When Emily and I first started dating, everything felt like a dream. Not the perfect kind, but one with its unexpected twists and turns.

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Yes, I cried on our first date because I was late. I rushed into the restaurant, breathless and embarrassed.

My eyes welled up as I tried to explain—traffic, spilled coffee, a broken shoe. Emily sat there, silent, clearly unsure of what to do.

We made it through dinner, but she didn’t call me for a week. I assumed I had scared her off.

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Then we ran into each other at a mutual friend’s party. I explained myself, saying I was just an emotional person. To my surprise, she understood and admitted she was the same.

That party was six years ago, and we had been inseparable ever since. I was no longer crying alone over movies where animals died—Emily cried with me. She was my soulmate, and I knew she felt the same.

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Our relationship moved quickly. After just three months, we moved in together, and that’s how we lived for six years.

But somehow, we never got around to planning a wedding. There was always something—either I had a crisis, or Emily did—so we kept postponing it.

Then, eight months ago, Emily proposed. She planned everything so well that I didn’t suspect a thing, making the moment even more special. Not that I needed a proposal to know I wanted to spend my life with her.

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But, like with any couple, there was one problem. Her family. More specifically—her brother, Ethan.

Ethan was awful. Rude, arrogant, and full of himself. He thought he was better than everyone, including Emily.

He was only three years older but never missed a chance to remind Emily that he was the older brother.

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I still remember our first meeting. Emily took me to meet her parents, and since Ethan still lived with them—yes, even as an adult—he was there too. So much for being as "amazing" as he thought he was.

At first, everything seemed fine. We had a polite conversation. But when I stepped away to use the bathroom, Ethan was waiting by the door.

"Bored yet?" Ethan asked, his voice low and smug.

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I stiffened. "No, I’m fine," I replied, keeping my tone polite but firm.

He chuckled. "Come on, let’s go have some fun," he suggested, stepping closer.

I took a small step back. "No, really, I’m good," I said cautiously. A strange feeling crept up my spine.

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Ethan tilted his head. "Oh, come on. My sister doesn’t deserve someone like you.

You’d have a much better time with me," he said. His voice was smooth, but his eyes held something cold.

Before I could react, he grabbed me by the waist. His hand slid lower, pressing against my backside.

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"Get off me!" I shouted, shoving him away. My heart pounded as I rushed back to the dining room, my breath shaky.

Emily looked up as I approached. I placed a hand on my stomach, forcing a weak smile. "I don’t feel great. Can we leave?"

Emily stood immediately. "Of course."

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Her parents looked concerned. "It was so nice to meet you, Jake," they said as we hugged goodbye.

Once we were in the car, Emily glanced at me. "Are you okay? Did you eat something bad?"

I took a deep breath. "Ethan hit on me," I said.

Emily's hands tightened on the wheel. "What? That jerk!" Her jaw clenched. "I’m going to talk to him."

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Emily did talk to Ethan, but he laughed it off. He claimed he was just “testing me” as her older brother, as if that excused his behavior. I didn’t believe him for a second, but Emily didn’t push back.

Sometimes, I wondered if she was afraid of Ethan. Growing up, Ethan had bullied and teased her constantly.

He always found ways to make Emily feel small, like she was less than him. Their relationship had never been close, but Emily still tried to keep the peace.

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But when Ethan wouldn’t stop, even Emily had to admit it wasn’t a joke anymore.

Then the messages started. Inappropriate texts. Unwanted pictures. Disgusting words. I blocked his number.

When I told Emily I didn’t want Ethan at our wedding, she agreed right away.

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One evening, Emily came home looking drained. She sighed and dropped onto the couch beside me, her shoulders heavy with tension.

"What happened?" I asked, noticing the way her shoulders slumped.

She rubbed her face and let out a long breath. "I talked to my parents. They said if Ethan isn’t invited to the wedding, they won’t come either." Her voice was quiet, heavy with frustration.

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I felt a sharp sting in my chest. "That’s not fair!" I said, my hands tightening into fists.

"I know," Emily murmured, staring at the floor.

"The way he treats me is reason enough for me not to want him there. He harassed me, sent disgusting messages. Why does that not matter to them?" My voice wavered.

Emily didn’t answer. She just sat there, looking lost.

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I exhaled, the weight of the situation pressing down on me. "Fine. We’ll invite Ethan," I said, my voice tight.

Emily lifted her head. "Are you sure?"

"Not that we have much of a choice. But your parents need to make sure I don’t have to see him," I said firmly.

Emily wrapped her arms around me. "You’re the best," she whispered.

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The wedding day finally arrived. My heart was so full I thought it might burst.

I had dreamed about this moment for years, and now it was finally here. I was marrying the woman I loved more than anything, and nothing could ruin my day. Not stress, not nerves, not even Ethan.

Or so I thought.

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I was in the bridal room at the church, standing in front of the mirror as my bridesmaids helped me with the final touches.

The dress was perfect. Everything was perfect. Then, there was a knock at the door.

Smiling, I turned to open it. My breath caught when I saw Ethan standing there.

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"What are you—" Before I could finish, he lifted a bucket and, in one swift motion, dumped its contents over me. Cold, sticky liquid drenched my dress, my skin, my hair.

"This is for rejecting me, witch," he sneered.

I gasped. The smell of paint hit me first. Bright green dripped from my arms. My beautiful white gown was ruined.

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"Are you insane?!" I screamed, my voice shaking.

Ethan only laughed, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction, then slammed the door in my face.

My knees buckled, and I collapsed onto the chair, sobbing. My bridesmaids rushed in, their faces horrified.

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"Oh my God," one of them whispered.

"We need water," another said, grabbing a towel.

They scrubbed at my dress, but the paint had already soaked in. There was no saving it.

Stacy grabbed my shoulders. "Stay here. I’ll find a white dress—anything." She ran out before I could answer.

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I wiped my face, but more tears came. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

I couldn’t stop crying. I had spent months picking out my wedding dress, searching for the perfect one, imagining how I would look walking down the aisle.

Now, I’d have to wear something I had never even seen before. My hair was completely green, streaks of paint clinging to the strands. My bridesmaids worked quickly, pinning it up and covering it with my veil.

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"It’ll be okay," one of them whispered.

"We’ll wash it after the ceremony," another promised.

The ceremony was already supposed to have started, but Stacy was still missing.

The minutes dragged on, each one heavier than the last. My bridesmaids paced, checking the time, whispering in worried tones.

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Finally, the door burst open. Stacy came running into the room, breathless, her face flushed. In her hands, she held a surprisingly beautiful dress.

"Ethan told everyone you ran away. Michael is freaking out," she blurted.

I froze. My stomach twisted.

"HE DID WHAT?!" I screamed, my voice echoing off the walls.

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Stacy nodded. "People are whispering. Michael looks like he’s about to pass out."

I clenched my fists. My chest burned with anger. "That’s it. I’ve had enough."

I reached up, ripped off my veil, and let my green-streaked hair fall loose. Gasps filled the room. My bridesmaids stared, wide-eyed.

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Without another word, I stormed out. My dress stuck to my skin, the paint dry in some places, still dripping in others.

As I stepped into the church, heads turned. People whispered. My heart pounded, but I pushed forward.

Michael stood at the altar, his hands clenched, his face pale. He looked devastated.

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"I didn’t run away!" I shouted. My voice cut through the murmurs.

Michael’s head snapped up. "Emily?" He rushed down the aisle and pulled me into his arms.

Tears stung my eyes, but I forced them back. "Ethan poured green paint on me," I said, stepping back and gesturing to my ruined dress. "Then he lied and told everyone I left!"

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Michael’s jaw tightened. He turned, scanning the room. "Ethan! Care to explain?!" His voice was sharp.

Ethan leaned back in his chair, smirking. "It was just a harmless joke," he said, shrugging.

"That’s not a joke! No one is laughing! We’re all on edge as it is!" Michael snapped.

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"Whoa, little brother, calm down," Ethan said, his tone mocking.

Michael squared his shoulders. "I’m not five anymore. You don’t have control over me."

Ethan chuckled. "Yet here I am, at your wedding."

"Get out!" I shouted, my voice shaking with rage.

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Ethan raised an eyebrow. "I was invited. I’m not leaving."

Michael took a step forward. "Get out!" he repeated, his voice firm. "Or I’ll throw you out myself."

"Emily, he’s your brother," her mother interjected, standing abruptly.

Michael turned to her. "If you support what he did, you can leave too," he said without hesitation.

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Her mother’s face paled. "But Michael—" she started.

"Out!" Michael commanded. His voice was final.

A tense silence filled the church. Her parents exchanged a glance, then grabbed Ethan and walked out without another word.

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Michael turned back to me, his eyes softening. He pulled me close, resting his forehead against mine. "I was so scared," he whispered.

I exhaled, feeling the weight of everything lift. "Thank you for standing up for me," I said, my voice steady.

"From now on, always," he promised.

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