The party was in full swing when an uninvited guest barged in.
Jack. Christine’s fiancé from five years ago. The man I had supposedly “stolen.”
He looked more haggard than he had five years before, but the cruelty in his eyes was sharper now, more pronounced. His gaze remained fixed on Christine—unblinking, like a venomous snake sizing up its prey.
“Christine. You’re back. Didn’t think to let me know?” His smile twisted into an ugly grimace. “Found a new sponsor already? Matthew, right? I’ve heard a lot about you.”
A collective gasp rippled through the room.
Matthew immediately stepped in front of Christine, his face darkening. “Mr Jack. Watch your tone. You are not welcome here.”
“I’m talking to my ex-fiancée. What’s it to you?” Jack sneered, his gaze still locked on Christine. “Christine, darling. Have you forgotten how good we were together? If it weren’t for that low-born sister of yours—”
“Enough.”
A clear, sharp voice cut him off.
It was Christine.
She stepped out from behind Matthew, her face expressionless, her eyes cold as ice.
“Jack. You and I have been over for a long time.” She enunciated each word slowly, her voice quiet yet carrying perfectly across the silent room. “And you will not insult her.”
I froze.
She… was defending me?
Jack stared, stunned, then barked out an incredulous laugh. “You’re defending *her*? Have you lost your mind, Christine? That slut stole your man! Made you the laughingstock of the entire city! And now you’re defending her?”
Christine just looked at him, her expression pure disgust—and with it, a flicker of something I’d never seen in her eyes before. Pity.
“I said get out. Now.”
Jack’s face flushed a deep, ugly purple. As the security guards dragged him away, he was still screaming, raw fury clawing at his voice. “You’ll regret this, Christine! And that bitch Audrey! I’ll make you both pay!”
A perfect evening, ruined in an instant.
While Matthew worked the room, smoothing over the awkwardness, Christine slipped away alone to the balcony. The night breeze lifted her hair. Against the backdrop of the city’s neon lights, her silhouette looked unbearably lonely.
I drifted closer. I watched as she reached into her clutch and pulled out something small and old. A worn-out charm. She clutched it tightly in her palm.
A keepsake. My mother’s keepsake.
After my mother died, Christine had snatched it right out of my hands. We’d fought viciously over it.
All these years, I’d assumed she’d thrown it away.
But she’d kept it. All this time.
