It shattered softly on the thick carpet, but neither of us moved. She stood completely frozen, her face pale, before whispering, “What is that? Where is your dress?” For several moments, I simply stared at it. My brain couldn’t process the visual. Where was my $3,000 gown?

Who would play a prank like this on a wedding day? I felt the blood rush to my ears, a hot wave of panic threatening to swallow me whole. But then, an image of Victoria’s smug, impeccably lifted face flashed in my mind. I remembered how she had suspiciously insisted on dropping off the bridal party breakfast that morning, claiming she wanted to be “helpful” for once.

She had been alone in the suite for a solid ten minutes before we arrived from the salon. Suddenly, a loud, hysterical laugh bubbled up from my chest. I didn’t need to ask questions. I didn’t need to call security or launch an investigation. I knew exactly who was responsible.

Victoria had spent twelve months trying to break me. She thought that stealing my wedding dress and leaving a clown suit in its place would be the final, fatal blow. She expected me to crumble. She expected me to fall to the floor in a puddle of ruined makeup and panic.

Most of all, she expected me to cancel the wedding out of sheer humiliation, thereby proving every terrible rumor she had whispered to her high-society friends about me being unstable and unfit for her son. She wanted me to feel like a joke. She wanted a circus.

“Okay,” I said aloud, my laughter fading into a cold, hard resolve. I grabbed the hideous clown pants off the hanger and started unbuttoning my silk getting-ready robe.

Olivia grabbed my arm, her eyes wide with terror. “What are you doing? We need to call the police.

We need to call Ethan. We can run to the mall, we can buy a white dress off the rack right now!” “No,” I told her, stepping into the oversized, polka-dot pants. “If I delay this wedding, she wins. If I cry, she wins. She wants everyone to think I’m a clown?

Fine. I’ll give her the front-row seat she so desperately wants.” My bridesmaids thought I had suffered a psychotic break, but once they realized I was dead serious, anger replaced their shock. We didn’t touch my hair or my makeup.