She Stole My Fiancé Days Before My Wedding

"I don't need you to do it for me." I spun on my heel to leave.

Owen tried to follow, but caught his foot on a chair and stumbled. I stepped out and flagged down a cab on the street.

"Ma'am, where to?"

"Anywhere. Just keep the meter running for the day." I pulled out my phone and paid through the app.

Messages bombarded my screen. I swiped past Owen's. One from Cecilia Morales caught my eye: "Esme, I'm in the lab and stuck on a calculation. Can you come help me?"

Ten minutes later, I got out of the cab. Cecilia was waiting at the door, just like old times—smiling, eager, a little too considerate.

"Esme, let me take your bag," she offered, reaching out.

I walked right past her. Her hand hung awkwardly in the air before she let it drop.

"I'm not your sister. Stop calling me that." I used to think of her as a little sister. God, how wrong I was.

Inside the lab, my phone kept buzzing. I glanced at it. More messages from Owen. The last one read: "Don't hurt her. She's young and naive. I'm on my way."

Cecilia handed me a data report. I didn't take it. Didn't even look at it. She just stood there, holding it out.

A long moment passed before she lowered it, a bitter smile tugging at her lips. "You know it was me, don't you?"

"Cecilia, have I been too hard on you? Or maybe too soft? Soft enough that you actually thought you could take what's mine?"

Tears spilled down her cheeks. Her voice trembled as she sobbed, "Esme, you've always been so good to me. I've been so grateful."

"But I couldn't control what I felt. Every time I came to your house, I had to force myself not to look at Owen."

"And the more I fought it, the deeper I fell."

"I'm sorry. Punish me however you want."

I closed my eyes, pressing my fingers to my temples. "It takes two to tango."

"I'm not going to berate you. I just hope you don't look back on this and regret it."

"I'll get in touch with the university and arrange a different advisor for you."

As I walked out, I nearly collided with Owen, who'd just burst in. My nose slammed into his chest—sharp, stinging pain.

I gripped the doorframe to steady myself. Owen's gaze shot past me, landing on Cecilia. His face darkened. He stormed over and pulled her behind him like a shield.

"Esme, I told you, this isn't her fault!"

"You think it's something to be proud of, intimidating a young girl?"

"Then it's your fault," I said flatly. "Is stringing girls along what makes you proud?"

He froze, jaw tight, the veins in his arms bulging from sheer restraint.

Cecilia placed a hand on his arm, her voice shaking. "Owen, don't fight because of me."

"My education, my future—none of that matters. As long as you're okay."

A sudden heat surged through my nose. Bright red blood started to drip—probably from the collision earlier. I fumbled in my bag for a tissue and pressed it under my nose.

Owen didn't see. Or maybe he didn't want to. This wasn't the man who used to worry himself sick if I so much as sneezed.

"Esme, are you really ending your mentorship with Cecilia over this? You're threatening her?"

"Don't mix personal feelings with work!"

"This is a girl's future we're talking about! Are you determined to ruin her?"

Ruin her?

Ten years ago, when I was picking my college major, everyone told me to think about my future. But I chose love.

Owen held me that day, tears in his eyes, vowing I'd never lose out.

Now I've lost everything.

"There'll be a better advisor to guide her," I said, my voice barely steady.

"I won't teach her anymore. I can't."

"You're right. I brought this on myself. Never again."

My legs turned to lead as I turned to leave, but the world tilted—and everything went dark. In the last second before I lost consciousness, I fell into a familiar, warm embrace.

Just like when I was eighteen.

He held me tight.