I drive like a woman possessed, my hands clenched around the steering wheel, knuckles white. My mind is a blur of fury, disbelief, and that sick, hollow feeling of betrayal gnawing at my insides.
We’re engaged. We’ve talked about our future, about kids, about growing old together. And now he’s out there, cozying up to someone else?
I grip the steering wheel tighter, my nails digging into my palms. I can’t stop imagining him with her — some girl I don’t even know, laughing, touching him, acting like I don’t exist.
The flu has my head swimming, but anger is what fuels me now, pushing me forward.
The Sinclair Mansion looms ahead, all grand and glowing like something out of a movie. Of course he’s here, at one of the fanciest parties in town, making a spectacle of himself.
I park haphazardly, barely caring if I’m blocking someone in, and march up to the entrance. The doorman doesn’t even stop me. He must see the fire in my eyes and decide not to mess with me.
The moment I step inside, the noise hits me — music, laughter, chatter. Everyone here is dressed to impress, but I barely notice. I’m scanning the room, my eyes darting over faces, until I find him.
There he is, lounging at a poker table like he owns the place, a cigar in one hand, and a girl sitting on his lap. She’s topless and whispering something in his ear.
I feel like I’m going to be sick, but I swallow it down and force myself forward, every step deliberate.
Alex wins his poker round, and the girl leans in, sweeping up his winnings. He takes a slow drag of his cigar, savoring it, like he hasn’t got a care in the world.
“Looks like it’s my night, fellas!” he announces, grinning.
I can’t breathe. My chest tightens as I watch the girl lick his ear, while he just smirks, giving her a playful slap on the ass before leaning in to kiss her. Full-on, deep, and unashamed.
My heart shatters, but I don’t cry. No, the tears don’t come. Instead, something dark and fierce rises inside me. I walk up to him, my hands trembling, and stop just short of the table, forcing myself to stay steady.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
He looks up lazily, his eyes narrowing as if I’m an inconvenience, as if I’m the one intruding.
“I thought you were sick.”
The girl giggles, her eyes trailing over me with this smug, mocking look.
“Ewww, she does look sick,” she says, and I recognize her now — Eliza, one of his assistants. My cheeks burn with humiliation, but I clench my jaw and hold my ground.
I believed him. I trusted him. And now, as I see the smug grin spread across his face, I know I’m done playing nice. I’m done being humiliated.
I take a step closer, my voice low but full of venom. “If you think you’re getting away with this, Alex, you’re dead wrong.”