Chapter 4

In the hallway, away from the prying eyes of his friends, Wesley's mask of civility dropped completely.

"Are you trying to ruin me?" he snarled, his face inches from mine. "That was a joke for our friends, Madisyn! You made it awkward. You embarrassed me. You embarrassed Gabrielle."

I looked at him, at the fury in his eyes, and felt nothing but a profound, chilling emptiness. The man I thought I knew didn't exist. He never had.

To survive the rest of the night, I had to retreat. I had to play the part he expected.

"You're right," I said, forcing a tremor into my voice. "I'm sorry. I'm just... feeling a little insecure. The wedding, the condo... it's a lot. It was a stupid joke."

His anger subsided slightly, replaced by condescending pity.

"Of course you are," he said, patting my arm. "It's a big step. Let's just go home. We'll forget this happened."

In the car, he was uncharacteristically attentive. He put his hand on my knee, asked if I was feeling okay. A tiny, stupid part of me, the part that had loved him for eleven years, flickered with a pathetic sliver of hope. Maybe I had overreacted. Maybe he did care.

Then my phone buzzed.

It was another anonymous message. This time, it was a screenshot. A year-old, "friends-only" Instagram post. It was a photo of Wesley and Gabrielle, the same day they signed the condo papers. They were toasting with champagne, their faces alight with shared joy.

The caption, posted by Gabrielle, read: "To our future! 🥂"

Wesley's comment below it was even worse: "Whatever you want, you get. Always."

The same day. It was the exact same day he had come home and asked me to move in with him, telling me it was "our first real step" toward a future together.

The hope inside me didn't just flicker and die. It was violently extinguished, leaving behind nothing but cold, hard ash. He hadn't just been lying to me for the past few days. He had been lying to me for years. This was a long, calculated deception.

We pulled up to the condo building. As I got out of the car, my legs unsteady, a group of women emerged from the shadows of the entrance. I recognized them from the building's welcome mixer. The HOA board.

Before I could process what was happening, they swarmed me.

"There she is! The homewrecker!" one of them screamed.

Cold, sticky liquid-a cocktail, a soda, I don't know-splashed across my face and down my dress. Another drink hit my back. They were yelling, their faces twisted with self-righteous fury.

"We saw the HOA records, you tramp! This is Gabrielle Cullen's home!"

"How dare you try to steal another woman's fiancé!"

I looked past them, searching for Wesley. He was standing by the car, his face a mask of shock, but he wasn't moving. He was hesitating, calculating the political fallout of defending me versus placating these women, Gabrielle's new allies.

His intervention, when it finally came, was slow and pathetic. "Ladies, please, there's a misunderstanding..."

But it was too late. The humiliation, the shock, the final, crushing weight of his betrayal-it was all too much. The world went fuzzy at the edges, the angry shouts dissolving into a dull roar. My knees gave out, and I collapsed onto the cold, wet pavement.