He Terminated My Lease So I Terminated Our Wedding Chapter 01
It wasn’t until our wedding website autoplayed that I found out my fiancé and my foster sister had been treating my breakdown like a joke.
The sound of me crying through a panic attack had been edited into a video labeled “Bride Meltdown Countdown,” complete with cartoon sound effects. My foster sister, Cass, had left a comment beneath it: “We love our anxious little bride. Isn’t she cute?”
I’d confessed those fears to my fiancé, Owen, just last week, when I was at my lowest.
When I asked him why, he told me not to overreact, that this was just the real me. She just laughed and said, “We’re family. What’s wrong with a little joke?”
They’d done this before—circulating photos of me sobbing after being bullied as a child, canceling a restaurant I’d booked without telling me—and they’d used those same words to soothe me then, too.
I was afraid of losing the only family I had, so time and again, I swallowed the hurt.
But this time, I saw an old nickname in one of her comments. On impulse, I searched for it in a private channel.
My name was everywhere.
They had bets on how long it would take me to find the recording, how many days I’d be upset, when I’d finally forgive them. Every bet was followed by a payment screenshot.
The latest one had already been paid out: “Fifty bucks says she’ll still believe we’re doing this for her own good.”
So that was it. Every time I let it go, they won.
…
The next afternoon, the doorbell rang.
I opened the door to find Owen holding a stack of flattened cardboard boxes, with Cass right behind him, two rolls of packing tape slung over one shoulder. They both looked thrilled.
When Cass saw me standing there, frozen, she grinned.
“You won. She really had no idea.”
Owen leaned the boxes against the wall and pulled out his phone. A few seconds later, Cass’s phone chimed with a payment notification. She deliberately angled the screen toward me.
A hundred dollars had just landed in her Venmo.
“Surprise!” Owen spread his arms. “I got a head start on your move.”
As he spoke, he started to brush past me into the apartment.
I put out a hand, holding the door in place.
“I’m not moving.”
The smile on Owen’s face faltered.
“You are now.”
“What does that mean?”
“I already told the landlord we’re not renewing.” He sounded perfectly casual. “We’re buying a house soon anyway, so staying here is just wasting money. The new place is in the suburbs near my mom. She can help take care of us, and we can help take care of her.”
I stared at him.
When we were looking at houses, I had made it crystal clear I didn’t like that neighborhood. My commute would be an extra hour and a half, and there wasn’t even a twenty-four-hour pharmacy nearby.
More importantly, we hadn’t even signed the purchase agreement.
And yet, he had already decided I was giving up my home.
“What gave you the right to contact my landlord?”
Owen frowned.
“What do you mean, your landlord? We’re getting married. Why are you still splitting hairs about ‘yours’ and ‘mine’?”
Cass poked her head around the boxes, smiling, trying to smooth things over.
“Don’t be so serious. This round’s bet was whether you could be one of those cool girls who gets along with her future mother-in-law.”
“So now you’re betting on where I live, too?”
“It’s just for fun.” She gave her phone a little shake. “And Owen’s doing this for your own good. Haven’t you always wanted a real home?”
The words hit their mark.
They knew. Of course they knew. They knew exactly how to use my past to shut me up.
I tightened my grip on the doorknob.
“The house isn’t finalized. I never agreed to move to the suburbs. Take the boxes and tell the landlord we’re renewing.”
Owen’s face went cold.
“Lila, can you ever think about anyone but yourself?”
For a second, I honestly thought I’d misheard him.
He lowered his voice, his face a mask of impatience.
“I contacted the landlord, researched neighborhoods, planned our life after the wedding—what part of any of that wasn’t for our future? You haven’t lifted a finger, and now you’re standing here accusing me.”
“You didn’t even ask me.”
“Because I know you,” he said flatly. “You always get scared, you always say no, and you only admit later that my plan was better. I just didn’t want you wasting time on pointless spiraling.”
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
I pulled it out. At the top of the screen was an email from my landlord.
Subject: Lease Termination Confirmation
I opened it, my fingers going cold.
Dear Ms. Lila Hart,
Per the written request submitted last week by your partner, Mr. Owen Mercer, we have formally initiated the lease termination process for your apartment on Charleston Street.
Last week.
The same week they’d uploaded that recording to the wedding website. While they were watching me fall apart, they were arranging to take away my home.
I kept reading.
Your lease will end on the last day of next month. As the property has already entered the reletting process, this decision is irreversible. Please vacate the premises and return all keys by the deadline.
I looked up.
Owen was still standing outside my door, as if waiting for me to thank him for thinking so far ahead.
Only then did I understand that this wasn’t a joke, and it wasn’t some hypothetical in one of their bets.
I was about to be homeless.