Weddings are supposed to be joyful, full of laughter, tears, and dancing. But as I watched Camila walk down the aisle toward my best friend Liam, something gnawed at me. A knot twisted in my stomach.

Something was wrong, and I couldn’t shake the feeling. I’ve known Liam for over three decades. We grew up on the same street, shared secrets and awkward high school crushes, and supported each other through heartbreaks and job changes.

So when he told me he was getting married to Camila—a woman he met about a year ago—I was thrilled. She was charming, graceful, and seemed genuinely smitten with him. The wedding ceremony was picture-perfect.

Camila looked like a dream in a flowing white gown, her veil gently trailing behind her. But as she moved down the aisle, something caught my eye. Her walk.

It was… strange. Her steps were short, cautious, almost robotic. At first, I chalked it up to nerves or maybe uncomfortable shoes.

But the further she walked, the more off it felt. I leaned toward Liam’s sister, Claire, who sat next to me. “Do you see that?” I whispered.

Claire looked puzzled. “See what?”

“Camila’s walk—it’s weird. Like she’s not actually walking… more like gliding.”

Claire gave a soft laugh.

“You’re overthinking it, Nicole. She’s probably nervous. Let it go.”

But I couldn’t.

Something about the way her dress flowed seemed unnatural, almost as if she wasn’t walking at all. The unease kept building in my chest like a growing storm. Someone behind me whispered, “She’s floating!” and chills ran down my spine.

“I swear, Claire,” I said again, more urgently this time. “Something’s not right.”

“Nicole, please,” Claire snapped softly. “Don’t ruin this for Liam.”

But I couldn’t shake the feeling.

As Camila drew closer to the altar, my curiosity turned into full-blown alarm. I stood, almost involuntarily, and stepped out of the pew. “Nicole, stop,” Claire hissed, but I was already in motion.

With shaking hands, I reached down and gently lifted the hem of Camila’s gown. A gasp tore through the church. What I saw didn’t make sense at first: large men’s dress shoes—polished and definitely not bridal.

I blinked. No way. I knelt down slightly and looked more closely.

Beneath the gown were black slacks—not a wedding dress lining, but slacks. I slowly looked up. It wasn’t Camila.

It was a man. A man wearing a wig and veil. A man pretending to be the bride.

The church was d.ead silent. I stumbled back, staring, unable to speak. Liam looked stunned, his smile gone, his brows furrowed.

“Nicole… what’s going on?”

The man at the altar stood still for a moment, then slowly pulled off the veil and wig with theatrical flair. Short dark hair revealed, he smiled smugly at the stunned crowd. “Surprise,” he said coolly.

“You didn’t even notice, did you?”

Liam stepped forward, voice cracking. “Where’s Camila? Who are you?!”

The man smirked.

“She’s gone. She left a few days ago.”

“What? What are you talking about?!” Liam’s voice trembled.