On Christmas Eve, I flew halfway across the world to surprise my fiancé. And caught him kissing another girl under our Christmas tree. All afternoon at work, the girls were losing their minds over deliveries. Roses everywhere. Little Tiffany boxes. Velvet pouches with red ribbons. The whole floor smelled like a Bath & Body Works. Marissa, my team lead, plopped down on my desk and grinned at me. "Willow. Your man is an art professor. In Paris. The bar he's gonna set today? Criminal." She wasn't wrong. Two Christmases ago, Julian sent me 999 burgundy roses. Last year? A framed I love you spelled out in pink diamonds. Stupid amounts of pink diamonds. When it came to showing off, Julian Carter didn't let me lose. Ever. But this year? My phone was dead silent. All day. Nothing. I started spiraling. Something happened to him. Something has to be wrong. I burned every vacation day I had, threw a flight on my credit card, and flew halfway across the world through a snowstorm. I got to his building in Paris right as the snow started coming down hard. And there, under the giant Christmas tree out front—gold lights, red ribbons, the whole Hallmark thing— Julian was kissing another girl. I just… stopped. Right there on the sidewalk. He scooped her up like she weighed nothing, laughing into her hair, coaxing her to write a wish on one of the ribbons hanging off the branches. "Baby. Tomorrow's Christmas." "Santa grants every wish on this tree. So go ahead. Tell him." She looked up at him with these big shiny doe eyes and curled her arms around his neck. "Every wish? You swear?" Julian winked. His hand slid down and patted her butt. "Swear." It wasn't even the kiss. It was the patting her butt. That's what gutted me. I scrambled behind a hedge like some kind of stalker, watching my own fiancé through a wall of falling snow. The tears came before I even understood they were coming. Eight years long-distance. This was the first time I'd ever shown up without telling him. She pouted and pretended to punch his chest. "Put me down." He didn't. One hand on her waist, the other on the back of her neck, pulling her down into another kiss. My fingers were shaking so bad I could barely unlock my phone. Breathe. Just breathe. Maybe—maybe—if he lied. If he said she was nobody. A drunk mistake. A one-night thing. I could choke it down. I could pretend. I could still believe in us. I typed: Babe, who are you with rn? A phone chimed somewhere in the snow. Close. Close enough I heard it over the wind. She huffed and turned her face. "Your phone's been blowing up all night. Which slut is it this time?" Julian threw up three fingers like a Boy Scout. "Chloe. Baby. I swear on my life. There's no one else." "I dumped my fiancée for you. I stayed in Paris six years just to be with you." Eight years. Julian and I had been together eight years. He'd been with her for six of them. This laugh just tore out of my throat. Wet. Ugly. My knees folded and I sat down right there in the dirty snow. My phone buzzed. Marissa. landed safe babe?? don't go TOO crazy with that man of yours, come back to us in one piece okay? That made me cry harder. The girls at the office had picked my outfit for me. They'd chipped in on matching couple bracelets, wrapped them in silver paper, the whole thing. We'd all decided together. Julian was going to lose his mind when he saw me. The voices behind me got quieter. I peeked out from the hedge. She'd jumped onto his back, arms locked around his neck, giggling like a kid. "Carry me! Practice! You're gonna have to do this on our wedding day!" Wedding day. Julian had thought about marrying her. Then what was I? What were our eight years? The ring he promised me, what the hell was that? I checked into the hotel across the street. The one with a perfect view of his bedroom window. All I had to do was pull the curtains back and I had a front-row seat to their happy little life. A couple hours of digging gave me a name. Chloe Winters. His grad student. On campus, they played strangers. Off campus, they lived together. They were in love. Universities don't actually punish professor-student stuff. They look the other way. But cheating on your fiancée. With your own student. That kind of thing? That ends a man.
I stood at the window like I was punishing myself. Watched Julian peel her sweater off, slow. Watched him kiss her like she was something precious. Their shadows tangled on the curtain. The yellow light didn't go out all night. It was like watching myself bleed out in slow motion. Three a.m. He finally texted. sorry babe — stuck at the studio, deadline killing me. forgot to wish my wifey merry christmas A money transfer. From your husband, with love. I stared at the number. Cold. Mocking. Back when we were new, Julian flew across continents for every holiday. I'd tease him for being clingy and he'd nuzzle into my neck and whine— "A husband's supposed to be clingy, Will. Soon as I finish school, we're getting married. We're never doing this long-distance crap again." Five years ago, he got his PhD. I asked when he was coming home. He told me—almost shy about it—that a friend had hooked him up with a studio in Paris. He couldn't leave just yet. Three years ago, I heard the studio was relocating Stateside. I asked when we were getting married. He stammered. Said he'd just been offered a teaching gig at the École des Beaux-Arts. Couldn't pass it up. The wedding got pushed. And pushed. And pushed. I asked him once if there was someone else. After that, he started video-calling me every week like clockwork. Just to show me, he said. But I scrolled back through our texts that night. His last real reply was two weeks ago. Everything after that? Me. Talking to myself. I didn't take the money. I typed: I'm flying out tomorrow. Spending Christmas with you. Typing… Typing… Three hours later, he sent a cutesy sticker. nooo babe don't do that to yourself, the flight is brutal. let's just facetime He could've come clean. He chose to keep lying. That told me everything. I didn't give him time to think. Sunrise, I was at his door. Julian opened it half-asleep, eyes barely focused. He didn't even look up. "Just leave it on the table, man," he mumbled, waving toward the couch. He thought I was the doorman. I followed his hand. A pink lace nightgown. Crumpled across his couch. Twisted in places that made my stomach flip. "Julian." His spine snapped straight. His eyes opened all the way. "Willow?" I nodded. The bedroom door creaked open behind him. Chloe drifted out in lingerie, rubbing one eye like a kid. "Why are you guys being so loud—" She saw me. Julian went the color of paper. He yanked off his sweater and threw it over her like he could erase her by hiding the skin. "Willow—she's my student. She had a fight with her boyfriend last night, like a real bad one, I didn't want her wandering around alone, so I let her crash—" Chloe bit her lip. Looked up at me with those big wet eyes. "It's so nice to finally meet you, Willow." I nodded. My mouth wouldn't do anything else. Julian made breakfast himself. The whole spread. Eggs, pancakes, fresh-pressed juice, the works. Eight years. He'd finally learned how to cook for a woman. Just not me. Chloe stood up first. Said she had class. Julian grabbed his keys. I swallowed every scream sitting in my chest, slipped my arm through his, and smiled so hard my face hurt. "Take me with you. I'd love to see the campus."
We pulled up to the red light right before campus. Chloe ducked away when Julian reached over to unbuckle her seatbelt. Made a whole show of it. Then turned around and gave me this soft, sweet little nod. "Thanks for the ride. So nice meeting you, Willow. I'll just hop out here." She shot Julian one quick look—pale, almost scared—and slipped out the door. Julian's eyes locked onto her back. And then—I swear, like a switch flipped—he threw open his door and bolted after her. I dug my nails into my palms until I tasted blood from biting the inside of my cheek. He pulled a hand warmer and a packet of ginger tea out of his coat pocket and pressed them into her gloves like she was made of china. His voice carried back through the wind. "First day's always the worst, baby. Take care of yourself, okay?" The tears came before I could stop them. I scrubbed them off fast. He watched her walk in. Then turned around like he'd forgotten I existed. He climbed back in the car. Sheepish. "Chloe's an orphan, Will. It's a teacher-student thing. Don't read into it." I nodded. Sure, Julian. We barely got through the front gate before we ran straight into a pack of his students. Their eyes ping-ponged between us. Curious. Knowing. One of them grinned. "Professor, is this your girlfriend?" Before Julian could open his mouth, I dug a handful of holiday candies out of my purse and started passing them around. "Not girlfriend," I said sweetly. "Fiancée." Their faces lit up. "Oh my God, congrats!" Julian's jaw locked. He grabbed my wrist. "Willow. Let's go somewhere else. Now." I waved at the students. Told them the wedding was coming up soon. Promised to send invites. Around the corner, I saw exactly what I wanted to see—Chloe's silhouette, shoulders shaking, wiping her face, scurrying off. Julian whirled on me. "What the hell is wrong with you?" I straightened my back. Met his eyes dead-on. "Wrong with me? We saved enough to get married, didn't we?" "Wasn't that the deal? Hit our number, we're done waiting?" "Or are you backing out, Julian? Are you in love with someone else?" The last one came out as a scream. He flinched. Then his whole face went cold. "Psycho." He took off after Chloe. Left me there. I couldn't hold the smile anymore. I slid down the wall and sobbed. My phone exploded. Mom. I picked up. She was crying. "Willow, baby—your dad had a stroke. He needs surgery tonight, and I—I didn't want to bother you, but the doctor says it's bad, sweetheart, I can't pull the money together fast enough—" No time to fall apart. I opened our joint savings, ready to send everything. Insufficient funds. There was supposed to be seventy thousand dollars in there. Our wedding fund. I'd built it from nothing. I typed the password again. Insufficient funds. I pulled up the transaction history. Three minutes ago. Julian had moved every cent. Something inside me ripped wide open. Julian came from money. Real money. People had whispered for years that I was a gold digger. To shut them up, I'd insisted on saving it myself. Every penny. Seventy grand and we marry. That was the deal. He took it without telling me. My fingers were shaking so hard I couldn't get the call to connect. His ringtone floated toward me—he was already walking back, holding Chloe against him. I lunged. Grabbed his arm. Chloe whimpered at the bump. "Julian, where's the money? Where is it? Do you know what—"
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