Owen Davis was cheating. The day I caught him, Owen was cheating. To stop me from walking out, he staggered into the kitchen, snatched a steak knife, and drew the blade savagely across his own wrist, sobbing so hard the sound choked in his throat. "Liz, if you won't forgive me, I swear, I’ll kill myself." Blood sprayed, flecking my face, blurring my vision. A sharp, sick ache tightened my chest, and my eyes burned. Looking at Owen, I felt utterly cold. "Owen, if you truly want to die," I said, my voice flat. "Don't do it in front of me." I walked over, took the knife from his slackened grip, and gave him the final word. "Owen, we're calling off the wedding." 1 "No! I won't call it off!" Ignoring the deep gash on his wrist, Owen lunged, clutching me in a hug so tight I could barely breathe. All I could hear was his ragged, crumbling voice. "I am not breaking up with you!" "Eliza Reed!" Owen grabbed my hand, his fingers slick with his own blood, and slapped it hard against his face. "Hit me, then!" "Slap me, scream at me, do whatever you want!" "Just don't call off the wedding, please! Don't leave me!" I watched the scarlet seep steadily from his wrist. The warm, sticky blood smeared my hand and his face, coiling around my heart like a vicious vine, tightening until I was suffocating. As my eyes met his, for a flashing moment, I remembered. I remembered Owen using that same face, those same desperate eyes, driven by pure, raw need, while he was buried in another woman. The image hit me, and I shoved him away with all my strength, stumbling to the bathroom. I vomited until my entire body ached and I felt hollowed out, but through the roar in my ears, I could still hear Owen's voice. "Wife, we're getting married right away!" "Wife!" "You're going to be my wife! My life depends on you!" The truth was, I never thought I would leave Owen. I never imagined there would be a hole in my life where Owen used to be. Just like I never imagined I’d find him naked, intimately tangled with someone else, shattering the illusion of our love. "Get out!" I backed away frantically until I hit the wall, cornered. I saw the look of wounded, complete devastation on his face as he screamed. "Get out!" Owen’s complexion turned stark white. He dropped to his knees in front of me, pleading, saying sorry, saying he’d made a mistake, that it was only a moment of madness, that he’d been drunk, that he couldn't help himself. "Liz." "You are the only one I have ever loved!" "I love you!" Owen lost too much blood. At the hospital, I sat in the silent hallway, watching the red light above the Emergency Room door. I was chilled to the bone, feeling trapped in a dead end. That's when his phone, which I still held, rang. It was the other woman. She called his name. Receiving no answer, she asked me, "Where is Owen?" "Who are you?" My throat was raw, like I’d swallowed glass. Before I could speak, I heard her voice, silky, yet confident. "You must be Eliza Reed." "Owen's fiancée." "But so what?" she purred. "As long as you haven't made it official, who's to say Owen will actually marry you?" "Eliza Reed." "I hear you were holding out on him, saving yourself for the wedding night, thinking that's what a good woman does. Well, you shouldn't blame Owen for straying and finding love elsewhere. Eliza, this is your own damn fault." 2 A loud buzzing filled my ears. My body felt as if it had been run over by a steamroller. It wasn't that Owen and I hadn't been close to that step. But every time, at the last moment, Owen would stop, gently cup my face, and tell me. "Liz." "You're different to me." "I cherish you," he’d say. "I want our first time to happen at the most perfect moment." And I believed it. I felt so incredibly lucky to have found such a good man in Owen, that he was a blessing, the best luck I’d ever had. Now, I listened to her mockery. "Owen told me that every time he tried to take things further, he'd look at your face and just… stop. Eliza Reed, have you honestly never wondered why?" Tears poured down my face. I swallowed the sourness rising in my throat, gazing at the still-lit red emergency light. Before she could say another word, I cut her off. "If you truly believe Owen loves you," I said. "Fine." My chest ached with a burning acid, almost unbearable, but I continued, "Then you tell him to call off the engagement." "If you’re so capable, then stop hiding in the shadows! Make Owen choose you!" My emotions were spiraling out of control. Before I could say more, a hand grabbed my hair, yanking my head back. Veronica Davis, Owen's mother, slapped me hard across the face. Before I could even register the pain, she hauled me up and slammed me onto the floor, screaming at me. "You tramp!" "If anything happens to my son, you will never pay enough, even if you die a thousand times!" Mrs. Davis's voice thundered. Standing meekly behind the Davis family were my own parents. My mother caught my eye, shaking her head, silently begging me to keep quiet, to endure the abuse. I knew they wanted me to submit. But when Mrs. Davis took off her high-heeled shoe and hurled it at my face, the impact made my nose bleed. I couldn't stop myself. "Then let's cancel it." Tears mixed with the blood streaming down my face, but I was defiant. "I won't marry him." I looked at my mother. "I am breaking the engagement with Owen!" "Oh, you worthless little bitch! You've got attitude now, do you?" Mrs. Davis raised her hand again, but my mother was faster. She slapped the other side of my face. "You apologize to Mrs. Davis right now!" "You tell them that you will never leave Owen as long as he wants you! Never!" My tears fell thick and fast as I looked at my mother's face. The heartbreak was suffocating. I wanted to tell her why, but she roared at me instead. "Say it now!" My mother’s fists rained down on me, each blow a sharp sting that drove me toward a breakdown. "Say it!" "Say you’ll never leave him unless he throws you out! Say it, you hear me!" "Mom!" I cried out, my eyes red and swollen. Just then, the emergency room light went dark. Everyone rushed forward to ask about Owen. But Owen, despite his exhaustion and injuries, pushed past them all, rushing toward me. He tried to pull me into a hug, crying out again. "I won't let us break up!" "Liz, please, don't leave me…" 3 I realized my life couldn't possibly get any worse. I sat by Owen’s hospital bed, listening as he explained everything—how his injury had nothing to do with me, how he took full responsibility for his cheating, and how my anger was completely justified. His eyes red-rimmed, Owen promised my parents. "Just this one time." "I will never betray Liz again." "I love Liz. I plan to marry her and spend my life with her." Then I heard Owen tell his family. "If you keep giving Liz a hard time, you will genuinely drive me to suicide." The Davis family adored Owen, their only son. Veronica Davis cried until she was broken, but she softened for her child's sake. She shot me a venomous glare before changing her tone, saying only, "You had better cherish my son." Owen squeezed my cold hand and whispered to me. "Liz, don't worry about your brother's tuition. I will fully support him. His future wedding, his car, his house—it's all covered. I'm his brother-in-law. We're family." Everyone smiled then. The widest, most relieved smiles belonged to my parents. All their anxieties seemed to have evaporated, and they looked at Owen with an added measure of warmth and adoration. The day I accompanied Owen home from the hospital, I saw Skye Foster, the woman who had called me and slept with Owen. Her eyes were red as she looked at him. As Owen and I walked past, she grabbed the corner of his jacket, crying softly. "Owen." "I just need to talk to you." Skye was no longer arrogant and aggressive toward me; her tone was humble and pleading. "Owen." "Just one conversation." I felt Owen's body stiffen. Meeting his conflicted gaze, I realized I had very little emotion left to give. I slipped my hand out of his, forcing a composed smile. "I'll wait for you at home." I got into the car. Owen’s text came immediately: [Wife, I promise I'll make things clear with her. She won't ever show her face again. Don't be upset.] I exited the chat and opened the new text from Skye. "But what can I say?" "All I have to do is shed a few tears, and Owen still fetches like a dog." The video the woman sent showed Owen following her into a hotel room, desperate to jump into bed. His hospital bandage had fallen to the floor. Her panting, intimate moans were like a toxic substance stealing my breath. I barely managed to keep the renewed wave of nausea down, rushing to the bathroom to dry-heave until my stomach felt completely empty. Then, my mother's voice message played. "Liz, what man doesn't fool around? Even your father looks at other women sometimes. I made it through it, and you will too." "A woman should prioritize her husband. You need to think about your brother, Liz." "Don't be so selfish." I sat in the empty house, surrounded by the new, brightly colored decorations for our wedding. It felt like even crying was no longer an option. I texted Owen. [Are you done?] 4 Owen returned the next day. Even with Skye's perfume clinging to his clothes, he was no longer avoiding me like he had at first. Instead, he constantly tried to test my boundaries. He had started out terrified of losing me, but now he understood that even if I wanted to leave, my parents would always be my obstacle. He seemed to finally realize that our break-up wasn't imminent. He became increasingly nonchalant in front of me, even taking to pinching my chin and saying, "Liz." "As long as you’re a good girl." "We'll be happy forever." "I promise," Owen’s skin reeked of the other woman's scent—so heavily I felt physically repulsed and wanted to throw up, but I forced myself to listen. "You will never have to go back to your family, to be sold off like a piece of property again." I listened to the contempt in his tone, and watched the scrutinizing way he looked at me. He told me, "My momentary lapse of judgment was because I respected you, Liz. I've never loved anyone the way I love you." "I just want you to understand." I understood. I knew I was supposed to agree with Owen, nod sweetly, say I understood and forgave him, and that I would love him forever. The words gathered in my throat. But I kept seeing the videos Skye sent me: from the hotel to the beach, to car rides, to forest escapades and camping trips. Every position, every intimate sound. Skye would always ask him. "Owen." "Whose body—mine or Eliza Reed's—attracts you more?" And Owen would answer without hesitation. "Yours." He would drive himself into a frenzy on her body, his face contorted with lust, and he’d tell her, "If she's my spiritual need, you're my primal, physiological desire." Skye had messaged me: "Eliza Reed. You’ll always lose if you try to compete with me." Now, looking at Owen, the compliant words I was meant to say jammed in my throat. I tried to speak, but just as I was about to tell Owen that I would love him for life, I couldn't hold it in anymore. I threw up. I threw up all over Owen. He no longer had the initial look of heartbreaking remorse. He simply grimaced with distaste and snapped one line. "Eliza Reed." "You need to be grateful for what you have." When Owen left, the house fell silent again. I looked at the white wedding dress hanging in the room, the fine crystals flashing—a dream I had once held for my entire life. Now, as I watched the soft moans on the projector screen, and heard the sounds of celebration rising from downstairs, I put on the wedding dress. I called Owen.
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