Dylan, Graham’s younger brother, was always a source of conflict—disrespectful, arrogant, and constantly pushing boundaries. But what he did on our wedding day was unforgivable. He humiliated me in front of everyone, ruining my most beautiful moment. That was the last straw for Graham.
Our relationship felt like an imperfect fairy tale. It was unpredictable, full of surprises and emotions.
Our first date made me cry. Not because of him, but because I was late and everything that could go wrong did. I rushed into the restaurant, breathless and embarrassed.
I cried as I explained the traffic jam, the coffee spilled on my shirt, and my shoe breaking while I ran across the street. Graham sat silently, unsure what to say.
We finished the meal, but he didn’t call afterward. A week passed without any contact. I thought my chaotic entrance had scared him away.
By chance, we met again at a friend’s party. I felt brave enough to confess that I was naturally emotional, maybe too much. To my surprise, he said he was the same.
Since that party six years ago, we were inseparable. Graham cried with me over emotional animal movies. He was mine, and I was his.
We didn’t waste time. After three months, we moved in together. Comfortable, happy, and relaxed for six years. The wedding was never planned, always delayed because one of us was dealing with something more pressing.
Eight months ago, Graham proposed. His plan was so perfect I never saw it coming, which made it even more romantic. Not that I needed a ring or ceremony to want to be with him forever.
No relationship is perfect, and his family was our particular challenge. Especially Dylan.
Dylan was awful—condescending, dismissive, and annoyingly arrogant. He acted superior to everyone, especially Graham.
Dylan constantly reminded Graham who the “older and wiser” brother was, despite only being three years older.
Our first meeting was unforgettable. Graham took me to his parents’ house, where Dylan—still living at home—was present. He wasn’t as impressive as he thought.
At first, things were polite and friendly. But when I excused myself to use the bathroom, Dylan waited outside.
“Bored yet?” he asked, grinning boldly.
I froze partly. “No, I’m fine,” I said, keeping my tone polite but firm.
He chuckled. “Let’s go have some fun.”
I backed away. “Really, I’m okay,” I said, stomach twisting.
Tilting his head, he leaned in and said coldly, “A woman like you doesn’t deserve my brother.”
“You’d have a much better time with me,” he said softly but his stare was icy.
He put an arm around my waist before I could pull away and groped me.
“Let me go!” I screamed, pushing him away and running back to the dining room, heart pounding.
Graham’s face brightened when I approached, but I just gave a weak smile and clutched my stomach. “Not feeling well. Can we leave?”
He stood quickly. “Of course.”
His parents looked concerned as we left. “It was so nice meeting you, Elise,” his mother said gently.
Graham glanced at me nervously in the car. “Did you eat something bad?”
I took a deep breath. “Dylan touched me.”
Graham gripped the steering wheel tight. “What? That jerk—”
His jaw clenched. “I’ll deal with him.”
Dylan brushed off Graham’s talk, saying he was “just testing me” like a protective older brother. Whether touching me like that was acceptable, I doubted it, but Graham didn’t press.
Sometimes I wondered if Graham was afraid of Dylan. Dylan had bullied and belittled him as a child.
Graham had felt inferior to him for years but kept things civil out of habit.
But Dylan’s behavior eventually caught Graham’s attention.
The inappropriate texts started. Unwanted, disgusting photos and cruel messages. I blocked Dylan immediately.
When I told Graham Dylan couldn’t be at our wedding, he agreed instantly.
One day, Graham came home exhausted, collapsing onto the couch.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, sitting beside him.
He rubbed his temples. “Talked to my parents. Dylan has to be invited or they won’t come.”
My chest tightened painfully. “That’s not fair,” I said, clenching my hands.
“I know,” he said quietly, looking at the floor.
“What he did to me… Why don’t they care about his harassment?!” My voice cracked.
Graham said nothing. He just sat, defeated.
I sighed. “Fine,” I said, choking on the words. “We’ll invite him.”
Graham looked up sharply. “Are you sure?”
“We don’t have much choice. But your parents have to keep him away from me. Completely.”
He hugged me tightly. “You’re incredible,” he whispered.
The big day came. My heart was full of joy. My moment had finally arrived. I was marrying my soulmate. I felt unstoppable. Not even Dylan could ruin this day.
Or so I thought.
My bridesmaids helped me with my dress and hair in the bridal suite. I stood in front of the mirror, everything perfect—dress, veil, makeup.
Then there was a knock.
I smiled, expecting the wedding planner.
Instead, Dylan stood there.
“What are you doing?” he sneered, lifting a bucket and dumping its contents on me before I could ask.
A cold, sticky liquid soaked my skin, clothes, and hair.
“This is for rejecting me, witch,” he growled.
I screamed. The strong smell hit me first. Bright green paint soaked into the satin of my white gown.
“Are you insane?” I yelled, furious and shocked.
Dylan laughed, eyes shining, then calmly closed the door.
I collapsed onto a chair, crying. My bridesmaids rushed over, horrified.
“Oh my God,” one said.
“Get towels!” another shouted, grabbing tissues and cloths.
They tried to clean the paint, but it had soaked in. No chance of saving the dress.
Bridesmaid Stacy grabbed my shoulders. “Stay here. I’ll find a white dress.”
She ran out.
I cried harder, burying my face in my hands. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I had carefully picked my dress. I’d imagined walking down the aisle a thousand times in it. It was ruined.
My hair was stained green with paint. The girls pinned it up quickly to hide the mess under my veil.
One whispered, “It’s okay.”
“We’ll clean it later,” another said softly.
The ceremony was delayed. Stacy hadn’t returned. Time dragged painfully. My bridesmaids paced nervously, checking phones.
Finally, the door flew open. Stacy came back, out of breath and red-faced, carrying a stunning white outfit.
“Dylan told everyone you ran away,” she said hurriedly. “Graham’s panicking.”
My heart sank. “He said what?!”
Stacy nodded. “People are whispering. Graham looked like he was about to faint.”
Something snapped inside me. I stood up, removed my veil, and let my paint-stained hair fall. The room fell silent.
Without a word, I stormed down the aisle.
Gasps filled the room. Guests whispered as they stared.
Graham stood pale and frozen at the altar.
“I didn’t run away!” I shouted, breaking the silence.
He turned sharply. “Elise?” he gasped, running to me.
He held me, refusing to let me cry more.
“Dylan did this,” I said. “He painted me. I told everyone I left.”
Graham’s face hardened. He faced the guests. “Dylan! What is wrong with you?!”
Dylan smirked, relaxed. “Just a harmless prank.”
“That’s no prank!” Graham snapped. “You scared everyone. You ruined everything!”
Dylan replied smugly, “Chill out, bro.”
“I’m not a kid anymore. You can’t control my life.”
“And yet, here I am,” Dylan mocked.
“Not for long,” I growled. “Leave.”
“I’m staying,” Dylan said, crossing his arms.
Graham stepped forward. “Leave. Now. Or I’ll have you removed.”
Their mother stood up. “Graham, he’s your brother.”
Graham faced her firmly. “You can leave if you support him after this.”
She hesitated. Her face turned pale. Then she stayed silent.
Their parents left silently, taking Dylan with them without a word.
Graham looked at me, softening. He rested his forehead against mine.
“I was so scared,” he whispered.
I let the tension go with a deep breath. “Thank you for standing up for me.”
“Always,” he said.