Betrayed by Both, I Became His Rival's Bride

The first time she walked into that exclusive club in the New York suburbs, her palms were damp with nerves.

She held on to my arm and whispered, "Tammy, everyone here looks so important."

"What if I embarrass you?"

I smiled and smoothed down her gown for her.

"What's there to be afraid of?"

"You're my friend."

"With me here, no one would dare treat you badly."

That gown was one I'd lent her.

That auction was one I'd brought her to.

Every connection I had, I introduced to her, one by one.

Back then, Clifford even warned me.

"Tamara, people in this circle are ruthless."

"Don't just bring anyone in."

I actually thought he was worried about me.

So I laughed, still holding his arm.

"Peggy isn't just anyone."

"She's my best friend."

He didn't say anything more.

But somewhere along the way, without my noticing,

his attitude toward Peggy changed.

The first time was at the auction.

Peggy didn't know the rules and raised her paddle by mistake.

A diamond necklace. Three point eight million.

She went white with fright, and the tears spilled over at once.

I was just about to go and sort it out with the organizers.

Clifford had already spoken first.

"Put it on my account."

Peggy stared at him, dazed.

He handed the paddle back to the attendant, his tone offhand.

"It's only a few million."

"What are you crying for?"

That night, there was an emerald brooch I'd had my eye on too.

Not expensive, but lovely.

Clifford glanced at it and said flatly,

"The Winfields are under a lot of scrutiny right now."

"It's not a good time for you to draw attention."

So I didn't bid.

Later that diamond necklace ended up around Peggy's neck.

She posted about it: "Made a fool of myself at my first auction, but luckily someone covered for me."

In the photo, you could see Clifford's watch.

I stared at that picture for a long time.

And still I told myself.

Clifford was only helping her for my sake.

The second time was at the racing meet.

Clifford loved racing.

Once, the only person who'd ever ridden in his passenger seat was me.

Then one time Peggy stood beside the car, eyes bright, and said,

"I've never ridden shotgun in a supercar before."

Clifford looked at her, then tossed the keys to me.

"You take the car behind."

"I'll run a lap with her."

I stood there, stunned.

He'd already pulled the door open for Peggy.

Over the roar of the engine, Peggy was laughing, so happy.

That same night, she posted online.

"First time riding shotgun, so scared my hands were shaking."

"Someone told me, don't be afraid."

Don't be afraid.

Those words had once belonged only to me.

The third time was before the engagement dinner.

I picked out a red dress.

But Clifford only gave it one glance.

"Too flashy. It doesn't suit you."

I looked down at the hem and, in the end, changed into the white he liked.

Yet half a month later, I saw that red dress on Peggy.

She spun around with a smile and asked Clifford, "Does it look good?"

Clifford looked at her, and for a moment something dazzled in his eyes.

"It suits you."

Later Peggy took my arm and said, as if in passing,

"Tammy, Clifford says I look more alive in red."

"You don't mind, do you?"

I smiled and said I didn't.

But the ache in my chest lingered for a long time.

Thinking about it now.

So this was how a person's place gets given away, little by little.

First a necklace.

Then the passenger seat.

Then a red dress.

And finally, tonight, this key card.