Chapter 3

Looking at them now, Liam shielding Brittany as if I were the one who had attacked her, my mind drifted back to the beginning. Back to the day Brittany had returned to the country after living abroad for five years.

Before she came back, Liam was a different person. He was attentive, loving. He swore to me that his childhood friendship with Brittany was just that-a thing of the past.

"She was my best friend growing up, Chloe, that's all," he had told me a year into our relationship when I first saw old photos of them together, their arms slung around each other, looking more like a couple than friends. "We haven't spoken in years. You have nothing to worry about. You're my future."

I believed him. I wanted to believe him.

Then, six months ago, Brittany came back.

The change in Liam was immediate and drastic. It was like a switch had been flipped. Suddenly, his phone was always buzzing with texts from her. Our quiet evenings were interrupted by her frantic calls about some minor crisis-a leaky faucet, a bad dream, a fight with her on-again, off-again boyfriend.

Liam became her personal handyman, therapist, and chauffeur, all rolled into one.

He would leave our dinner to go fix her Wi-Fi. He canceled a weekend trip we had planned for months because Brittany "really needed a friend" after a breakup. He spent more time at her apartment than he did at ours, always with the same excuse: "She's all alone here, Chloe. She has no one else."

The excuses became more and more absurd.

One time, he asked me to stop wearing my favorite jasmine-scented perfume.

"Why?" I had asked, confused.

"Brittany is allergic," he said, not meeting my eyes. "It gives her a headache."

"Brittany doesn't live with us, Liam," I pointed out, my patience wearing thin.

"I know, but sometimes she comes over, and the smell lingers. It's not a big deal, just use a different one."

It felt like a very big deal to me. I was being asked to change my habits in my own home to cater to the sensitivities of a woman I barely knew, a woman who was slowly but surely taking over my life.

I felt like I was living with a ghost. Her preferences dictated our meals, her schedule dictated our plans, and her emotional state dictated his mood. I wasn't his partner anymore; I was an inconvenient third party in his relationship with her.

He had promised me a future, a marriage, a life together. But looking at him now, defending the woman who had just destroyed our wedding day, I realized the truth.

His promise was a lie. My role in his life wasn't as his future wife. It was as a placeholder, a temporary fixture until the real star of his life returned to center stage.

The whole thing-our engagement, our relationship, my love for him-it was all just a joke.

And I was the punchline.