I was shoved out of a wedding dress shop by my date — then I discovered his other fiancée…

I’m 27 and been dodging dating app disasters for years, but last night topped everything. He seemed perfect: thoughtful texts, a weekend surprise, “come help me pick a dress” he whispered like it would be romantic. I walked into the bridal boutique in a pretty dress and a stupid, hopeful smile. He poured champagne, introduced me as “a friend,” and told me to try on something bold. I thought he wanted to see me in satin. My chest hurt with the idea of being chosen.

Then the manager asked for his name. A woman in a white dress appeared from the back, eyes blaring. He froze, then shouted, “This isn’t what it looks like!” The woman screamed, calling him a liar, and a crowd formed. He grabbed my phone when I reached for it, snatched the screenshots proving we’d been dating, and shoved me. Security was on their way, the other bride was dialing someone, and he mouthed something I couldn’t hear. I chased him into the parking lot, he leaned into his car, locked the doors—and with a grin that made my stomach drop, he reached into his pocket and said…

He reached into his pocket and—clear as a bell through the parked cars and the screams—he said, “Relax. This is good content. Smile, you’re going to be perfect for my channel.” The grin that had made my stomach drop turned into something like confession, and for a second I couldn’t tell if I was more furious or foolish. “You did this for views?” I spat, my voice coming out small and ridiculous in the open air. He chuckled and pulled a handbrake; the engine revved. “Better than actual feelings, right?” Then the doors locked and he drove off before I could decide which of the dozen things I’d imagined saying to hurt him worse.

The manager wrapped a shaky cardigan around my shoulders and pressed a paper towel into my hand where I’d reached for my phone and left fingerprints across the boutique glass. The other bride was sobbing into the phone, alternate accusations and apologies tumbling out as she realized she hadn’t been tricked by a stranger but by someone she’d trusted too. “I thought he was just nervous,” she kept saying, and I wanted to clamp her mouth shut and tell her that naivety was no crime, that men who staged betrayals were. Instead I found my hand on hers, in a reflex that surprised me with its softness, and whispered, “You’re not alone,” which felt like the only honest thing I had left to offer.

Security swore they had his license plate on the CCTV; a teenager outside filmed the whole fiasco and sent the clip to the manager within minutes. The police came, badges shining,