I didn't want anyone tonight. Not the neighbors. Not the press. Not even Iris. I pressed my back harder against the hotel door, the polished wood cool against my fingers. "Go away! I don't want to talk to anybody this night," I barked, voice hoarse, raw, and shaking.
Footsteps echoed outside my door. A soft tapping. A whisper through the keyhole. "Alina... it's me, Iris. Please, just open up. Keep your voice down, you've got neighbors..."
I exhaled sharply and collapsed against the door. My chest heaved. I didn't want sympathy. I didn't want the pity in her eyes. And yet... five years of friendship tugged at me, the bond we had forged from cafeteria spills and midnight secrets.
Iris had been there since the beginning-the day she had spilled milk all over my uniform in the cafeteria. Most girls would have panicked, would have flailed, would have run screaming. But not me. I stopped her from dabbing at the stain. "It's fine," I'd said softly, a small smirk hiding the burning embarrassment. "I don't like attention." That had been the start of us, a friendship built on quiet understanding, shared laughs, and messy moments no one else would get.
I peeked through the peephole. My shoulders sagged. "Fine," I muttered, fumbling with the lock. The door swung open to reveal her: Iris, sharp blazer, hair pulled into a professional bun, handbag tossed on the dining table, eyes wide and worried.
"OH, MY MOON SECRETS!!!!! Have you been drinking!!!!!!!...?" she exclaimed, only to catch sight of the two empty bottles of Jameson lying across my couch.
My wedding gown was halfzipped, fabric crumpled across the chair. Heels kicked aside under the TV. My hair tangled, my mascara smeared black streaks across my pale cheeks. Lips once red now dark, almost bleeding from the alcohol.
I didn't respond, only slumped further into the couch, the scent of whiskey and tears thick in the air.
"What... what made Rowan change?" Iris asked softly, stepping closer, her shoes silent on the carpet. Her hand hovered near my shoulder but didn't touch, waiting.
I swallowed hard, gulping more from a bottle I hadn't noticed in my trembling hands. "He... found a sexy shawty," I croaked, voice breaking, burning with equal parts rage and sorrow. The alcohol made the words slur slightly, but the pain behind them was raw, honest.
Iris snatched the bottle from my hands, her grip firm but comforting. "Alina, don't," she whispered, guiding me back into the sofa cushions. I let her, because somehow... after five years, she was the only one I would let in tonight. The only one who had seen me crumble over cafeteria milk spills and laugh with me when nobody else did.
I rested my head against the couch, the satin of my half zipped gown catching on the cushions. My mate mark was fading slowly, a cruel reminder that the man I had waited for, dreamed of, trusted with everything... was gone.
Iris sat beside me, handbag still on the table, blazer sharp, her presence grounding. "Tell me everything," she said gently, her eyes scanning my tear-streaked face. I shivered and let the memories spill. The church. The whispers.
The cameras. Rowan. Amelia. The bouquet flying from my hands. The public humiliation that had splattered across every social feed.
And through it all, Iris stayed, five years of unbroken friendship holding me together.
I let the alcohol blur my edges as I recalled that first day milk spilling, uniforms stained, laughter shared over embarrassment. Somehow that memory gave me courage. Somehow that memory reminded me that even though I was broken tonight, I was not alone.
I took a shaky breath, about to pour everything out. "Iris, you don't"
"Don't worry," she interrupted, her voice calm but laced with a sharp edge. "I watched the scandal online."
I froze, heart twisting like a knife. The words should have comforted me, but instead, they made the wound feel deeper, rawer. The flashes of cameras, the whispers, the headlines I had lived it in real time, but hearing her confirm it, that she had seen it too, made the shame crawl under my skin.
I buried my face in my hands. "It was... it was everything," I whispered. "The doors. The flashes. Him holding her hand..." My voice cracked, a tear slipping past my fingers.
Iris, without a word, moved closer. Her presence was solid, grounding, like a lifeline. She leaned down and whispered, "Alina... that little slot Amelia? She ate your reject, and now she's parading around like a prize. What a joke."
I blinked through my tears, the words piercing my sorrow with just enough heat to make me feel alive again. A spark of vindication flickered inside me, small but real. My sister perfect Amelia was not untouchable. She was just as shallow and cruel as she always had been.
I exhaled shakily and reached for my phone. "I need to... I need to call him."
"Call who?" Iris asked, her tone sharp, protective.
"Rowan," I hissed, voice trembling with fury. "That dickhead... that rich, spoiled fool who thinks he can buy any princess he wants with his flirty money."
Iris didn't flinch. Instead, she moved closer and gently stroked my hair, the way she always did when she knew I needed it most. I closed my eyes, leaning into the gesture, letting her touch calm the storm inside me. The mascara running down my cheeks felt heavier, my sobs sharper, but for a moment, I could breathe.
I picked up my phone anyway, thumb hovering over his contact. My pulse was fast, my hand trembling. "I should tell him... I should"
"Alina," Iris interrupted again, softer this time, her hand cupping my jaw. "No. Not tonight. Not for him. Not for anyone who doesn't deserve your tears."
I shook my head, lips trembling, mascara-streaked eyes wide. She reached over to the table, grabbed a makeup wipe, and handed it to me. "Here. Clean yourself up, my moon secrets. Don't let him see you broken like this."
I took it, dabbing gently at my face, the black streaks disappearing slowly. I felt a little lighter, a little less exposed, though the ache in my chest remained.
"Thank you," I whispered, voice raw, the first hint of vulnerability breaking through the anger. "I... I don't know what I'd do without you."
Iris smiled, a tight, knowing smile, as if she didn't need words. She simply stayed, hand still in my hair, presence solid beside me. And in that quiet moment, amidst the shattered pieces of my wedding day, the paparazzi, the public humiliation, and the betrayal, I felt something I hadn't felt in hours: a small flicker of control.
I might have been broken tonight, but with Iris here, maybe, just maybe... I could start to rise again.
