My best friend finally wanted a wedding—the groom was my boyfriend of eight years. Maya and I were total opposites. She'd run from seven engagements in three years—the queen of commitment issues. Me? Eight years with Ethan, the most stable couple anyone knew. The girl most likely to get married next. Until tonight. Maya grabs my hands across the bar table, mascara running down her cheeks. "I think I've lost my mind. I actually want to get married. He makes me so happy, Chloe. I've never felt like this before." I squeeze her fingers and smile. "Then do it. I'll always support you." She nods hard, pulls out her phone, and dials. A man's voice comes through the speaker. Warm. Familiar. Too familiar. "Hey, dummy. Look up. I knew you'd get wasted, so I've been watching you from the table up front." I almost smile. Out of habit. I turn with Maya to look. And I see him. Ethan. My boyfriend. The man I've loved for eight years. The man I was about to marry. He's already walking toward us, eyes locked on Maya. The girl who swore she'd never settle down had already found her person. And my perfect love story was just me talking to myself. My wine glass slams onto the table. Ethan doesn't flinch. He scoops Maya into his arms and says to me, calm as anything: "Let's go home. I can explain." Eight years. Maybe I should slap him. Maybe I should scream. But eight years—that's a quarter of my life. How do you just rip that away? My eyes sting. I get in the car. The second Maya's in the passenger seat, her phone connects to the Bluetooth. A perky female voice chirps through the speakers: *"Maya connected. Love songs ready, babe?"* I sit frozen in the backseat. This is the first time I've ever been in Ethan's car. He always said I couldn't ride in his car because he used it for work and didn't want clients smelling perfume in it. Even when I promised not to wear any, he'd just laugh and say, "Babe, your perfume always sticks around." But now the whole car reeks of Maya's liquor and her rose perfume, and Ethan hasn't even wrinkled his nose. Tears fall onto my hands before I can stop them. I can't confront him. I'm terrified of the answer. Part of me wants to pretend tonight is just a bad dream. But dreams end. Maya mumbles, "Ethan..." and leans over to kiss him while he's driving. He gently peels her hands off and murmurs, "Behave." I can't breathe. Ethan is a clean freak. He won't let anyone touch him without hand sanitizer—not even me. I've been pushed away for trying to hold his hand without washing first. I look down at my own hands. I can still smell the rubbing alcohol I used before getting in. Mixed with the liquor fumes in this car, it makes me want to vomit. I crack the window. Fresh air. I need fresh air. Ethan hits the button and the window slides shut. He glances back at me, annoyed. "Maya just drank. The cold air could make her sick." I let out a hollow laugh. "Wow. You actually know how to care about someone." His jaw tightens. "Don't be passive-aggressive. I said I'd explain." Then it happens fast. Maya lunges for Ethan again, grabbing at his face. A car swerves to pass us on the right. Ethan yanks the wheel hard left—and the back of our car clips the other vehicle. The impact throws me sideways. Glass shatters. My head slams into the frame. Blood runs warm down my temple. But the pain in my skull is nothing compared to what I'm feeling. Ethan checks Maya first. Then he looks at me in the rearview. "Can you walk?" I stare at him. Blood dripping into my eye. He gets out, opens my door, and says: "Take Maya to the ER. Make sure she's okay." I touch the gash on my forehead. My fingers come back red. "Ethan. Are you blind?" My voice shakes. "Look at me. Look at my face. And you have the nerve to say that?" He stares at me, stunned. In eight years, I've never once talked back. His eyes go hard. "Don't say things you'll regret. Someone could be seriously hurt." He shuts the door. I drag myself out. I help Maya to the curb. I flag down a cab. And the second we're inside, Maya's voice comes through—stone cold sober. "You saw it for yourself, Chloe." I turn to look at her. Not a trace of drunkenness on her face. "So. Are you done standing in my way?" ---
I stare at her. The streetlight falls across her face. She looks perfectly sober. No wobble. No slur. Nothing. "You faked it," I say. "You were faking drunk this whole time." Maya sighs, bored already. "Yeah." "Do you even understand what you've done?" She gives me a tired, condescending look. "Chloe, stop being naive. I know exactly what I'm doing." "Ethan's young, rich, hot, and loyal. Who wouldn't want him?" "You dated him for eight years and he never proposed. Doesn't that tell you everything? He doesn't love you." The cab stops. "Ladies, we're here." I get out. My legs buckle. I grab the door to keep from falling. The ER entrance is bright and harsh. I look at Maya's calm, unbothered face and force my voice steady. "You're wrong, Maya." "He's not loyal." "Eight years with me—and you stole him just like that. You think he won't cheat on you too?" Maya smiles. Slow. Satisfied. "Chloe, you're so childish." She puts a hand on her stomach. "I'm pregnant. He's not going anywhere." My knees almost give out. My skin crawls where I touched her in the car. The nausea is instant. My hand moves before my brain catches up. I slap her across the face. Hard. "You're disgusting." The crack echoes off the hospital walls. Maya's head snaps sideways. And then—tires screeching. A car slams to a stop at the curb. Ethan jumps out. He shoves me back so hard I stumble, then pulls Maya into his arms, cupping her reddened cheek with shaking hands. He takes one breath. Two. Then he turns to me with a look I know well. Not the look he gives his girlfriend of eight years. The look he gives a business rival he's about to destroy. He points at the security camera above the hospital entrance. "Apologize. Now. Or I'm calling the police. You know I can make sure you spend a few nights in a cell." I laugh. It sounds dead. "Fine. Let them take me. I could use the quiet." Ethan's voice drops. "And what about your mother?" My whole body goes still. "Don't forget, Chloe. I'm the one paying her medical bills. If she finds out her daughter got arrested—" The air leaves my lungs. I look at him. His eyes are steady. Certain. He knows he's won. I bite down so hard I taste blood. My hands shake at my sides. I bite back a sob. "Sorry," I whisper. Maya sniffles against Ethan's chest. "My face hurts so much..." Ethan doesn't look away from me. "Slap yourself. Ten times." I stare at him. "Fair is fair," he says. "Eye for an eye." I raise my hand. The first slap stings. Hard. I look at them. Wrapped around each other. They look at me like I'm the problem. I am the intruder. I'm already out. By the tenth slap, my face is numb. My palm is numb. Everything is numb. "Are we done?" My voice doesn't sound like mine. Ethan nods. I walk into the hospital. Tears pour down my face. I wipe them but they keep coming. I tell myself: *Don't cry. Don't give them the satisfaction.* But another voice answers back: *You already are the joke.* I am the joke. Betrayed by the two people I trusted most in this world. And what—I'm supposed to just let them live happily ever after? Let them keep stepping on me? Let Ethan hold my mother's life over my head forever? No. I pull out my phone and dial. Liam picks up on the second ring. His voice is lazy, amused. "Well, well. Chloe. What made you call me, Chloe? Finally dumping your boyfriend?" My voice comes out raw. Flat. Certain. "You want Ethan's designs for next quarter? I'm the designer. I haven't signed the licensing agreement. If you want them—they're yours." For a second, Liam says nothing. Then his voice turns serious. "What do you want in return?" "Get me and my mom out. And burn Ethan to the ground." A pause. Then: "Consider it done." ---
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