The wedding dress fitting was over. Blake Vance gently reached across and buckled my seatbelt for me.
"Babe, I've seen you in the dress now, so I won't be coming to the wedding."
I froze, stunned. "What do you mean?"
He smiled and pressed a kiss to my temple.
"Met a girl. Feisty little thing, refused to be the other woman. So I went to the courthouse with her this morning."
"I'm someone else's husband now. If I go through with our wedding, my wife might get upset."
A high-pitched ringing filled my skull. My voice shook so badly it barely held together. "Why? We're getting married in a week."
His tone was apologetic, almost innocent. "Babe, you're the one I love most. But you know how men are. We can't resist eighteen."
"If you can't bear to cancel the wedding, just find some guy to stand in as the groom. Don't sell yourself short. It breaks my heart."
The wedding dress I'd just tried on still lay across the back seat.
White as snow. Cold enough to seep into my bones.
My body trembled. I slid the pregnancy report halfway out of my pocket, then pushed it back down.
He was right about one thing.
I shouldn't sell myself short.
——
Blake carried on like nothing had happened, reaching over to ruffle my hair the way he always did.
But the words that left his mouth were laced with poison.
"You know how girls are these days. Stubborn as hell. Wouldn't let me touch her without a ring on her finger."
"Chased her for almost six months. Finally got her into bed last night."
I stared at him, throat seized, hands and feet turning to ice.
He just smiled, slow and deep. "Right where you're sitting. Like a little wildcat. Scratched me up a bit, then went completely soft."
My gaze followed his, tracing the lingering satisfaction in his eyes.
I looked at the windshield.
Two handprints, one large and one small, overlapping. Not yet faded.
A wave of nausea surged up my throat so violently I nearly choked.
I gripped the seatbelt until my knuckles went white, my eyes burning red.
He cupped my bloodless face in his hands, a crease of confusion forming between his brows. "Why are you crying? You're still Mrs. Vance."
Those deep-set eyes of his still brimmed with devotion so thick it looked real.
As if the man who'd just casually announced he'd married another woman wasn't him. As if the man who'd sat here, drunk on the memory of tangled limbs in my seat, was someone else entirely.
The sheer absurdity of it crashed over me, tearing me apart.
I couldn't breathe.
He sighed, as though I were being unreasonable. "I know it doesn't feel great, but she's sensitive. If I show up at the wedding, she'll cry for sure. She's not like other women. She's innocent, kept herself pure. All she wants is someone faithful. I chased her for six months and she gave me her first time. I owe her that much. You've always been understanding. I know you get it, right?"
Six months.
Our wedding had also been six months in the making.
So while he'd been handpicking every detail for me—the venue, the flowers, the invitations, everything exactly the way I liked—he'd also been pouring every ounce of energy into bedding another woman behind my back.
I curled my frozen fingers inward and closed my eyes, numb.
"You married someone else. We're done."
He blinked. Then laughed softly. "Don't say things you don't mean."
"You've been with me since you were eighteen. You've lost two pregnancies for me. Without me, what man out there would want you?"
I stared at him.
My chest felt like a red-hot coal had been dragged across it.
Ten years. We'd slept under bridges. Split a single cup of instant noodles. At our lowest, the only thing filling our stomachs was water.
We couldn't afford birth control. Couldn't afford a clinic.
So I'd stood out in the freezing cold until my body gave in. Climbed to the top of a staircase and thrown myself down.
