After My Fiancé Hung Up During My Kidnapping, I Stopped Begging for His Love

Three days before we left for Cape Town, Cade dropped the bomb.

We were sitting at Marea, the Italian place in Central Park South where we'd had our first anniversary dinner. I'd made the reservation weeks ago. The table overlooked the park. Candlelight flickered between us. I was excited. I'd spent months planning this trip—flights, hotels, safaris, wine tours. A whole week, just the two of us.

Cade cut into his branzino and said, "Lilian's coming with us."

I stopped mid-reach for my wine glass. "What?"

"To Cape Town." He didn't look up. "She's going through a rough time. I told her she could tag along."

Tag along. Like we were going to a movie. Not a romantic getaway I'd saved for and planned down to the hour.

I set my fork down carefully. "Cade, I booked this trip for us. Just us. I told you that."

"I know." He finally looked at me. His expression was flat, like I was being difficult about something obvious. "But she needs this right now. You know how she gets."

I knew exactly how she got. Lilian Chavez had been Cade's "best friend" since high school. She was always around. Always texting. Always needing something. A ride. Advice. Dinner. Cade's attention. And Cade always gave it to her.

I'd tried to be understanding. I'd tried to be the cool girlfriend who didn't get jealous. But this was different. This was *our* trip.

"Cade, I really don't think—"

"You're being insecure again, Marley." His voice had that edge now, the one that made me feel small. "She's my best friend. I'm not abandoning her because you can't handle it."

The couple at the next table glanced over. I felt heat crawl up my neck.

"I'm not asking you to abandon her," I said quietly. "I'm asking you to respect the plans we made."

"Plans change." He shrugged and went back to his fish. "She already booked her ticket. It's done."

I stared at him. At the way he chewed. At the way he didn't even seem to care that I was upset. Something cold settled in my chest, but I pushed it down. I always pushed it down.

"Fine," I said.

He smiled then, easy and bright. "Thanks, babe. You're the best."

I picked up my wine glass and drank. The candle between us guttered in a draft. Outside, the park was dark.

---

When we landed in Cape Town, the sky was impossibly blue. Table Mountain rose in the distance like a postcard. I should have been happy. I should have been excited.

Instead, I was standing in the lobby of the Silo Hotel, staring at a receptionist who kept apologizing.

"I'm very sorry, Ms. Edwards, but your reservation was cancelled two days ago."

"Cancelled?" My voice came out too loud. "I paid in full. Months ago."

She tapped at her keyboard, frowning. "Yes, I see that here. But the cancellation was confirmed by… a Mr. Cade Richards."

The floor tilted.

I turned. Cade was across the lobby with Lilian, laughing at something on her phone. Her hand was on his arm.

"Cade."

He looked over. Smiled. Walked toward me like nothing was wrong.

"What's up?"

"They're saying you cancelled my room."

"Oh. Yeah." He scratched the back of his neck. "Lilian needed the penthouse. She's got that thing with small spaces, you know? Claustrophobia or whatever. So I moved you to a guesthouse in Woodstock. It's got character. You'll love it."

I couldn't breathe. "You moved me to a *guesthouse*?"

"It's fine, Marley. It's just a hotel room." He was already turning away. "Stop making everything about yourself."

Lilian was watching us. Her expression was soft, concerned, like she felt bad for me. But her eyes were bright.

I stood there in that beautiful lobby with my suitcase at my feet and felt something crack.

"Cade—"

"I'll see you tomorrow, okay?" He was already walking back to Lilian. "We're doing the wine tour, remember?"

He didn't wait for an answer.

The receptionist handed me a printout with the guesthouse address. Her smile was pitying.

I took a cab to Woodstock alone.

---

The guesthouse was worse than I'd imagined. Peeling paint. Bars on the windows. The kind of place you saw in travel warnings. The owner barely spoke English. He handed me a key attached to a wooden block and pointed up a narrow staircase.

My room smelled like mildew. The lock on the door was loose. Outside, I could hear shouting. A car alarm. Sirens in the distance.

I sat on the edge of the bed and pulled out my phone. Texted Cade.

*This place isn't safe.*

Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Then:

*You're overreacting.*

I stared at the screen until it went dark.

---

That night, Cade suggested dinner at a seafood place near the waterfront. I met him there, still shaken, still trying to make this work. We ordered. He talked about the wine tour. About Lilian's excitement. About everything except the fact that he'd left me in a crime-ridden neighborhood.

Halfway through the meal, his phone buzzed. He glanced at it. His face changed.

"I have to go."

"What?"

"Lilian's sick. Stomach thing. She needs me."

He was already standing, pulling cash from his wallet and dropping it on the table.

"Cade, it's eleven o'clock at night."

"I know. I'll text you later."

He left.

I sat there alone, staring at my untouched plate. The waiter came by and asked if everything was okay. I nodded. Paid. Walked outside into the cool Cape Town night.

The cab ride back to Woodstock felt endless. The streets got darker. The buildings more run-down. When I got to the guesthouse, I locked the flimsy door and shoved a chair under the handle.

Outside, someone was yelling. Glass shattered.

I lay in bed with my phone in my hand, waiting for Cade to text.

He didn't.