My Fiancé Forced Me to Apologize to His Mistress

For four days, my phone stayed quiet.

Not a word from Callahan. No call. No text. The little rose next to his name just sat at the top of my screen, like a flower on a grave.

Other things came instead.

On Monday, the Edwards Group pulled out of the Hudson Yards deal. Three years of work for my father's firm, gone in one email. On Tuesday, two Shaw board members asked for "a pause." On Wednesday, Celeste canceled our lunch. *Something came up,* she wrote. An hour later, she unfollowed me.

I changed my own bandages in the bathroom mirror. The gauze stuck to the wounds. I peeled it off slowly, a little at a time. Some lines had scabbed. Some were still wet and angry red.

My father didn't come upstairs. Once, I heard him stop outside my door. The old floor creaked under his shoes. Then he walked away.

I knew what Callahan was doing. He'd done it to rival companies since he was twenty-two. Cut off the air. Wait. Let them come crawling.

He never had to say a word. That was the point.

---

On Thursday, he finally came.

I woke at noon soaked in sweat. The room tilted when I sat up. The thermometer on my nightstand said 103.1. My back throbbed with its own heartbeat.

Then Callahan was in my doorway, rain still beading on his coat.

"Get dressed."

"I have a fever."

"You'll live." He tossed a cream sweater onto the bed. Mine. From the back of my closet. "There's an event at Columbia. Valery's speaking."

"Why would I go?"

"Because you owe her an apology. In public. Where you hurt her."

"I didn't hurt her."

"The internet says otherwise." His jaw went tight. "Your father loses another contract every day you hide up here. You want it to be five? Ten?"

So that was the price.

I looked at him for a long moment. He looked back like I was a line on a spreadsheet.

"Fine," I said.

---

The courtyard in front of Low Library was packed. Students crowded the steps. Phones were up everywhere. Someone had set up a small stage and a speaker.

The air was cold, but I was burning. Every step pulled at the bandages under my sweater. Something warm seeped through, slow. I kept my arms close so no one would see.

Valery stood by the stage in a cream sweater. Same as mine. Of course.

She grabbed Callahan's arm when she saw me. Her eyes shone. "You came," she whispered. "I didn't think you would."

"He didn't give me much choice."

"Adaline." Callahan's voice dropped low. A warning.

Valery pressed her cheek to his shoulder. "It's okay. She's hurting. I understand."

"You don't understand anything about me," I said. "You just copy it."

Her fingers tightened on his sleeve. Just for a second.

Callahan shoved the microphone into my hands. It was cold and heavy. My fingers shook around it.

"Keep it short," he said. "Say you lied. Say you're sorry. Then we go home."

We. Like there was still a we.

I climbed the two little steps. The crowd went quiet. Hundreds of faces. Some I knew. Celeste stood in the third row, staring at her shoes.

I looked at Callahan. Then at Valery. She dabbed under one eye with a single fingertip, careful not to smudge her mascara.

I remembered the Met steps. I was seventeen. He held out one white rose, and his hand was shaking because he was nervous. I said yes before he even finished asking.

That boy wasn't here.

I raised the mic.

"Callahan Edwards and I are no longer together."

A sound rippled through the crowd. Like wind through dry leaves.

Callahan's face went white. Then dark.

"I wish him and Miss Morales all the happiness they deserve."

I opened my hand. The mic hit the stage with a hard thud and a shriek of feedback.

Then I walked down the steps and through the crowd. People moved out of my way. Phones followed me. Behind me, Callahan said my name. Once. Sharp, like a slap.

I didn't turn around.

---

I made it past the gates on Broadway. Then my legs stopped listening.

My knees folded. I caught myself against a brick wall. The stone scraped cold against my cheek. The street swam. Taxi horns sounded far away, like they were underwater.

My sweater clung wet to my back. I didn't need to look to know it was red.

My phone buzzed. I almost dropped it pulling it out.

*Z: I have someone nearby. Stay where you are.*

Nearby. Of course he did. I almost laughed.

I slid down the wall until I was sitting on the sidewalk.

Footsteps. A man in a dark jacket knelt in front of me. Broad shoulders. Calm eyes.

"Miss Shaw. I work for Marcus Udo. Mr. Wagner sent me." He raised one hand slowly, the way you would near a frightened animal. "I'm going to help you up. Is that alright?"

"How long have you been following me?"

He didn't answer. He just took off his jacket and draped it over my shoulders, careful not to let it touch my back.

Across the street, a gray van idled at the curb. Its windows were tinted black. Nobody got in. Nobody got out.

I watched it until my eyes drifted closed.