slightly as she slammed the call. She grabbed her phone and began calling every local florist, her mind mapping out backups, replacements, anything to salvage the day. But as each line rang unanswered, frustration tightened around her chest like a vise.
The emotions were a tangled mess—anger at the florist, fear for the bride's heartbreak, and that secret, bitter resentment that gnawed at her. Why did these couples get to feel joy so easily? Why did their love seem effortless while hers…
Her thoughts were interrupted by the shrill ring of her assistant's phone. Isabella snatched it up. "Yes?"
"It's the caterer," the assistant said, voice tight. "They accidentally double-booked. Another wedding wants the same hall at the same time."
Isabella's jaw went rigid. Her heart pounded. Two disasters, back-to-back, and she was alone in fixing them. A sharp, bitter laugh escaped her throat. Of course. Of course life loved to test her patience.
She took a deep breath, forcing her mind into problem-solving mode. Options flickered across her brain: switch halls, rent temporary floral arrangements, call in favors—but nothing felt sufficient. Nothing would replace the flawless image she had painted in her mind for this couple. And yet, she had to try.
Hours later, Isabella arrived at the venue, carrying the weight of the day on her shoulders. The bride rushed to her, tears brimming, clutching her father's arm. "Isabella… what are we going to do?"
Isabella squared her shoulders, forcing the smile she had perfected over years of experience. "We're going to make this perfect," she said. Her voice carried the steel she didn't feel. Inside, panic swirled, threatening to spill over, but she held it back.
Then she saw it: the delivery truck parked at the edge of the venue, flowers spilling out in disarray, petals crushed on the asphalt. And standing beside it was someone she didn't expect—a man with a smug, infuriatingly familiar smirk.
"Hello, Isabella," he said, voice low. "I thought you'd like to see what happens when things… don't go your way."
Her stomach dropped. This was no accident. Someone had sabotaged the wedding.
And in that instant, Isabella realized: today, she wasn't just fighting for the wedding. She was fighting for herself—and for the control she had always believed she held over everything.
Isabella's eyes narrowed at the man, her mind racing. Who would dare sabotage a wedding? And why now? The familiar smirk only made her pulse quicken with a mix of anger and something she didn't want to name.
"I—I don't know what you're talking about," she said, keeping her voice steady even as her fingers itched to grab her phone and call security.
He shrugged casually, stepping closer. "Oh, come on, Isabella. You always seem so in control. But today? Not so much."
Her stomach sank. He knew her. Too well. Memories she had buried rushed in—sharp, bitter, uninvited. This was not random. Someone from her past had found a way into her present, and they weren't here to wish her luck.
The bride clutched her arm. "Isabella… please… can we fix this?" Her wide eyes, brimming with panic, made Isabella's chest tighten with an ache she would never admit. She forced a nod, swallowing the bitterness that rose like acid in her throat. Not now. Focus.
She barked orders to her assistant, racing between the truck and the venue. Florists were redirected, table arrangements shifted, and staff scrambled to save the petals already crushed. Every second felt like a battle, every movement a race against disaster.
But the man lingered, smirking, a ghost from a life she had tried to forget. And with every glance, every faint chuckle escaping him, Isabella felt the careful control she prided herself on slipping.
By the time the ceremony began, the hall looked flawless—almost. Guests complimented her, unaware of the chaos she had wrestled with. The bride smiled, her happiness shining bright, and Isabella felt that familiar pang in her chest—envy, frustration, a grudge she had sworn she'd buried.
Then, just as she breathed a sigh of relief, her phone buzzed. A single text.
"You can't control everything, Isabella. Not even today."
Her hands went cold. She knew that number. And with that, a chilling realization hit her: this wasn't just sabotage. This was personal.
Everything she thought she knew about her life, her work, and her carefully constructed control was about to change.