Ninety-Nine Engagements, One Betrayal

Dayna POV:

The truth was a cold, hard slap to the face. The kind that leaves a stinging mark. Brooks, my Brooks, the man I thought accepted my every word, my every thought, my very existence, had just revealed a depth of emotion for his sister that he had never, not once, shown for me. And it hurt. It hurt so much I felt physically ill.

I got home and immediately started digging. Not literally, of course. My digging involved late-night internet searches, discreet calls to friends of friends, and an almost obsessive piecing together of whispers and rumors I had dismissed as mere gossip before. The picture that emerged was not pretty. It was a masterpiece of manipulation, painted in shades of deceit and forbidden love.

Everleigh Burnett wasn't just Brooks's adopted sister. She was his obsession, his responsibility, his fatal flaw. Their bond, they called it. A bond forged in childhood trauma, intensified by a family secret, and twisted into something dangerously close to incestuous love. The Preston family patriarch, a stern, traditional man, had discovered their "inappropriate relationship." To save face, to protect the family legacy, Everleigh had been exiled to Europe, to "study art." But the condition for her return, for her healing, for her very existence in the family was Brooks's marriage. To someone else. To create a respectable facade.

And that someone else was me.

Me. The overly talkative heiress, desperate for love, desperate for a marriage that would stick. An easy target. A controllable solution. He had feigned acceptance of my chatty nature, not because he found it charming, but because it made me pliable. It made me believe.

My entire body trembled. Not with cold, but with a bone-deep betrayal. I had been a pawn, a convenient prop in their twisted play. My cherished dream of a real marriage, of a man who truly saw and loved me, was a cruel mirage. He had needed a wife, and I, in my naive desperation, had walked straight into his trap.

And the worst part? The truly gut-wrenching, soul-crushing part? I loved him. I loved the stoic facade, the quiet patience I now knew was a performance. I loved the ghost of a smile, the rare chuckle, the way his eyes would sometimes linger on me. I had fallen, hopelessly and irrevocably, for the man who had used me.

The thought made me gag. I felt dirty, used, utterly foolish. When he called, his voice calm and concerned, asking where I was, I couldn't bring myself to answer. I just hung up.

I saw his car pull up to the curbside. I saw him get out, looking bewildered. He spotted me, still sitting on the bench outside the precinct, my foot throbbing from the long walk home. He started towards me.

I stood up, my legs wobbly. "Don't," I choked out. "Don't you dare come near me."

He paused, a frown creasing his brow. "Dayna, what's wrong? Are you still upset about Everleigh? I told you, she just gets into trouble sometimes. She's delicate."

Delicate. My blood ran cold. "Go away, Brooks," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "Just... go."

He sighed, a long-suffering sound. "Dayna, don't be childish. Your foot looks swollen. Let me take you home."

"I'll walk," I snapped.

"Don't be ridiculous," he said, taking a step closer. "It's late. You're hurt."

"I said, I'll walk!" I shouted, a sudden burst of anger giving me strength. I turned and limped away, not caring where I was going, just needing to be away from him.

He followed, his footsteps soft but persistent. I could hear him behind me, a silent shadow. My ankle twisted, sending a jolt of pain up my leg, and I stumbled, falling onto a low wall.

He was instantly beside me. "Dayna! I told you. Here, let me see."

He knelt, his touch surprisingly gentle as he examined my throbbing ankle. Then, with a practiced ease, he slipped off his expensive jacket and folded it, placing it carefully on the cold stone wall for me to sit on. "You really need to be more careful."

"Why did you go to her first?" I asked, the words raw. "Why was she your priority?"

He paused, his gaze meeting mine. "She needed me, Dayna. She's fragile, you know that. She has... issues. I always have to make sure she's alright."

"And I?" I asked, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. "What about me? Did I not need you?"

He sighed. "You're strong, Dayna. You can handle anything."

Strong. That was his excuse. My strength was my curse.

"Just leave me alone," I pleaded, tears finally pricking at my eyes. "Please."

He stood, his face unreadable. "I can't leave you alone out here. It's not safe."

Just then, his car pulled up beside us. The passenger door opened, and Everleigh stepped out. She looked perfectly fine, not a hair out of place, her eyes wide and innocent. She walked over, her arm slipping possessively through Brooks's.

"Brooks, darling, what are you doing? I told you she was just being dramatic. She's always so over the top." Everleigh said, her voice a sweet, cloying tone. "Come on, let's go home. You look exhausted."

Brooks gently tried to remove her arm. "Everleigh, don't. Dayna's hurt."

"Oh, she's fine," Everleigh dismissed with a wave of her hand. "Just a scraped knee, probably. Like when we were kids and you'd always rush to my side. She's just trying to punish you for leaving her alone." Her eyes, innocent just a moment ago, flickered with a knowing malice as they met mine.

I stared at her, then back at Brooks. He looked torn, but his hand was still on Everleigh's arm, not mine.

"My foot," Everleigh whined, a tiny sniffle. "It's throbbing. That horrid woman at the bar stomped on it." She exaggerated a limp, wincing dramatically.

Brooks immediately knelt, examining her perfectly fine foot. "Does it hurt here? We should get you to a doctor."

"Oh, it's nothing, really," she said, batting her eyelashes. "Just a little bruise. But it does sting when I walk."

I looked down at my own ankle, swollen and purple, the pain a dull throb. He hadn't even looked at it properly. He hadn't offered to take me to a doctor. My pain was invisible. Hers, a minor bruise, was a medical emergency.

He carefully picked her up, her light weight barely a strain. "Let's get you home."

"But Brooks," Everleigh pouted, "my shoes are ruined. They're designer, you know. And my poor little foot is so sensitive."

He chuckled softly, a sound I rarely heard directed at me. "Don't worry, I'll buy you a new pair. What do you want?"

"Oh, you're the best!" she cooed, snuggling into his chest. "And I'm so tired. Can we just go? And you can carry me all the way to bed?"

"Of course," he murmured, his voice gentle.

As he carried her towards the car, Everleigh looked over his shoulder, her eyes locking onto mine. She was wearing his shoes. My jaw clenched. My shoes were still beside me, ruined, forgotten. A symbolic gesture, perhaps?

I stood there, watching them drive away, the familiar cold knot in my stomach tightening. Then, with a sudden surge of something that felt like defiance, I hobbled into the nearby bike path. It was darker, less visible. I needed to disappear. I needed to be truly alone. He wouldn't follow me here. He wouldn't even think to.

I made it home, somehow, the pain in my ankle a dull roar now. The house was quiet. Too quiet. I pushed open the front door and saw him. Brooks. Sitting on the couch, Everleigh curled up beside him, sound asleep.

He looked up, his expression unreadable. "Dayna. Your foot. Come, let me tend to it."

He didn't move. He just looked at me, then at Everleigh, then back at me.

"No," I said, my voice flat. "I'm fine."

"But you're limping," he insisted, his voice still calm. "And Everleigh here, her ankle is still throbbing too. I've been applying ice. You should do the same."

Everleigh stirred, her eyes fluttering open. She saw me, then snuggled closer to Brooks. "Brooks, darling, my foot still hurts. Can you make it better?"

He sighed, a familiar, indulgent sound. He started to gently rub her foot.

I couldn't take it anymore. My voice came out, surprisingly steady, considering the earthquake raging inside me. "I want a divorce."