Chapter 3

Mark had promised me a wedding.

He promised me that once Olivia was pregnant, he would make me his wife.

I waited for that promise to come true for fifty-nine agonizing nights.

Fifty-nine nights I spent alone in our bed, while he was in his sister-in-law's arms, fulfilling his "duty."

Now, the proof of his ultimate betrayal was splashed across every entertainment website and social media feed.

A photo of him on one knee, holding a glittering diamond ring up to a tearfully smiling Olivia.

The headline read: "Artist Mark Collins Proposes to Late Brother's Widow, Fulfilling a Legacy of Love."

A legacy of love.

The words felt like a physical blow.

My love, my five years of devotion, had been erased. I was a footnote, a secret he had kept while he built his perfect public story.

I scrolled through the pictures, my hand trembling. There they were, kissing. There they were, hugging his parents. There they were, holding champagne flutes, toasting to their future.

My future. The one he had promised me.

I stayed locked in the bathroom for hours, the cold tile floor a small comfort against my burning skin. The pain was so intense it felt like my body was tearing itself apart from the inside. My heart was a shattered mess, and every breath was a struggle.

I felt hollowed out, empty.

Then, my phone buzzed. A message from an unknown number.

I opened it.

It was a picture. A close-up of the engagement ring on Olivia's hand.

Beneath it, a single sentence.

"He was never yours."

I stared at the message, the words blurring through my tears. The cruelty of it was breathtaking. She wasn't content with just taking him; she had to rub my face in it. She had to make sure I knew I was a loser.

A bitter laugh escaped my lips.

It was true. He was never mine.

I was just a convenient placeholder, a fool who warmed his bed and kept his house while he pursued his real goal.

I was the biggest idiot in the world.

I stood up, my legs shaky. I looked at my reflection in the mirror. My face was pale, my eyes red and swollen. I didn't recognize the woman staring back at me.

She looked broken.

But as I looked closer, I saw something else in her eyes. A flicker of something hard and cold.

Enough.

I was done crying. I was done feeling sorry for myself.

I deleted the message from Olivia. I blocked her number.

Then I went into the living room and started to pack.