The airport terminal buzzed with the energy of a thousand destinations, but all I could focus on was the warmth of Ethan's hand in mine as we approached the check-in counter. Three days married, and I still couldn't believe this incredible man was my husband. "Mrs. Chen," he'd whispered into my ear that morning, making me blush like a teenager. "Ready for paradise?" Paradise. Two weeks in Bora Bora, the honeymoon we'd planned for eight months. Overwater bungalows, crystal-clear lagoons, and nothing but us. After the chaos of wedding planning—the arguments with my mother-in-law about the guest list, the last-minute venue crisis, the bridesmaids' dress disaster—we desperately needed this escape. I squeezed Ethan's hand tighter, my wedding ring catching the fluorescent lights. The simple platinum band matched his, a symbol of the promises we'd made just seventy-two hours ago. For better or worse. In sickness and in health. Till death do us part. "Passports and confirmation numbers, please," the airline attendant said with a practiced smile. Ethan pulled out his phone, scrolling to find our booking reference while I dug through my purse for our passports. I'd checked them five times this morning, paranoid about forgetting something crucial. The blue booklets were pristine—mine still stiff and new from the name change I'd rushed through before the wedding. Maya Rodriguez was gone. Maya Chen had taken her place. "Here we go," Ethan said, showing his screen to the attendant. "Two tickets to Bora Bora, departing at 2:45 PM." The attendant's fingers flew across her keyboard, then paused. Her smile faltered slightly. "I'm showing two bookings under your name, Mr. Chen, but they're for different flights." "What?" Ethan leaned forward, his brow furrowing in that adorable way it did when he was confused. "That can't be right. We booked together." "Let me pull up the details." More typing. More pausing. Then her eyes widened slightly—a micro-expression that sent the first tendril of unease through my chest. "Mr. Chen, you're confirmed on flight 847 to Tahiti, connecting to Bora Bora. But Mrs. Chen is booked on flight 623 to... Reykjavik, Iceland." The words didn't make sense. They were sounds without meaning, syllables that couldn't possibly apply to me. "Iceland?" I heard myself say. "No, there must be a mistake. We're going to Bora Bora. Together. It's our honeymoon." "There has to be an error in the system," Ethan said firmly, his lawyer voice emerging. "Can you fix it?" The attendant's expression turned sympathetic in that particular way that meant bad news was coming. "Sir, these bookings were made separately, at different times. The Bora Bora reservation is for one passenger—you—departing today. The Iceland booking is also for one passenger—your wife—same departure time but different destination." My heart started hammering. "Check again. Please." She did. The result didn't change. "This is insane," Ethan muttered, running his hand through his dark hair—a nervous habit I'd learned to recognize over our two years together. "Maya, did you... did you accidentally book something separately?" "No!" The word came out sharper than I intended. "Why would I book myself a solo trip to Iceland for our honeymoon? Ethan, you made all the reservations. You said you wanted to surprise me with the details." "I did, but I would never—" He stopped mid-sentence, his face going pale. "Oh God." "What?" "Sophia helped me with the booking." The name landed like a stone in my stomach. Sophia Winters. Ethan's childhood best friend. The woman who'd given a tearful speech at our wedding about how she'd known Ethan since they were six, how she'd never seen him happier, how I must be truly special to capture his heart. The same woman who'd "accidentally" been included in our engagement photos because the photographer thought she was part of the couple. Who'd shown up to my bachelorette party uninvited because she "didn't want to miss celebrating." Who'd called Ethan at midnight the night before our wedding, crying about some crisis that kept him on the phone for an hour while I sat alone in my hotel room. "Sophia booked our honeymoon?" My voice sounded hollow. "She offered to help because I was swamped with the Morrison case. She's a travel agent, Maya. It made sense." "And you didn't think to mention this?" "It didn't seem important! She was doing us a favor." The attendant cleared her throat delicately. "If you'd like to make changes, I can check availability on today's flights to Bora Bora, but the fare difference would be—" "Maya!" I turned to see Sophia herself rushing toward us, her long auburn hair bouncing with each step, pulling a sleek carry-on behind her. She wore designer jeans and a cashmere sweater that probably cost more than my wedding shoes. Her makeup was flawless, her smile bright—until she saw our faces. "Oh no," she said, her green eyes widening. "You got your tickets. Maya, I am so, so sorry. I was hoping to catch you before check-in." "Sorry for what?" I asked, though ice was already forming in my veins. Sophia's eyes filled with tears—actual tears that made her look even more beautiful. "The bookings got mixed up. I was organizing my own trip to Iceland for a client, and somehow the wires got crossed in the system. I've been trying to fix it all morning, but the airline said it was too late to make changes without massive fees." "You booked Maya to Iceland?" Ethan's voice rose slightly. "Sophia, what the hell?" "It was an accident! I swear, Ethan, I would never intentionally sabotage your honeymoon. You know me better than that." She turned to me, reaching for my hand. I pulled it away. "Maya, please, I feel absolutely terrible. I've already called my supervisor, and we're working on a solution. We can get you on a flight tomorrow, or maybe the day after—" "The day after?" I repeated. "So Ethan goes to Bora Bora today, and I what? Sit at home? Go to Iceland alone?" "Or you could come with me to Iceland," Sophia said quickly. "I mean, it's not tropical, but it's beautiful this time of year. The Northern Lights, the hot springs—we could make it fun. Girls' trip while we sort out getting you to Bora Bora?" The suggestion was so absurd I actually laughed. A sharp, brittle sound. "You want me to go on a girls' trip to Iceland with you instead of going on my honeymoon with my husband?" "Just until we fix the booking!" "Here's an idea," I said, my voice steady despite the rage building in my chest. "Ethan doesn't go. We both stay home until this is sorted out." "Maya, the Morrison case has a hearing next Monday. This is the only window I have." Ethan's voice was strained. "I can't just reschedule." "But I can reschedule my honeymoon?" "That's not what I meant—" "Excuse me," the attendant interrupted. "I'm sorry, but there are other passengers waiting. Do you want to check in for your current bookings or not?" Ethan looked at me, then at Sophia, then back at me. In his eyes, I saw frustration, confusion, and something else I couldn't quite name. Guilt, maybe. Or doubt. "Give us a minute," he said to the attendant, pulling me aside. His hands gripped my shoulders gently. "Maya, listen. This is a disaster, I know. But we can fix it. I can go today, get everything set up at the resort, and you can fly out as soon as Sophia sorts this out. Two days, max." "You want to go without me." "I want us to salvage our honeymoon! If I don't go today, we lose the booking entirely. It's non-refundable." "How convenient." His jaw tightened. "What's that supposed to mean?" "It means your best friend just accidentally booked your wife to the wrong continent on her honeymoon, and you're more worried about losing a deposit than about how incredibly messed up this is." "That's not fair. Sophia made a mistake—" "Did she?" The question hung between us like smoke. Ethan's expression shifted through several emotions before landing on hurt. "You think she did this on purpose? Maya, Sophia is my oldest friend. She was happy for us at the wedding." "Was she?" "Oh my God." He dropped his hands from my shoulders, stepping back. "You're jealous. After everything, you're still jealous of Sophia." The accusation stung because there was truth in it. I was jealous. I'd been jealous since the first time I met Sophia six months into dating Ethan, when she'd hugged him just a little too long and looked at me with an appraising gaze that made me feel like I was being measured and found wanting. But jealousy didn't mean I was wrong.