My parents always favored my sister Melissa, and even at my wedding, they demanded she walk down the aisle first in a white dress. They offered to pay, but with one condition: Melissa would get her own moment. My fiancé, Ryan, and I agreed with a smile. What they didn’t know was, they’d just walked into a trap.

Melissa took over the wedding planning, picking decor, flowers, even pressuring me to change my bouquet. Ryan played along, pretending to side with them, while secretly recording every ridiculous demand. We hired private security, and Ryan’s cousin documented everything. We let them believe they were in charge until the big day arrived.

On the wedding day, Melissa showed up late in a designer dress, expecting her grand entrance. Security blocked her at the door she wasn’t on the guest list. Outside, she screamed, cried, and threw a shoe. Inside, I walked down the aisle, alone, to the applause and love I had always deserved.

After the ceremony, we cut the cake Melissa insisted on, drank the champagne my parents paid for, and posted our thanks online. The video of Melissa’s meltdown spread fast. She sent a bitter message Ryan dropped it into the family group chat without a word. Then we left for Bali, together, free at last.