“Oh, don’t worry about her, babe. She is nothing more but a pawn in my game. Once it’s over, I will drop her, and we’ll be on a plane to Hulu for our honeymoon.”
I stopped dead in my tracks. That voice. I knew it too well—it belonged to Rex Sterling, my husband of two years.
Tonight was supposed to be huge. My first solo art exhibition, doubling as a charity event, with some of the most important people in the city attending. It should’ve been a dream come true.
But now? Now I couldn’t even breathe.
I had been looking for Rex, wondering why he’d disappeared right before the event started. Instead, I stumbled across this.
And her.
He stood close to Sara, his hand on her cheek like she was something precious. He even ran his fingers through her hair.
It hit me like a live wire, every nerve in my body short-circuiting at once. For a second, I couldn’t breathe. Sara Dubois. My nemesis.
We had been rivals since college, both of us art majors.
She was the it girl everyone wanted to befriend or date—perfect blonde hair, striking blue eyes, and lips so flawless they looked like a gift from the gods. Even in jeans and no makeup, she would still turn heads.
Meanwhile, I was the scrappy underdog who got attention for my art instead of my looks, which she couldn’t stand.
She made it her mission to sabotage me every chance she got. And now, here she was. With my husband.
“Really?” Sara asked, narrowing her eyes at him. “Promise me you’re not lying. You’ve been all over her lately—those interviews, big events, everything. It’s making me nervous.”
“Trust me, okay?” Rex said, his voice smooth and reassuring. “It’s almost over. I just have to keep up appearances a little longer. Her popularity is working in our favor.”
“You’d better,” Sara said, yanking him by his tie. “The last thing I need is people finding out this ‘charity foundation’ is just a cover for your scam.” Then she kissed him, hard and deliberate.
Hot tears burned down my cheeks as I stood there, frozen. I couldn’t make a sound. I couldn’t move. And then I did—I turned and walked away, quiet as a ghost, afraid of them catching me.
It was funny, really, how I was scared of being seen, like I was the one who had done something wrong.
I burst into the tiny room I had been using as a makeup and fitting space, slammed the door, and threw myself onto the sofa.
Sadness settled over me, heavy and suffocating, like a dark cloud filling my chest, my head—every inch of me.
My thoughts were a mess. Everything from the past few years collided with the image I had just seen, swirling together in a way I couldn’t untangle.
Questions came at me like a flood, one after another. Had I ever truly known the man I married? Did he ever really love me? How much of what we had was real? How much of it had been a lie?
Tears streamed down my face, hot and relentless, smudging the carefully applied makeup I had spent so much time on.
My body felt like it was running on autopilot, trembling and weak. I bit down on my lower lip to stifle the sobs threatening to break free.
All I wanted to do was scream. Scream until my throat was raw. Or cry until there wasn’t a single tear left in me. Maybe throw something, just to hear the satisfying crash of it breaking—anything to let this pain, this anger, this heartbreak out.
But I couldn’t. The event was starting in fifteen minutes. This was my night, my big moment, and people were counting on me. No matter how shattered I felt, I couldn’t let this ruin everything.
After letting myself cry for a few minutes, I wiped my face with shaking hands.
My reflection in the mirror was almost unrecognizable; red eyes, streaked mascara, smudged foundation. Taking a deep breath, I grabbed my makeup bag and got to work, trying to fix the damage as best I could.
A few moments later, came a knock at the door. “Willow, are you in there? We’re starting in less than five minutes.”
That voice. Sweet and comforting once. Now, it made my stomach churn. Each word dripped with venom I hadn’t noticed before, and they made me want to throw up.
But I couldn’t give in. Not yet. Not here.
