My Bride's Groom was Her High School Sweetheart

Diana clearly didn't expect me to show up at the party so soon. Her eyes widened in panic, and she rushed to pull Chloe away from the bastard.

But it was clear my fiancé had drunk way too much to even notice my presence. She shoved Chloe's hand and cursed and slurred, "Fuck! Get off me! Don't fucking touch me!"

She was so wasted, her body limp and heavy against the bastard's chest. Her face looked red as flames; eyes half-lidded like she couldn't even tell what year it was—much less than she was supposed to be getting married to me in a few days. Her hand clung to his arm tighter, fingers digging in like she never wanted to be away from him ever again.

I'd never seen her like that before. She was never like that to me.

With the room falling into silence, I could hear Diana whispering in between her gritted teeth. "Chloe, come on! Desmond's here to take you home!"

Diana grabbed her best friend's arm and tried to pull her up. But Chloe wasn't having it. She was dead weight, all slack limbs and muttering more curses.

Took two more of her friends to finally pry her fingers off the bastard's arm. When they finally did, she slumped back onto the couch like a ragdoll, her hair a mess, strands sticking to her sweaty forehead.

Diana turned to me, scrambling to explain like I didn't already know what was going on.

"Uh... Desmond, this is Jaxson. Jaxson Wilde," she said. She sounded too cheerful, but I could hear her secretly catching her breath. I could tell she was trying to salvage the moment.

"He's an old high school buddy. He went abroad in sophomore year, and he just got back today. 'Just dropped by for a little get-together, you know, and well… Chloe... She drank too much, that's all. Hope you don't think too much of it..."

I should've snapped. I should've demanded to know why the hell they let him be at Chloe's bachelorette party, knowing how she had never really let him go. Why did they let her get drunk around him, knowing full well she and I were about to get married?

Why didn't they stop him?

Why didn't they stop her?

Maybe before, maybe a while back, I would've lost it. I would've gone nuts.

But instead, I just gave her a smile so fake and tight I thought my jaw would crack.

Jaxson glanced at me, his eyes almost curious, like he was trying to figure me out. Maybe he's trying to see if I'd make a scene.

Then Diana started introducing me, "And oh, Jaxson, this is Desmond. Desmond Montgomery, Chloe's fiancé."

That's when Chloe, half-asleep on the couch, suddenly lifted her head and cut in. Her voice was thick with alcohol but sharp enough to slice through me. "Friend!" she corrected. "He's just a friend!"

At that moment, I felt my hand clench so hard under the sleeve of my coat, my nails digging into my palm. It hurt, but the pain was the only thing keeping me from breaking down right there.

Chloe's friends around us shifted uncomfortably, and I could see the pity in their eyes. They were staring at me and didn't know what to do.

They probably knew it wasn't the first time Chloe refused to admit I was her fiancé.

She never wanted to post anything about us online, and she didn't want us to show up at work together, either. She also didn't want to invite our families to our wedding.

I should've known it'd end like this. But eight years, man. Eight years, and I still wanted to believe it was worth something.

I forced another smile and nodded at Jaxson, playing along as if none of it hurt.

"Hey, dude. Yup. I'm Chloe's friend. Here to pick her up. By the way, you look a lot older than I remember in the photos."

That made the room go dead silent, and I could feel the tension.

Jaxson just shrugged and gave me this lazy grin like none of it bothered him. He grabbed a cigarette from the table and lit it up.

I glanced at Chloe, but the smell didn't seem to bother her. That got me. She never let me smoke around her. She'd make such a big deal out of it. But with him, she didn't even flinch.

As soon as Jaxson reached for the fruit platter on the table, though, she sat straight up. Her eyes were suddenly wide with concern, like she was fully alert. She slurred, "Hey! You're allergic to mangoes, remember? You can't eat that!"

He laughed, shook his head, and pointed at the platter. "Chloe, that's watermelon. You're really drunk."

And that was it for me. Something inside just snapped.

I've been telling her for years that I'm allergic to seafood and that pollen breaks out my skin.

But she'd always suggest seafood restaurants for dates and always wanted flowers.

Yet there she was, remembering his damn mango allergy from ten years ago like it was etched into her soul.

I barely held my shit together, but I kept my face blank and yanked her off the couch. I dragged her downstairs while she was practically deadweight, her legs stumbling and barely supporting her own weight.

As we reached the exit, Jaxson even had the guts to follow us out, his eyes still taunting.

"Hey, dude. Chloe can't handle alcohol well," he said like I hadn't figured that out already. "And she's allergic to most hangover meds. You should make her honey water when you get her home. Not too hot though, around sixty degrees. Anything hotter? She'll have a killer headache tomorrow morning."

She never told me that. Not once. Not in eight years.

I clenched my teeth, didn't say a word, just turned to the cab when it stopped near us.

But the bastard called out again. "Hey, why don't I give you my number? You can hit me up if anything happens tonight."

I froze. And he wasn't even done.

"Oh, and keep an eye on her while she sleeps. She kicks off her comforter when she's had too much to drink," he said with a smirk, "so you'll want to cover her up. If she catches a cold, she'll wake up sick tomorrow."

I could feel my nails digging into my palm in one hand again, practically breaking my skin, and I imagined it was his eyes and mouth.

I stared at him for a long time. My fist itched the longer I looked at him in the eye.

I nodded eventually. We exchanged numbers, and I nearly lost it when I saw his home screen.

It was the two of them. From ten years ago. Holding hands. Smiling.

In that pic, they looked so innocent, so happy, like nothing could tear them apart.

That was it. I turned away, shoved Chloe into the back seat, and climbed in. The door shut, and for the first time, I could feel the tears burning in my eyes.

The driver pulled off, and I couldn't hold it in anymore. I bit my lip so hard I could taste my blood; fists clenched so tight the veins on the back of my hand were straining under my skin.

I wanted to scream, shake Chloe awake, and ask if she ever loved me back, even just a little.

If she said yes, I might beg her to stay with me forever. Maybe I'd tell my supervisor I changed my mind, that I wasn't leaving her, that I loved her more than my career.

After all, I was there when Jaxson left her.

And I was there every damn day she waited for him to come back.

Why couldn't she see she deserved me better than him?

I'd heard all the talk about high school sweethearts.

People say you can't beat them—no matter how much you love someone, no matter how long you stay with them, you'll always lose to the person who was there first.

I used to think that's just bull. I thought if you loved someone the way they deserved to be loved and stuck it out through the hard times, they'd eventually love you back.

I believed in that. For eight years, I believed it.

But I looked at Chloe beside me. Oh, I loved her for eight years, and I could love her longer than that.

But in the end, suddenly, her high school sweetheart was back when she was almost mine forever.