Left at the Altar, Chased by Lies

Hayden let out a relieved breath. "Oh, I forgot—you don’t understand French. My bad. Damien and I are just used to speaking it."

I didn’t break my gaze, keeping my eyes locked on him. My stare must’ve been enough to make him squirm because he immediately tensed, then quickly mumbled something and bolted out of the room.

Two years ago, I wouldn’t have understood a word of what they’d been saying. But I worked hard to learn French, desperate to understand Damien.

And yet, the first words I ever heard spoken in that language pierced through me like a dagger.

...

"Camille, look! I made this soup for you. Try it!"

Damien placed a bowl of chicken soup in front of me like he was presenting some kind of masterpiece. His eyes were wide, full of warmth and anticipation, like I was supposed to be grateful.

How long had he been pretending? Wasn’t he tired of all the lies?

"That’s very thoughtful of you, but I’m not really in the mood for soup," I said, pushing his hand away and turning over to lie back down, closing my eyes.

I saw the flicker of disappointment cross his face before he quickly masked it. Without saying another word, he set the bowl down and left the room.

It wasn’t until later, when I saw the intimacy between him and Naomi in that hospital room, that I realized—my heart wasn’t even aching anymore.

It was numb.

I turned to leave, but as I did, I locked eyes with Naomi.

She smirked, a mocking glint in her eyes.

Was she laughing at how every man I’d ever loved had walked away?

Or was she savoring the fact that I had given everything—believing in love, in happiness—only to have it all come crashing down as a lie?

I lowered my head, unable to even muster the strength to confront her. I turned back to my room, feeling utterly drained.

Right then, I realized I was just… so tired.

...

I sat on the bed for what felt like hours, lost in thought. After a while, I grabbed my phone and called Dr. Jerry Adams, the director of the Antarctic Research Institute.

"Dr. Adams, I want to join the cave exploration mission."

There was a pause on the other end before he spoke. His voice had a cautious edge. "Camille, are you sure about this? The mission’s classified, and it’s incredibly dangerous. You've just recovered, I’m not sure you're physically ready for something like this."

I glanced down at the ring on my finger. "I can do it."

"Alright," he sighed, "I’ll send you the schedule and necessary precautions. Camille... you’re just as brave as your mother. Honestly, after everything that happened three years ago, I didn’t think you’d even want to step foot in Antarctica again."

I had thought the same. I had sworn I’d never go back.

But now? I was ready.

Three years ago, our research team, led by Damien, was deep in the snow-capped mountains on an expedition.

Out of nowhere, Naomi screamed—a piercing, blood-curdling sound that cut through the silence like a knife.

Before any of us could react, the ground shook beneath our feet. A roar filled the air as a massive avalanche descended, swallowing everything in its path.

And then, in that instant, I saw it all.

Aaron, my fiancé at the time, let go of my hand without a second thought.

No hesitation.

No panic.

It's just a cold decision.

He turned and bolted straight toward Naomi, his face etched with fear, but it was all for her.

Meanwhile, me? I was forgotten.

The snow hit with such force that it knocked me off my feet, throwing me like a ragdoll toward the edge of a cliff.

The wind howled in my ears as the snow lashed my face, and I reached out, grasping for something—anything—to hold on to. But all I caught was cold, empty air.

I was about to fall into the abyss when suddenly someone grabbed me.

'Damien...'

He lunged, throwing himself in front of me and pulling me into his arms as we tumbled together.

When we finally came to a stop, we were just inches from the cliff’s edge.

His face was pale, his lips stained with blood from the impact, but the first thing he asked was—

"Are you okay?"

Since my mom passed, that was the first time anyone had shown me real concern.

Or so I thought.

He played his part too well.