Brandon's mind went blank. The names on the screen-Diego Riddle, Averi Reed-burned themselves into his vision. His Averi. Married. To him. No, it wasn't a joke. It was a headline. A public announcement. A truth that punched the air from his lungs.
He remembered her words: "I accepted Diego Riddle's marriage proposal this morning." He had dismissed it, a desperate, childish bluff. He had seen it as a mere threat, an attempt to make him jealous, to force his hand. He had been so utterly, tragically wrong. She wasn't bluffing. She was just... telling him. And he hadn't listened.
His hand trembled, the phone almost slipping from his grasp. Panic clawed at his throat. He scrolled frantically through the chat, searching for more details, for some way to deny it.
Looks like it's happening fast! Ceremony this weekend!
Good for them! Averi deserves a solid man.
Solid man. The words twisted in his gut. A solid man. Was that what he wasn't?
He typed a frantic message into the group chat: Is this real? Averi Reed?
His phone buzzed almost immediately. A private message from Ethan, his closest friend in the group. Brandon, man, I didn' t want to be the one to tell you. But yeah. It' s real. Heard it from a mutual contact at Riddle Industries. Seems like Averi' s been planning this for a while.
No! Brandon typed back, his fingers clumsy. She just said that to make me mad! She loves me! She wouldn' t!
Ethan's reply was gentle, but firm. Dude, she sounded pretty serious when she broke up with you in the warehouse. And then at the party last night… you really messed up, man. Maybe she just got tired of waiting.
Brandon' s blood ran cold. Tired of waiting. The phrase hammered at him. He had dismissed her pain, her patience, her love, as an endless commodity. He had taken her for granted, believing she would always be there, waiting for him to finally untangle himself from Kendal' s web.
No, no, no. He had to call her. He scrolled through his contacts, his thumb hovering over her name. He pressed it, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs. The phone rang once, twice, three times. Then, the automated voice: "The number you have dialed is not available."
He tried again. Same result. Frantic, he went to his messages, tried to send a text. A pop-up notification: "Message failed to send. User block."
Block. She had blocked him. Everywhere. A cold, hard certainty settled in him. She was gone. Truly gone.
Ethan' s next message appeared. Brandon, man, I told you. You really pushed her. You kept choosing Kendal over her, time and time again. What did you expect?
Ethan' s words, usually a harmless banter, now felt like a thousand tiny needles piercing his skin. He remembered the warehouse, the kiss. He remembered the party, his possessive declaration of Kendal as "my woman." He remembered the apartment, the blood, his demand for an apology. Each memory struck him like a physical blow, each detail a fresh agony.
He remembered Averi at the hospital, her calm, cold eyes. Her quiet statement: "I' m leaving, Brandon." He had laughed it off, convinced she was just emotional. He had sent her flowers, made grand plans for a "surprise" party, all while she was meticulously dismantling her life with him.
He pictured her face when Kendal had deliberately ruined the celebration, knowing Averi's allergies. He pictured the moment he kissed Kendal, in the very place he had chosen to "celebrate" with Averi. A wave of nausea washed over him.
And the apartment. The blood on her temple. His demand for her to apologize for Kendal' s lies. He had pushed her. He had hurt her. He had called her vindictive. He had chosen Kendal, unequivocally, even as Averi bled on the floor.
A guttural cry tore from his throat. Regret, a monstrous beast, rose up and consumed him whole. It wasn't just a mistake. It was a systematic, deliberate erosion of everything they had built. He had done this. He, Brandon Scott, had destroyed the only real love he had ever known.
He grabbed his car keys, his hands shaking violently. He had to go to her. He had to make her understand. He had to beg. He had to fix it. He didn' t care that she had blocked him. He didn' t care that she was engaged. He just needed to see her. To plead his case. To undo the irreparable.
He drove like a madman, breaking every speed limit, his mind a whirlwind of torment. He arrived at her apartment building, screeching to a halt. He pounded on her door, his fists raw against the wood. No answer. He tried her spare key, which he still possessed. It didn' t work. The lock had been changed.
A middle-aged man, a new face, opened the door to the adjacent apartment. "Can I help you?" he asked, eyeing Brandon with suspicion.
"Averi Reed," Brandon gasped, out of breath. "Does Averi Reed still live here?"
The man shook his head. "Nah. She moved out a couple of days ago. New tenant just moved in."
Moved out. My heart sank, a lead weight plummeting into the abyss. "Her belongings?"
"Oh, the old tenant left behind a few boxes," the man said with a shrug. "The building manager just put them out with the trash. Said they were unclaimed."
Unclaimed. His world tilted on its axis. Averi, his Averi, had left her life with him, his possessions, his memories, out with the trash. She had truly erased him.
His knees buckled. He clutched the doorframe, his vision swimming. The floor seemed to rush up to meet him. This was it. The absolute, undeniable end. The cold, empty realization that he had not only lost her, but that she had moved on, utterly and completely, without a trace of hesitation.
He found himself, hours later, at the old military training ground where he and Averi used to meet in secret, young and reckless and so desperately in love. The place was deserted, save for a young couple arguing playfully on a bench, then dissolving into laughter and kisses.
A painful echo. Averi. Averi used to care like that. She used to look at him with that fierce, unwavering trust. He had seen it in her eyes, felt it in her touch. And he had systematically, meticulously, destroyed it.
He remembered her words from the warehouse, her voice so calm, so devoid of emotion: "I accepted Diego Riddle' s marriage proposal this morning." She hadn' t said it to hurt him. She had said it because it was true. And he had been too blind, too selfish, too caught up in his own twisted sense of duty to Kendal, to see it.
He had promised her an empire. She had wished for a simple, happy life. He had failed her on both counts. He had offered her complexity, manipulation, and a love that was constantly conditional on his sister' s fragile ego. And she had, rightly, chosen a man who offered her clarity, simplicity, and an unconditional future.
A profound, agonizing regret washed over him, a tidal wave that threatened to drown him. He had been so proud, so arrogant in his belief that she would always wait, always forgive. He had mistaken her loyalty for weakness, her patience for endlessness.
He pulled out his phone, his hands still trembling. He booked a flight. The earliest one possible. To the city where the news article said Averi Reed and Diego Riddle would be married. He rationalized it. She couldn' t truly have moved on. Not completely. Not after thirteen years. This was a rebound, a defiant act. He just needed to see her. To talk to her. To make her see that he had changed. That he could change. That he would change.
He clung to that desperate hope, a lifeline in the swirling ocean of his regret. He would catch her before it was too late. Before she walked down that aisle with another man. He would win her back. He had to. He couldn' t live without her. He wouldn' t.
