My line of work came with teeth, so my fiancé used my safety as an excuse for everything. Any time there was a "first" in our lives, he insisted my best friend, Cecilia, try it out before me—to make sure it was safe. The first time was an industry gala. Adam was a guest presenter. He gave the seat right beside him to Cecilia. "You're an undercover journalist," he whispered to me in the lobby, his hand resting lightly on the small of my back. "It's safer if you stay in the back, out of sight." It was the VIP balcony. Security was ironclad. Nobody was going to compromise my identity in a room full of heavily vetted donors and city officials. I stood near the shadow of the exit doors, watching from afar as he walked onto the stage, holding Cecilia’s hand to guide her down the steps. When the lights went up and the crowd surged toward the banquet hall, I was swept out through the side doors. Lost in the maze of service corridors, I called Adam’s cell. Cecilia answered. Her voice was light, high, and breathless with laughter. "I'm taking drinks for Adam tonight! He’s way too busy to talk right now. Just follow the exit signs, babe. If you really can't figure it out, go ask a security guard." A cold ache bloomed behind my ribs. Six months prior, while working an undercover story on illicit pharmaceuticals, I was forced to drink a glass of tainted liquor. I spent the night double over on the bathroom floor with gastric spasms. When I called Adam sobbing for help, he told me he was terrible at handling social situations and would never drink on anyone else's behalf. Yet there he was, letting Cecilia take drinks for him—and drinking for her. Three years later, the keys to our long-awaited brownstone were finally handed over. I pushed the front door open, expecting empty rooms and fresh paint. Instead, Cecilia walked out of the hallway wrapped in a heavy charcoal men's bathrobe. Adam was right behind her, a dry plush towel in his hands, gently drying the tips of her wet hair. "This neighborhood gets a lot of foot traffic," Adam said, his eyes skimming over me without a flicker of guilt. "I was worried someone you upset during your investigations might track you here. I had Cecilia stay over first to test the security." He stepped closer to her, his shoulder brushing hers, leaving barely two millimeters of air between them. "Don't overthink it," he added. Looking at the two of them, I realized something with sudden, brutal clarity. I wasn't being protected. I was the outsider. All that talk about "vetting" things for my safety, about "testing the waters"—it was just a convenient lie. A way for him to hand over everything that was supposed to be mine, wrapped in a neat bow, to Cecilia. If that was what he wanted, I was done standing in his way. ... "Rose, I checked out the place for you," Cecilia said smoothly, her tone devoid of any awkwardness. She walked past me into the master bedroom—the room meant for Adam and me—as if she already owned the floorboards beneath her feet. "The neighbors are all professionals, and the building security is strict. You can move your stuff in tomorrow. Oh, and the Ferris wheel near Adam’s office? Quiet during the weekdays. Completely safe for you." Adam followed her inside, towel still clutched in his hand. He hadn't looked me in the eye once. On my way over, I’d been caught in a sudden downpour. Rushing out of the subway, I’d slipped on the wet embankment and fallen into the mud. Rainwater mixed with grime was still dripping down my neck, soaking the collar of my coat. "Go take a look at the layout," Adam commanded, his voice cold and flat, the exact tone he used when delegating busywork to his lab assistants. "Cecilia picked out the interior design according to her taste. See if you like it. If there’s anything you don’t, we can tweak it—but only the wallpaper shade or the placement of small decor." Yet when he looked back at Cecilia, his expression softened instantly. "When did the keys come in?" I asked, releasing my grip on the door handle and walking into the living room. My knees felt hollow. I knew asking wouldn't change a thing. I had already decided to walk away. But I needed the truth, if only to give myself closure for the five years I’d wasted on him. "When we signed the papers, this unit was completely unfurnished. When were all these furniture pieces and renovations added?" Adam’s jaw tightened. "Why do you have to question everything?" he snapped. "Does the timeline really matter? What matters is that you can move in today. This is going to be your home." There was nothing about this place that felt like home. There wasn't a single trace of me in it. The interior was decorated in Cecilia’s favorite vintage cream aesthetic. The walls were covered in the warm almond-coffee wallpaper she’d been obsessing over on Pinterest for months. In the guest room, a large glass terrarium sat on a mahogany side table. Inside, coiled against a heat lamp, was a corn snake—a reptile Adam knew I’d been terrified of since childhood. And on the windowsill sat a wide ceramic planter filled with baby’s breath. My throat tightened. I was severely allergic to gypsophila. "I didn't tell you earlier because I wanted it to be a surprise," Adam said, stepping into the hallway with an open bottle of walnut-infused oat milk, handing it toward me with an air of practiced sacrifice. "Having Cecilia stay here was purely for your benefit. Given your line of work, if one of those criminals you exposed targeted you, the consequences would be fatal." He looked at me as if he deserved a medal. Five years ago, when we first started dating, I told him about the time I nearly suffocated from a walnut allergy as a child. It had left me with severe anxiety around nuts of any kind. Back then, he had squeezed my hands, his eyes full of tenderness. "I can’t believe you went through something so scary, Rose. Don’t worry. From now on, I’ll keep you safe." For a long time, he kept that promise. Walnuts vanished from his apartment, his car, his life. Until Cecilia arrived. "Get that away from me," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "I don't drink anything with walnuts." Adam’s arm froze in midair. A flash of genuine panic crossed his feature, but it was gone in a fraction of a second, replaced by his usual defensive mask. "Right. Sorry. Cecilia likes it." Cecilia immediately shot Adam a reproachful glare. "Even if I like it, you can't bring it around Rose! You know she can't touch it. We shouldn't keep stuff like this in the house." She snatched the bottle from his hand and tossed it into the trash can, setting down rules in our home as if she were the lady of the manor. "From now on, nothing with nuts is allowed in this building!" Then, with a sweet smile, she picked up a glass tumbler from the counter and offered it to me. "Here, have some fresh mango juice instead." Mangoes were my other deadly trigger. When Cecilia and I first met in college, she hadn't known. She offered me a slice of mango tart. I ended up in the ICU for a week with anaphylactic shock. Back then, she had sat by my hospital bed, sobbing, clutching my hand. "I’ll protect you for the rest of my life, Rose. I’ll never let anything hurt you again." Now, she was the one holding the blade. "I don't drink mango juice either," I said quietly, looking her dead in the eye. "Unless you're trying to put me back in the hospital." I turned on my heel and walked out the door. Behind me, Adam’s irritated voice cut through the air. "You have so many restrictions, Rose! Who could possibly keep track of all of them? Stop making such a huge deal out of everything!" I remembered the night he proposed. "You have so many little quirks and allergies, but I’ve memorized every single one. No matter where we go, I’ll remember. Always." As I reached the main gate of the complex, I overheard two security guards chatting near the guardhouse. "Hey, the couple in Unit 302... they've been living here for two years already, right? When are they finally getting married?" "Oh yeah, the professor and his research assistant! Smart pair, great fit. They look like a match made in heaven." A match made in heaven. My feet felt as heavy as lead. Unit 302 in Building 3 was the exact brownstone Adam and I had bought. They had been living here together for two years. No wonder he’d been spending so many late nights "at the university laboratory." No wonder he rarely came home to our old apartment. He hadn't been analyzing data. He’d been playing house with Cecilia. The final ember of warmth in my chest flickered and died. I headed straight back to my rental unit and pulled out my suitcases. A week ago, my editor, Sam, had pulled strings to secure me a three-year assignment as an overseas investigative correspondent. I had pushed the start date back by two months, desperate to stay close to Adam before our wedding. I didn't want to delay it anymore. That evening, my phone buzzed. It was a long text from Cecilia. "Rose, are you still mad about earlier? I really didn't mean to forget about your allergies. Adam and I are at the venue right now, testing the wedding rehearsal flow for you. Security here is super tight, so no dangerous people from your old stories could ever sneak in." Attached was a photo. Cecilia was wearing the custom lace wedding gown I had spent four months designing. Adam was holding her hand, looking down at her with an intensity I hadn't seen in years. They were standing on a stage covered in fresh white roses, gazing into each other's eyes under the warm spotlight. It was the first time Adam had ever stepped onto a wedding stage. The last time I had asked him to take engagement photos with me, he had frowned, his patience running thin. "Again with this? We’ve established that Cecilia needs to test things out for us first to make sure there are no security risks. Once everything is confirmed safe, then you can do it!" Ever since an unknown man followed me home during an undercover story three years ago, Cecilia had used that incident as an unbreakable shield. She insisted on "testing" everything first. I had explained to her a hundred times that I was new to field reporting back then and didn't know how to protect myself, but after three years in investigative journalism, I knew how to handle threats. She refused to listen. She hid behind the word "protection" while systematically taking every "first" that belonged to Adam and me. Our first formal dinner date. Our first music festival. Our first weekend getaway to the coast. And now, the walkthrough of our own wedding. Around eight in the evening, the front door opened. Adam walked in, carrying a bouquet of white lilies. "Don't be angry anymore," he said, setting the flowers on the dining table. "I spoke too harshly earlier. I'm sorry." He stepped closer, reaching out to touch my arm. "Cecilia helped you finalize the wedding date. It’s set for the eighth of next month." The eighth of next month. March 8th. My mother’s death anniversary. My entire body went numb. My fingers started to shake uncontrollably. Every year on that day, I spent hours alone at the cemetery. Five years ago, when Adam and I first got together, I had cried in his arms and told him that March 8th was the one day of the year I could never celebrate anything. He didn't remember my throat closing up from walnuts. He didn't remember my allergic reaction to mangoes. And he had completely wiped my mother’s death anniversary from his mind. Cecilia knew. She had known for ten years. She had picked that date on purpose. "Are you trying to destroy me?" I asked, my voice trembling so hard I could barely articulate the words. Adam froze. "What?" "She picks out my house. She picks out my decor. She walks my wedding aisle, wears my dress, and chooses the day I stand at the altar," I said, a bitter, hollow laugh escaping my chest. "Since she’s managing every single detail of my life, why don't the two of you just go ahead and plan my funeral, too?" "What the hell are you talking about?!" Adam shoved me back in frustration. I lost my balance, my foot catching on the rug, and the back of my head slammed hard against the sharp edge of the coffee table. A dull, thumping pain shot through my scalp. But physical pain was nothing compared to the agony tearing through my chest. "Rose!" Adam reached down, his hands extending toward me—until his phone rang in his pocket. He pulled it out. "Cecilia." Without a second thought, he withdrew his hands and stepped back. "Okay, stay right there, don't move. I'm on my way!" he blurted into the receiver. He turned and bolted toward the front door, slamming it open. Before rushing out, he turned back to glare at me on the floor. "This is on you! Cecilia goes out of her way to protect you, and you treat her like trash! Now look what happened—one of the criminals you pissed off locked her in a deserted warehouse on the dock! Are you happy now?!" ... By the time I stumbled into the emergency room hallway, Cecilia was sobbing softly against Adam’s chest. "I was so terrified!" she whimpered, her hands clutching his shirt. "I thought I’d never see you again! You have no idea how cruel those men were... they mistook me for Rose. They didn't hold back at all! If I hadn't managed to run, the baby... the baby wouldn't have survived!" The hallway seemed to tilt. "Baby?" Adam’s expression was grim. His hand rested gently over her lower abdomen, his voice dropping into a tender murmur. "I'm sorry. I let my guard down. But don't worry—no matter what happens, I will never let anyone hurt you or our child." I stood there at the end of the corridor, holding a small plastic bag of ice for my head. It slipped from my numb fingers and hit the linoleum floor with a wet thud. The two of them turned around. Adam didn't look remotely guilty at being caught. Instead, his eyes darkened with immediate rage. "Look at the mess you caused!" he barked, pointing an accusing finger at me. "If you didn't spend your life digging up trouble for your stories, Cecilia wouldn't have had to go through this horror! Aren't you going to apologize to her? Aren't you going to say thank you?!" Cecilia clutched his sleeve, her eyes wide and full of unshed tears. "Adam, please don't yell at Rose. It's fine. I volunteered to take the risk for her. As long as I can shield her from danger, it doesn't matter what happens to me." She looked at me, then quickly covered her stomach with her hand, putting on an anxious, pathetic display. "Rose, I... I just wanted to make sure Adam was healthy enough to have kids. He is. You can marry him and start trying for a baby with total peace of mind. Don't worry about me—I'm only two months along. I can get an abortion anytime." I stared at her, stunned into absolute silence. She had slept with my fiancé, gotten pregnant, and was now wrapping her betrayal in the cloak of noble self-sacrifice—making me look like a heartless villain for standing there bleeding from my head. Adam wrapped his arm tighter around her shoulders. "What are you talking about?! Abortion ruins a woman's health. That child is mine, Cecilia. I'm going to take responsibility for you." He glared back at me. "Cecilia did this for your sake! She took a terrifying risk while pregnant, and you're standing there with an attitude? You should be thanking her!" Thanking her? A cold, mirthless laugh broke from my lips. She took my home. She slept with my man. She carried his baby. And she stole every milestone of my relationship under the guise of "protecting" me. And I was expected to bow down and express my gratitude? "Don't force Rose, Adam... this is all my fault..." Cecilia whimpered, pulling back slightly. "Nobody's forcing me," I said, staring straight through her weak act. "I'll say it. Thank you." "Thank you for moving into my house. Thank you for seducing my fiancé and getting pregnant. Thank you for tearing down every belief I had about friendship. And thank you... for showing me what a pathetic pair of hypocrites you really are." "That’s enough!" Before I could finish the sentence, Adam stepped forward and slammed me back against the doorframe. My head throbbed. On my way to the hospital, feverish from the rain and frantic over Cecilia’s panicked call, I had fallen twice in the dark. A passing car’s side mirror had scraped deep into my left forearm, tearing open a raw, jagged wound. The impact against the doorframe tore the wound wide open again. Blood soaked instantly through my jacket sleeve. "Adam... my arm," I gasped, the pain turning my vision spotted. "I'm bleeding out. Open the door... let me sit down—" Adam didn't even look at my arm. He pulled out his keys, unlocked his car in the parking lot, and shoved me into the passenger seat, locking the doors behind us before I could scramble out. "Stop acting," he sneered, sliding into the driver's seat and hitting the gas. "You're just jealous that Cecilia moved into the brownstone. You're jealous she’s carrying my baby. I know I screwed up on the timeline, but you don't get to act like a monster and throw vile accusations at her!" The car sped out of the city, leaving the bright streetlights behind. Twenty minutes later, he slammed on the brakes in a pitch-black, deserted alley near the industrial district. He reached across, unlocked my door, and shoved me out into the dirt. "If you don't experience the terror Cecilia felt tonight, you'll never learn how to empathize with what she went through!" he cold-bloodedly declared. I collapsed onto the gravel, clutching my bleeding arm. "Adam... no. I can't be here. Please. You have to take me with you." He ignored my pleas completely, pulled the door shut, and hit the door lock. The cold night wind whistled through the abandoned alleyway. The loss of blood was making my head spin, and my strength was draining fast. Adam had no idea what this alley was. This was a blacklisted zone for investigative journalists. Three years ago, my team and I had spent two months undercover here, busting a human trafficking ring and shutting down an illegal gambling den. The people who frequented these alleys were the very criminals I had put behind bars—men who had sworn revenge on the reporter who ruined them. There were no streetlights, no security cameras, and no police patrols. "Adam... wait..." I gasped, dragging my body inch by inch through the mud toward the red glow of his taillights. Fifty yards away, Adam was standing outside his car under a lone streetlight, his hands casually shoved into his coat pockets, waiting to see if I would crawl back and beg for forgiveness. "Adam!" Behind me, heavy footsteps crunched on gravel. Three dark figures emerged from the shadows, carrying wooden baseball bats. The moment the lead man’s eyes landed on my face, his lip curled into a sadistic grin. They recognized me immediately. I screamed his name with every drop of air left in my lungs, pointing toward the light. The man who had promised to guard me with his life didn't even turn his head. He got into his car, put it in reverse, and drove away without a single second of hesitation. Just as the first heavy bat swung toward my shoulder, headlights blinded the alley. An SUV tore around the corner, engine roaring, and slammed to a halt between me and the men. The driver’s side door flew open. Sam, my editor, leaped out, dragged me into the passenger seat, and hit the gas, leaving the shouting men behind in a cloud of exhaust. He drove straight to the international terminal. Before I boarded the flight, Sam handed me a thick manila envelope. "You need to see this before you leave," he said gently. My phone buzzed in my pocket. A text from Adam. "I still love you, Rose, and I still intend to marry you. But Cecilia is carrying my child, and I can't abandon her. If you agree to accept her and the baby into our lives, I’ll turn the car around right now and pick you up." A cold laugh broke from my lips. I opened Sam’s envelope, scanned the documents, attached every single file to a draft, and sent it straight to Adam’s phone.
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