My Fiancé Cheated While I Tried on Wedding Dresses

Two days later, the phone rang.

It was two in the afternoon. I was sitting on the sofa, staring out at the gray Manhattan sky.

I picked it up.

"Suite 1402 at the Four Seasons," Damon said. His voice was flat and dry. He sounded like he was dictating a memo to an intern. "The bed needs to be stripped and remade. Do it before four."

He didn't say hello. He didn't ask how I was. He didn't even wait for me to answer. He just hung up.

I held the dead phone against my ear.

I knew what the room was. I knew who had been in that bed. A normal person would have thrown the phone through the window. A normal person would have screamed.

I didn't do either.

For seven years, I had made his life easy. I had ironed his shirts, bandaged his knuckles after fights, and cleaned up his messes. When you do something for seven years, your body moves before your mind can catch up. A deep, heavy numbness took over my legs.

I stood up. I put on my coat and walked out the door.

The hotel lobby was warm and smelled of white lilies. The front desk clerk handed me the keycard without looking at me. Damon had already arranged it.

I rode the elevator up to the fourteenth floor. The carpet in the hallway was thick and quiet.

I swiped the keycard. The lock clicked, and the heavy door pushed open.

The air inside hit me first. It smelled like sex, expensive room spray, and heavy vanilla perfume.

Scottie’s perfume.

I walked into the bedroom. The king-sized bed was completely wrecked. The Egyptian cotton sheets were tangled in knots. Pillows were scattered across the floor, and an empty champagne flute lay tipped on its side on the nightstand.

My stomach churned, but my face stayed blank. I walked to the edge of the mattress. I reached down, grabbed the corner of the fitted sheet, and yanked it free.

The bathroom door swung open.

Scottie walked out.

She wore a plush white hotel robe, tied loosely at the waist. Her dark hair was damp at the ends. She held a glass of iced water in one hand. She wasn't surprised to see me. She had been waiting in there. Her eyes were bright and mocking.

"Look at you," Scottie said softly. She took a slow sip of water. "Right on time."

I didn't answer. I kept my back straight and pulled the second sheet off the bed.

She walked toward me, barefoot on the carpet. She circled me like a stray dog looking for something to bite. Then she stopped directly in front of me.

Her gaze shifted to my throat.

The green jade pendant rested against my collarbone. It was pale green, smooth and cool.

"What is this?" she asked.

Before I could move, she reached out. Her fingers gripped the green stone and jerked it with all her strength.

The silver chain snapped.

The sharp metal sliced across my neck. It felt like a hot paper cut.

"Give it back," I whispered.

Scottie didn't listen. She turned the pendant over in her manicured hand, inspecting it with disgust.

"Damon told me about this too," she sneered. "He said you never take it off. Said it’s the only thing you have from your foster home." She let out a dry, sharp laugh. "Cheap orphan junk."

She stepped back into the bathroom doorway.

Then she threw it.

She hurled the pendant straight down onto the polished white marble floor.

The stone hit with a sharp, violent crack.

Green shards exploded everywhere. Small fragments skittered across the tile like broken ice.

The sound echoed in the quiet suite.

For a second, the entire world stopped moving. The last seven years vanished. The penthouse, the wedding dress, the broken promises—none of it existed anymore. The only thing left was the scatter of green dust on the white floor.

I didn't yell. I didn't lunge at her throat. I didn't cry.

I simply sank to my knees.

The marble was freezing through my jeans. My hands shook violently, but I forced my fingers to stay steady. I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out a small silk pouch.

I leaned down and began to pick up the pieces.

One shard. Two shards. A curved piece from the carved edge.

I moved with quiet, trembling precision, like a surgeon trying to put a broken heart back together. I pressed my fingertip against the smallest green splinters, lifting the dust from the tile and tapping it into the open pouch.

Scottie leaned against the doorframe above me. She crossed her arms and smiled down at me. She was waiting for me to break. She wanted me to beg. She wanted a show.

I didn't give her a single glance. I didn't give her a sound.

When the floor was bare, I pulled the silk drawstring tight. I tucked the pouch deep inside my coat pocket, right against my ribs.

I put my hands on the floor and stood up.

A single drop of blood dripped down my throat from the scratch on my neck. It ran hot over my skin and stained the white collar of my shirt.

I didn't wipe it away.

I turned my back on Scottie. I walked past the tangled sheets on the bed. I walked through the foyer, opened the heavy door, and let it click shut behind me.