When an unexpected stranger grabbed my hand, urging me against my wedding, I initially dismissed it as nonsense. However, discovering she was a hired actress unraveled a mystery: who truly wanted to prevent my union with the man I cherished?

I’ve always been grounded in reality, not easily swayed by superstitions. I’m Penelope, a typical woman balancing her career, wedding plans, and snatching moments for laughter with my best friend Esther. Life was bustling with the thrill of planning a wedding. Cameron, my betrothed, was the partner of my dreams.

Our nuptials were just mere months away, and Esther, true to form, was right there amidst the hubbub, helping sort out flowers, dresses, and every wedding detail.

That ordinary Saturday turned extraordinary rather quickly. Esther and I had just exited our beloved boutique after endless debates about dresses and dreamy vs. overrated honeymoon spots. I was adamant that Fiji was worth our while as she had some scoffing thoughts about it while we sauntered through the supermarket’s aisles selecting groceries for the upcoming week.

Halfway through the cereal section, the peculiar sensation of someone uncomfortably close stirred within me.

I spun around only to meet the eyes of an elderly woman, dark hair tousled and eyes piercingly fixated on mine. Without a moment’s hesitation, she clasped my hand with a grip that conveyed a sense of urgency.

“I feel four scars,” her voice was gravelly and enigmatic. “All on your legs. An animal… a wolf?”

Her words froze me, akin to a deer in headlights. Yes, those scars on my legs were remnants from a wild wolf encounter during a family camping trip when I was just five years old. Not many knew of those scars; how could she?

Esther, momentarily absorbed by her phone, whirled when she perceived the woman’s grip on me. “Hey! Let her go!” Esther growled, stepping in as if ready to protect.

But the old woman’s focus remained unwaveringly on me. “Your wedding is near,” she continued, a firmness in her tone. “Don’t proceed. Trouble lies ahead.”

It was as if my breath caught in my throat, where I stood immobilized, loaded with questions about how she knew about my plans and what ominous “trouble” awaited.

Esther, with one swift motion, yanked my hand from her grasp. “Are you out of your mind?” she snapped at the woman. “Get lost, witch!”

The woman, seemingly snapped out of a trance, withdrew silently. Bewildered, my gaze followed after her.

“Penny, are you alright?” Esther’s voice was softer now, concern replacing her anger. “She was likely just some loon. Don’t let it get to you.”

I chuckled nervously. “Yeah, probably,” I agreed, yet unease settled in my bones. Her cryptic warning echoed in my mind for days—no matter the reassurance, I couldn’t entirely dismiss the lingering chill of doubt.

Then, just yesterday, while enjoying lunch with my mother at a quaint little café, I saw her again — or someone akin to her. Across the street, a blonde woman darted into a shop. Her appearance was different but bore an unsettling familiarity.

Without hesitating, I bolted up, racing across. “Hey! You!” I shouted when close enough, startling her just before entering the store.

“Let me go!” she yelped, recoiling as I grasped her wrist.

“Who are you?” I demanded.

“An actress,” she confessed haltingly. “I was hired to persuade you to call off your wedding.”

Shock ricocheted within me.

“Paid? By whom?”

Hesitant, but eventually obedient, she revealed an image on her phone.

Time seemed to stall as I registered the photo: Cameron, my beloved, the man I was prepared to commit to, pictured clear as any Hollywood scene.

“He… he paid you?” I choked out, the sting of betrayal fresh and sharp.

In attempts to escape my scrutiny, the actress fidgeted, seeking solace in her anonymity. “I don’t wish for any trouble. Can I go now?”

The rapid-fire beating in my chest drove me forward with questions. “Why? Why would he do something so cowardly?”

“I don’t know,” her reply came weak, yet honest. “He claimed he couldn’t bring himself to personally nix the wedding plans.”

The frosty anger mingled with disbelief within me. Instead of having a simple conversation, he chose an elaborate deception? It was absurdity incarnate, a farce worthy of dark comedy.

A strange calm enveloped me as I trudged back home, my mind resolute.

That evening, everything seemed ordinary as I set about preparing his favorite meal—roasted chicken with rosemary potatoes—lustrous smells masking internal storms.

Cameron’s demeanor upon his return seemed slightly off. Perhaps a twinge of guilt? Good, he deserved the moral weight of it.

“Hey, hon,” he kissed me cheekily, delight unknowing of the tempest below. “Wow, something smells divine.”

“Your favorite,” I cooed, a forced grin accompanying it as dinner plates settled on the neat, welcoming table.

We ate in a quiet, tense peace. The evening’s tranquility was but a smokescreen to my whirring thoughts. When the moment was ripe, I commenced our conversation, bearing a tone of playful curiosity.

“Something wild today,” I began, adopting a casual air. “You won’t believe what happened.”

His fork stilled, intrigue peaked as his brow arched. “Tell me, what happened?”

“I was with Esther at the grocers,” I recounted, injecting nonchalance into my voice, “when this lady grabs my hand, right out of the blue.”

Cameron’s face tensed briefly, echoing the madness of the day past. “Why… what did she want?”

I threw it off as trivial. “She remarked about my scars. Odd — a stranger knowing such intimate details.”

His stare faltered to warmth, masked behind a veil of tension. “What did she say beyond that?”

My grin widened slightly. “She prophesied great success for you, bound to a blissfully happy marriage partner.”

He choked, sputtering, right on cue as his carefree appearance crumbled.

His complexion lost its color, as he struggled against panic. “Are you okay, sweetheart?” I feigned naïvety, blissfully witnessing his unraveling state.

“Y-yeah,” he coughed, recovering slightly, voice barely steady. “That was… unexpected.”

Leaving the light banter behind, I leaned forward, purpose driving my approach. “Unexpected, Cam? Unexpected was hiring an actress to break us up instead of addressing it yourself.”

Desperation seized his expression, paleness only intensifying. “W-what? What on earth are you saying, Pen?”

I wouldn’t relent. “I met your actress — the one to play tricks on me to make me quit us.”

Rendered silent, his reactions betrayed him—truth inscribed into each shifting microexpression. He gaped wordlessly, trapped beyond any sly retort.

I laughed, a remarkable release against earlier constraints. “Easier to twist things than to be a man? For years, I thought I knew you.”

He sputtered again, attempt short-lived in reaching clarity, “Pen, it’s not—”

“No. There’s nothing left to be painted over. I’m severing this façade.”

Stirred by shame, his gaze fell to the dishes. “I just… I didn’t know how to face it, Pen.”

A chuckle emerged, an acknowledgement of the depths we had spiraled into. “Hiring a stranger to disrupt our wedding was better than honesty? Pathetic.”

My eyes locked with his, granting an ultimatum sealed in my decision. This path had withered, allowing something unparalleled in its wake, freedom from pretense. “I will call it off.”

With the closing door, I left years behind. No explanations tethered me; Cameron faced consequences unexplored.

Game over, Cameron, game over.