The Groom Chooses The Maid Of Honour

Sakura woke up to the sound of her phone ringing, the shrill tone slicing through her sleep-heavy mind. She groaned, reaching blindly for the device.

Mia.

Her stomach churned at the sight of the name flashing on her screen. "Ugh, what does she want now?" she muttered, reluctantly answering.

"Hello?"

Mia's voice came through the speaker, breathless and frantic—too frantic.

"Sakura! Oh my God! Did you see what Ryo sent everybody?" Mia gasped, feigning shock. "It's gone viral!"

Sakura frowned, still groggy. She rubbed her eyes and sat up, her body feeling sluggish from sleep. "Mia, what the hell are you talking about? And—who's Ryo again?"

Mia let out a sharp exhale. "Just look."

A second later, her phone buzzed with an incoming message. Sakura blinked against the blurry screen, still too tired to process anything. But as the image loaded, all traces of exhaustion vanished.

Her blood ran cold.

There it was. A picture of her and Kenji.

Sakura's breath hitched as the memory came flooding back—the mixer, the spiked drink, the dizzy haze, the feeling of Kenji's arms around her when she could barely stand.

She barely heard Mia's voice anymore.

Her vision swam, nausea churning deep in her gut. Without warning, she bolted from the bed and rushed to the bathroom, barely making it in time before she started vomiting violently.

Her body shook. She clutched the sink, trying to steady herself, but the world around her felt like it was closing in.

"Sakura?!" Mia's voice rang from the phone, still lying on the bed. "Sakura, are you okay? Hello?!"

But Sakura didn't answer.

With trembling hands, she ended the call. She had no time for Mia's fake concern.

…

Sakura moved like she was on autopilot, shoving on a pair of jeans and reaching for a thick winter jumper—the kind that covered her completely.

It was still summer. The air was hot and humid, but she didn't care.

She needed to be covered.

The thought of Kenji seeing even an inch of her skin made her stomach lurch again.

Sakura barely remembered getting into her car, but before she knew it, she was gripping the steering wheel, her knuckles white.

She cranked the AC to full blast, yet she was still sweating, her skin clammy with stress.

"I'll find them," she whispered to herself. "I'll make them pay."

She stepped onto campus, her heart hammering against her ribs. Whispers surrounded her instantly.

Eyes followed her.

She could hear it—the hushed, cruel voices cutting through the heavy air.

"What a slut."

"Maybe we should call her Slutty Sakura."

"I never expected her to be a two-timer."

Sakura's face burned.

Her vision blurred at the edges, her pulse roaring in her ears. She knew this feeling—the humiliation, the powerlessness.

But she wasn't powerless.

Not this time.

She stormed through the campus, her head held high despite the flames licking at her cheeks.

She searched everywhere—the courtyards, the hallways, the cafeteria. Where were they?!

Her breath came in short, sharp bursts as she ran, sweat dripping down her forehead—not just from the heat, but from the sheer overwhelming pressure of everyone's eyes on her.

Her lungs ached, her legs burned—but she didn't stop.

Then—

A firm but familiar grip latched onto her wrist.

Sakura froze.

The grip was firm but familiar, strong but careful.

For a brief moment, hope swelled inside her.

Haru.

Relief flooded her chest. Her lips parted before she could stop herself—

"Haru—"

But as she turned, her stomach plummeted.

It wasn't Haru.

It was Kenji.

The warmth she'd felt vanished, replaced with a cold, creeping terror.

His grip tightened like a vice, yanking her closer.

"Looking for me?" he asked, a slow, predatory smirk stretching across his lips.