Back then, I thought all those years of devotion had finally won him over. I threw myself into being his girlfriend, heart wide open.
Now I knew the truth: Phil Cox was with me for one reason. He needed a child.
To spare Claire the pain of carrying one, I became the perfect baby machine.
How absurd.
I sat on the living room sofa in silence, torturing myself with every sound that came from the bedroom.
I don't know how long it went on before the two of them finally walked out.
The instant Phil saw me, a flicker of panic crossed his face.
"Ir—Irene? When did you—how long have you been back? Why didn't you say something? I would've come and picked you up!"
I didn't answer. My gaze stayed fixed on Claire's face.
Phil rushed to explain.
"I drank too much last night, and you weren't home."
"She was just worried about me, okay? Didn't even come over till this morning—don't get the wrong idea."
After that, he watched me carefully, trying to read something in my expression.
When he found nothing unusual, he let out a breath.
"I was just about to come get you."
"The wedding's the day after tomorrow. Let's not fight anymore, okay?"
I nodded and said nothing more.
Phil was right about one thing. The wedding was the day after tomorrow.
To avoid unnecessary trouble, I had no intention of telling him the groom had been changed.
I couldn't be bothered to waste another second on either of them. I walked straight into the bedroom and started packing my things.
"I'm going to stay at my parents' place for the next couple of days. My mom says the bride and groom shouldn't see each other before the wedding."
Phil and Claire exchanged a glance, and the same spark of delight flashed through both their eyes.
I lowered my gaze, pretending not to notice how pleased they both looked.
I packed and mocked myself at the same time.
Either their acting was flawless or I was stupider than I'd ever imagined—I had never once seen what was right in front of me.
That night, back at home, I began sorting through the memories Phil and I had shared over the years.
I was deleting photos from my computer when I noticed it: Phil's WhatsApp account was still logged in on my machine.
Almost without thinking, I clicked in.
The moment I came online, messages were streaming through a small group chat, updating nonstop.
The latest one had been sent by Phil himself.
"Where are we meeting tonight? Last night wasn't enough—let's drink till we drop!"
Messages kept popping up one after another.
"No way am I drinking with you again. Did you see Irene's face yesterday? I thought she was going to eat us alive. My heart can't take it."
"For real though, Phil—Claire's so much better. That fiancée of yours doesn't even come close."
"I can't stand Irene. That whole pampered-princess act. It honestly makes me sick."
…
The messages kept coming, all variations of the same filth—that I couldn't compare to Claire, that I never could.
These friends of Phil's, every single one of them angling to ride his coattails into a connection with Gilbert Group.
To my face, it was always "sister-in-law" this, "sister-in-law" that. Behind my back, last night, this was who they really were.
Disgusting.
I was about to log out when Claire's account suddenly posted a message in the group.
A short video, maybe thirty seconds.
In it, she and Phil were locked in a deep kiss.
And the background was our bridal suite. Our enormous wedding portrait was hanging right behind them on the wall.
Claire's text followed the video almost instantly.
"Relax, boys—don't waste your breath on that bitch. If she ever found out her man and her precious wedding suite have both been mine more times than I can count, she'd lose her fucking mind."
