• 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 •

chapter one

CAMILLA

You know, sometimes I think my existence is just a joke. I can imagine God laughing at me, throwing in so much shit just to see how much I can take.

Throw in parents who don't love you, a sprinkle of nobody liking you, and, oh, don't forget, waiting at a wedding altar for a groom who will never arrive.

Honestly, I knew I wasn't necessarily a well-liked person, but did I expect my best friend, or now my fiancé, to leave me stranded here?

Not really, no.

I'm just loveless, I suppose.

I was supposed to walk down the aisle, but due to my fiancé's utter lateness, they decided to bring me up here.

He could've at least told me his plans beforehand.

Although I can't blame him, If I were stuck with me too, I would've sliced my own heart out with a blunt, rusty knife.

So why the hell are my eyes getting all... sweaty? Why is my nose tickling and my body slumping with the hopelessness that anybody actually liked me?

I have no right to be upset. He has a lover, a girlfriend, or someone forbidden, just like in the stories. She is a poor orphan girl from a farm who was raised by her grandparents, and he is a businessman's son who is expected to take over the business soon.

A match made in heaven. An obvious addition to my humiliation. I feel targeted.

God, if you're hearing this right now, eff you.

And we were only friends who were forced into this espousal. Of course, in their story, I would have been left here either way; it makes sense.

Am I the background character, or is this perhaps my villain's origin?

Should I become a villain?

I didn't even like him that much. Okay, maybe I did a little bit. And maybe I do despise the girl who exchanged love with my fiancé and best friend.

He was the only person I could talk to. Adam. That's his name. He was so nice to me, quite unlike anyone else.

People only looked at me and saw an accident. An inconvenience that needed to be married off as soon as possible.

I wasn't necessarily a good child, either. Always running into the nearby cemetery, the one with the huge tree on the hill opposite, around twenty feet away from the large and chipped golden gates.

It had flowers around—a lot of them. With so many names of forgotten souls on tombstones, I memorised a few names as a child when I was walking up to the huge tree.

Me and Adam would always go there. Except he was always allowed to; he would ask for permission from his parents, who always said yes to him, unlike me. He was the golden boy, and I was just a problematic girl with no manners.

Making it hard for my young mother and my distant father to raise me.

Some say I was the cause of my mother's alcoholic tendencies. I don't like when they say that. Am I really that horrid?

My mother had me when she was fifteen; she conceived me with an eighteen-year-old man.

It was out of wedlock, (obviously), which was apparently more disgraceful than a minor—who wasn't yet the age of consent, being with an adult who should have known better.

People made the excuse that they were only three years apart in age, which I find absolutely ridiculous.

He should've gotten arrested for statutory rape, but of course, in the small town my mother used to live in, nobody said anything and saw it as an act of God. Everyone knows how unpredictable the Lord is, and everything happens for a reason.