Graham’s younger brother, Dylan, had always been a source of tension—disrespectful, full of himself, and constantly v.io.la.ti.ng boundaries. But what he did on the day of our wedding went so far beyond anything we could excuse. He humiliated me in front of everyone, turning what should’ve been the most beautiful moment of my life into a scene of chaos. It was the final blow—and Graham had finally had enough.
When Graham and I first started seeing each other, it felt like something out of an imperfect fairy tale. Not the neat, predictable kind, but one filled with unexpected moments and emotional turns.
I cried on our very first date. Not because of anything he did, but because I was late—very late—and everything that could go wrong had. I rushed into the restaurant, out of breath, flushed with embarrassment.
Tears welled up in my eyes as I tried to explain: the standstill traffic, the coffee that spilled all over my blouse, the shoe that snapped as I ran across the street. Graham just sat there, quiet and unsure of how to respond.
We managed to get through the meal, but after that night, I didn’t hear from him. A week passed with nothing. I assumed I had scared him off with my chaotic entrance.
Then fate brought us back together at a mutual friend’s party. I found the courage to tell him the truth—that I was just a naturally emotional person, maybe too much sometimes. And to my surprise, he didn’t seem put off at all. In fact, he admitted he was the same.
That party was six years ago, and from that night on, we were glued to each other. I didn’t have to cry through emotional animal movies alone anymore—Graham would tear up right beside me. He was my person. And I knew, without a doubt, I was his.
We didn’t waste time. After just three months of dating, we moved in together. And we stayed that way for six years—comfortable, content, in no rush. Somehow, the wedding just never got scheduled. There was always something more pressing happening—either I was going through something, or Graham was—so it kept being pushed off.
But eight months ago, Graham popped the question. He planned the proposal so thoroughly that I didn’t even sense it coming, which made it all the more special. Not that I needed the ring or the ceremony to know I wanted forever with him.
But of course, no relationship is perfect—and ours had one persistent problem: his family. More specifically, his younger brother, Dylan.
Dylan was terrible. He was condescending, dismissive, and annoyingly smug. He always acted like he was superior to everyone else, especially Graham.
There were only three years between them, but Dylan never let a moment pass without reminding Graham who the “older and wiser” brother was.
I remember vividly the first time I met him. Graham took me to his parents’ house, and since Dylan still lived there—yes, as a fully grown adult—he was there too. So much for being as impressive as he thought.
At first, things seemed fine. Our conversations were polite, even pleasant. But then I excused myself to use the restroom, and when I stepped out, Dylan was standing just outside the door.
“You bored yet?” he asked, his voice dripping with cocky amusement.
I froze slightly. “No, I’m alright,” I said, keeping my tone friendly but firm.
He chuckled. “Come on, let’s get out of here. Have a little fun.”
I shifted my stance and stepped back just a little. “Really, I’m okay,” I replied, my gut starting to twist.
He leaned in, tilting his head. “Honestly, my brother doesn’t deserve a woman like you.”
“You’d have a much better time with me,” he murmured. His words were soft, but his eyes were unnervingly cold.
Before I could back away, he wrapped one arm around my waist. His hand slid down, groping me.
“Let me go!” I screamed, shoving him away and rushing back into the dining room, my heart thundering in my chest.
Graham’s face lit up as I approached, but I forced a weak smile and held my stomach. “I’m not feeling well. Can we head out?”
He stood up immediately. “Of course.”
His parents looked concerned as we said goodbye. “It was so nice meeting you, Elise,” his mother said gently.
Once we got in the car, Graham turned to me, worry written all over his face. “Did you eat something that made you sick?”
I inhaled slowly. “Dylan made a move on me,” I said.
Graham’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. “What? That jerk—”
His jaw clenched. “I’m going to talk to him.”
Graham confronted Dylan, but Dylan just laughed it off, saying he was “just testing me” like any protective older brother would. As if touching me like that could ever be justified. I didn’t believe him for a second, but Graham didn’t press the issue further.
Sometimes, I wondered if deep down, Graham was afraid of Dylan. Growing up, Dylan had tormented him, teased him, belittled him every chance he got.
He’d made Graham feel small for years, and while they were never close, Graham always tried to keep things civil—probably out of habit.
But eventually, Dylan’s antics became too much to ignore—even for Graham.
The text messages began. Inappropriate. Gross. Unsolicited photos. Horrible, degrading things. I blocked his number instantly.
When I told Graham I didn’t want Dylan anywhere near our wedding, he agreed without hesitation.
But not long after that, Graham came home looking absolutely drained. He dropped onto the couch, his shoulders sagging.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, sitting beside him.
He rubbed his temples. “I talked to my parents. They said if Dylan’s not invited, they won’t come.”
A sharp pain cut through my chest. “That’s… unfair,” I said, clenching my fists.
“I know,” he muttered, staring at the floor.
“The things he’s done to me… The way he’s harassed me, the disgusting things he’s sent—why doesn’t that matter to them?” My voice cracked.
Graham didn’t answer. He just sat there, defeated.
I sighed deeply. “Fine. We’ll invite him,” I said, my throat tight.
Graham’s head snapped up. “Are you sure?”
“We don’t have much of a choice. But your parents better make sure I don’t have to see him. At all.”
He pulled me into a hug. “You’re amazing,” he whispered.
The big day finally arrived. My heart was swelling with joy. This was it—the moment I had waited for so long. I was finally marrying the love of my life. I felt invincible. Not even Dylan could ruin this day.
Or so I thought.
I was in the bridal suite at the chapel, standing in front of the mirror as my bridesmaids adjusted my gown and hair. Everything was perfect. The dress, the veil, the makeup.
Then came the knock.
I turned with a smile, expecting the wedding planner.
Instead, I was face-to-face with Dylan.
“What are you doing—” I started to ask, but before I could finish, he raised a bucket and emptied its contents all over me.
A cold, sticky liquid drenched my skin, my dress, and my hair.
“This is for turning me down, you witch,” he snarled.
I let out a scream. The overpowering smell of paint hit me first. Bright green paint ran down my arms and soaked into the white satin of my gown.
“Are you insane?!” I shouted, trembling with rage and s.h.o.c.k.
Dylan only laughed, eyes glinting, and calmly closed the door in my face.
I collapsed into the chair, sobbing uncontrollably. My bridesmaids rushed toward me, their faces full of horror.
“Oh my God,” one gasped.
“Get some towels,” another cried, grabbing tissues and cloths.
They tried to wipe away the paint, but it was already absorbed into the fabric. It was hopeless.
Stacy, one of my bridesmaids, took me by the shoulders. “Stay here. I’ll find a white dress—anything.” She bolted out the door.
I buried my face in my hands, crying harder than I ever had. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I had carefully chosen my wedding gown. I had envisioned myself walking down the aisle in it a thousand times. Now it was ruined.
My hair was streaked green, paint clinging to the strands. The girls hurried to pin it up, to hide the mess under my veil.
“It’s okay,” one whispered.
“We’ll clean it later,” another said softly.
The ceremony was already delayed. Stacy hadn’t come back yet. Time dragged painfully slow. My bridesmaids paced the room, glancing at their phones, exchanging anxious looks.
Then, the door flew open. Stacy returned, breathless and red-faced, holding a surprisingly elegant white dress.
“Dylan told everyone you ran away,” she said in a rush. “Graham is panicking.”
My heart dropped. “HE SAID WHAT?!”
Stacy nodded. “People are whispering. Graham looks like he’s about to pass out.”
Something inside me snapped. I stood up, ripped off my veil, and let my green-stained hair fall down. The room fell silent.
Without saying a word, I stormed toward the chapel.
Gasps rippled through the room as I walked down the aisle, the paint-stained dress clinging to my body. Guests stared, whispering.
Graham stood at the altar, frozen and pale.
“I didn’t run away!” I shouted, my voice cutting through the silence.
His head turned instantly. “Elise?” he breathed, rushing down to me.
He pulled me into his arms. I held back more tears.
“Dylan did this,” I said. “He poured paint on me. Then told everyone I’d left.”
Graham’s face hardened. He turned toward the pews. “Dylan! What the hell is wrong with you?!”
Dylan lounged casually, smirking. “It was a harmless prank.”
“That’s not a prank!” Graham snapped. “Everyone’s shaken. You ruined everything!”
“Geez, calm down, bro,” Dylan replied smugly.
“I’m not a child anymore. You don’t get to mess with my life.”
“And yet I’m still here,” Dylan said mockingly.
“Not for long,” I growled. “Get out.”
“I was invited. I’m staying,” he said, crossing his arms.
Graham took a step forward. “Leave. Now. Or I will remove you myself.”
Their mother suddenly stood. “Graham, he’s your brother.”
Graham turned to her, calm but firm. “If you support him after this, you can go too.”
She hesitated. Her face turned pale. But eventually, she said nothing.
Their parents stood silently. Then, without another word, they took Dylan and left.
Graham turned back to me, his eyes softening. He leaned his forehead against mine.
“I was so scared,” he whispered.
I exhaled slowly, letting the tension fall away. “Thank you for standing up for me.”
“Always,” he promised.
