"Yes, I will marry you."

My voice came out steady, so calm that it almost sounded like it belonged to someone else, but my fingers were shaking so badly I nearly dropped my phone, and I had to press it harder against my ear just to keep it in place.

There was a pause on the other end, a quiet breath, then Mitchell spoke, his tone low and certain.

"Alright, Evelyn, I will handle everything."

I swallowed, my throat dry, my injured hand throbbing inside the brace as I shifted slightly, trying to steady myself without letting him hear it in my voice.

"Thank you."

"Rest," he added, softer now, "we will talk when you are ready."

The call ended.

Silence settled around me immediately, heavy and suffocating, and I slowly lowered the phone, my fingers still trembling as I stared at the dark screen.

My hand pulsed with pain inside the brace, sharp and deep, and I pressed it against my stomach, holding it there like I could somehow keep it together if I just applied enough pressure.

A few hours ago, I still believed everything could be fixed.

My fiancé and childhood friend Adrian had ruined my hand so his first love Selene could take the mentorship that was supposed to be mine, and I had found out while I was walking to him with the news that my hand could still be saved.

I let out a slow breath, but it came out uneven, almost breaking halfway, and I squeezed my eyes shut as the memory forced its way back in, clear and cruel.

Earlier that day, I had stood outside Adrian’s office, smiling to myself, my heart light for the first time in weeks because I finally had good news.

The specialist had said my hand could still be saved, the damage was not permanent, and with the right procedure, I could recover enough to operate again.

I had held that report so tightly, my fingers brushing over the words again and again as if I needed to feel it was real, and all I could think about was telling him.

Adrian.

My fiancé.

My childhood friend.

The boy I grew up beside in a house my mother worked in, the boy who used to sneak me snacks from the kitchen and whisper that one day I would be better than all of them, the boy who held my hand the night I got accepted into medical school and told me he always knew I would make it.

I had believed him.

The door to his office had been slightly open when I got there, and I was just about to knock when I heard my name.

I stopped.

Something about the way he said it made my steps freeze, my fingers tightening around the report as my smile slowly faded.

"You really went that far?" his friend asked, his voice low, uneasy, like he could not believe what he was hearing.

Adrian let out a quiet breath, almost annoyed.

"I had no choice."

My stomach dropped, a strange, cold feeling spreading through me as I stayed where I was, unable to move, unable to look away from that small gap in the door.

His friend spoke again, sharper this time.

"You arranged the accident, Adrian, you tampered with her instruments, you made sure her hand would be ruined, and you are still saying you had no choice?"

No, it's not possible. That was the first thought that came to me. Adrian would never do that to me. Just when I thought he would deny it, Adrian spoke again, his tone calm, steady, carrying that quiet certainty he always had when he thought he was right.

"Selene wanted that mentorship, and if Evelyn got it, Selene would never have a chance."

Selene.

The rich girl.

The one who never had to struggle for anything, the one who walked into rooms already chosen, already favored, already protected.

And still, it was not enough.

His friend let out a short, disbelieving laugh.

"She already has everything, Adrian, her family owns half the hospital board, and you are telling me that still was not enough for you, you had to take Evelyn’s career too?"

Adrian sounded mildly irritated now.

"You are making it sound worse than it is."

"Worse?" his friend snapped, "you crippled her hands."

Adrian exhaled slowly.

"I made a decision," he said, like he was explaining something simple. "Evelyn would have taken that position, Selene would have lost it, and I was not going to let that happen."

My grip loosened slightly, the edges of the report slipping against my fingers as the ringing in my ears grew louder.

His friend’s voice dropped, quieter now, heavier.

"And Evelyn, what about her?"

Another pause.

Then Adrian spoke again, softer, but not kinder.

"I am already compensating her."

My breath caught.

"What does that even mean?" his friend asked.

"I am marrying her," Adrian replied, like it should be obvious, like it was more than enough. "Do you have any idea what that gives her, my name, my family, security, she does not lose anything that matters."

My fingers went numb.

The report slipped from my hand completely, falling to the floor without a sound I could hear, because the only thing I could hear was my own heartbeat, loud and uneven, pounding in my ears.

His friend sounded disgusted now.

"She wanted to be a surgeon, Adrian, that is what matters to her."

Adrian let out a short breath, almost dismissive.

"She can still live well without it."

"And Selene?" his friend pressed. "You are risking everything for her, for what, for a mentorship she does not even need?"

Adrian was quiet for a moment.

Then he spoke again, more carefully this time.

"Selene cannot afford to lose anything right now, she is building her reputation, and she needs that position without distractions."

His friend scoffed.

"Distractions?"

"If I were with Selene openly," Adrian continued, his voice lowering slightly, "it would complicate things, people would talk, it would affect how she is seen, and I am not going to let her career suffer because of me."

My stomach twisted violently.

"So Evelyn is fine to suffer instead?" his friend asked.

Another pause.

Then Adrian gave a quiet, almost amused exhale.

"Evelyn is different."

Different.

The word settled heavily.

"She is… easier," he added, like it was nothing. "She trusts me, she stays where I put her, and even now, she will not question any of this."

Something inside me cracked.

.

I did not remember picking up the report, I did not remember walking away, and all I knew was that when I finally stopped, I was no longer smiling, and whatever I had been holding onto before was gone.

Back to now, I opened my eyes slowly and looked at my reflection in the glass across the room.

I looked pale.

Hollow.

Like someone had taken everything from me and left only the outline behind.

No parents to fall back on.

No safety.

No future I had built with my own hands.

Just the truth.

My hand throbbed again inside the brace, a dull, constant pain that spread up my arm, and I flexed my fingers slightly, but the movement was weak, unsteady, not the hands of a surgeon.

Not anymore.

A soft sound broke through the silence.

My phone lit up again.

Adrian.

His name filled the screen like nothing had changed, like he had not just torn my life apart and stood there calling it necessary.

My fingers hovered for a second, trembling slightly, then I let the phone ring.

And ring.

And ring.

Until the sound stopped.

I did not move.

I did not pick it up.

I did not call him back.

Slowly, I reached up with my good hand and touched the ring on my finger, the one he had given me with a promise I now knew meant nothing.

For a moment, I just stared at it, my vision blurring slightly , but the tears did not fall this time.

I slid it off.

The metal felt cold against my skin as it left my finger, and I held it for a second, my hand shaking slightly before I curled my fingers around it.

Then I turned.

Walked to the trash bin without hesitation.

And dropped it in.

2

“You didn’t pick up my calls.”

Adrian’s voice came from the doorway before I even turned, and I felt it before I saw him, that familiar presence that used to bring comfort, now pressing against my skin in a way that made me want to step away.

I kept my eyes on the table for a moment before looking up.

“I was resting.”

He walked in slowly, his gaze sweeping over me, stopping briefly on the brace around my hand, and for a moment, his expression softened like it always did when he wanted to play the part.

“You should have told me,” he said quietly, stepping closer, “I heard about your hand.”

I nodded once.

“I know.”

He reached for me, his fingers brushing my arm, light and familiar, but my body reacted before I could stop it, my shoulders tightening slightly, my breath catching as something deep inside me resisted the contact.

It felt wrong now.

Not painful, not harsh, just wrong.

I pulled my arm back gently, like it meant nothing, like I had simply adjusted my position, but I saw the brief flicker of confusion in his eyes.

“You’re tense,” he said.

“I’m fine.”

A short silence settled between us, and then he exhaled, like he was letting it go.

“We’re going to my parents’ place tonight,” he said, his tone shifting back to normal, like nothing had happened, “they want to see you.”

I looked at him.

His parents.

The house I grew up visiting because my mother worked there, the place where I learned early how to sit quietly, how to take less space, how to pretend I belonged when I didn’t.

“They insisted,” Adrian added, watching me carefully, “you know how they are.”

Yes.

I knew exactly how they were.

I should have refused, I should have said no, but I didn’t, because I needed to see it clearly, not just hear it through a half-open door, not just feel it as something breaking inside me.

I needed to sit in front of them and understand exactly what I had been to all of them.

“Alright,” I said.

He nodded, satisfied.

“Good.”

—

The house looked the same.

Large, quiet, perfect in a way that never included me.

The moment we stepped inside, his mother looked at me, her eyes moving slowly from my face to the brace on my hand, then back again, and her lips curved slightly in something that was not quite a smile.

“So you are here.”

I gave a small nod.

“Good evening.”

She did not reply, she simply turned to Adrian.

“You’re late.”

“Traffic,” he said.

Her gaze returned to me.

“And you,” she added, her tone light but cutting underneath, “I heard about your hand.”

My fingers twitched slightly inside the brace.

“I’m recovering.”

She hummed softly, like the answer did not matter.

“I suppose that means the mentorship is no longer an issue,” she said, and her eyes held mine just long enough for the meaning to settle, just long enough for me to understand that she had always seen it as something that should never have been mine.

No one said anything.

Not Adrian.

Not his father.

The silence felt deliberate.

I nodded once.

“Yes.”

“Good,” she replied, her lips curving faintly, “it would have been rather embarrassing if you had taken a position that requires steady hands.”

Then I saw her.

Selene.

She was already seated, relaxed, comfortable, like she had always belonged there, her laughter soft as she leaned toward Adrian’s father, her hand resting lightly on the arm of his chair like she had every right to be there.

She looked up when we entered, her eyes meeting mine for a brief moment before her lips curved into a small, knowing smile, then she looked away like I was nothing more than a passing detail.

Dinner began, or what looked like it.

I sat there while plates were served, the smell of the food rising around me, rich and heavy, and I recognized it immediately.

Seafood.

My stomach tightened slightly.

I had told Adrian about my allergy years ago, more than once, enough times that it should have been something he remembered without thinking.

I glanced at him.

He did not look at me. He was watching Selene.

“You should try this,” he said to her, his tone softer, warmer than anything he had said to me since he walked in, as he reached over to place food on her plate, his attention entirely on her, “you’ll like it.”

Selene smiled.

“You always remember what I like.”

“Of course,” he replied easily.

I lowered my gaze to my own plate.

Untouched,Useless.

There was nothing there I could eat, and no one noticed.

Not his mother.

Not his father.

Not even Adrian.

The conversation continued around me, smooth and effortless, as if I was not even part of it.

Then his mother spoke again.

“You must be struggling now,” she said lightly, her eyes on me, “without your work, I imagine your days are quite empty.”

I held her gaze.

“I’m managing.”

She tilted her head slightly.

“Well, at least you have Adrian,” she continued, her voice soft but precise, “marrying into this family will give you stability, something you would not have been able to secure on your own.”

My fingers curled slightly against my lap.

His father added calmly, “you should focus on being a good wife now, that would suit you better than chasing things beyond your reach.”

Beyond my reach.

The words settled quietly.

Across the table, Selene laughed softly at something Adrian said, leaning closer to him, her shoulder brushing his arm, and he did not move away.

Instead, he adjusted slightly toward her.

Like it was natural.

His hand brushed mine under the table then, light and absent, like an afterthought.

My body reacted instantly, my breath catching as my skin seemed to pull away from the contact, and I slowly moved my hand back, resting it on my lap instead.

He noticed.

I saw the slight shift in his expression. But he said nothing.

My phone vibrated softly against my thigh.

I glanced down and I saw a message. It was from Mitchell.

“Are you comfortable with the wedding being in two weeks?”

Two weeks. Fast and Clean.

My fingers hovered for a second before I typed back.

“Yes.”

I locked the phone and placed it back down.

Across from me, Selene tilted her head slightly toward Adrian, her voice low.

“Can you come with me for a moment?”

He did not hesitate.

“Of course.”

They both stood, excusing themselves casually, like it was normal, like there was nothing to question, like I was not sitting right there watching them leave together.

I watched them go.

My chest felt heavy, my breath uneven, and I pushed my chair back slowly.

“I need some air,” I said quietly. No one bothered to stop me.

I walked out.

The night air hit my skin immediately, cool and sharp, and I inhaled deeply, trying to steady myself, trying to quiet the noise in my head.

Then I heard it, a soft sound. I turned slightly. And I saw them.

Adrian had her pressed against the wall, his hand gripping her waist, pulling her close as his lips moved against hers, slow and intimate, like he had all the time in the world.

Selene’s fingers were tangled in his shirt, her body pressed against his like she belonged there, like she always had.

I stopped breathing.

My fingers curled at my side, weak but trembling, and I stood there, unable to move, unable to look away.

He kissed her like I had never been kissed. Like she was a treasure to protect.

And at that moment, I understood it fully.

I had never been the one he chose.

I did not know when the tears started falling.

They came quietly, without permission, sliding down my face while I stood there watching him kiss her like nothing else in the world existed, like there had never been a place for me beside him.

My fingers trembled slightly at my side, weak, unsteady, and I pressed them against my dress, trying to ground myself, trying to stop the feeling spreading through my chest.

Years.

I had spent years loving him.

Years building lies in my heart that I thought was real.

I could still remember it clearly, the first time I realized I liked him, the way my chest used to feel tight whenever he looked at me, the way I used to wait for him, the way I held onto every word he said like it meant something.

And when he asked me to be his girlfriend, I had been so happy.

So stupidly happy.

I thought he felt the same.

I thought he had chosen me.

Now I stood there, watching him choose someone else without hesitation, without guilt, like I had never mattered in the first place.

My breath came out uneven, and I forced myself to look away, wiping my face quickly before turning back toward the house.

By the time I returned to the dining room, they were already seated again.

Nothing had changed.

Selene sat there calmly, her expression soft, composed, as if she had not just been wrapped in his arms moments ago, and Adrian looked just as steady, like there was nothing to hide.

No one questioned it.

No one noticed.

Or maybe they did, and they simply did not care.

I walked back to my seat quietly, my movements controlled, my face blank.

Dinner was over not long after, and the plates sat half empty across the table.

Mine was untouched.

His mother’s gaze shifted toward me.

“You’re not eating?” she asked, her tone light, but her eyes sharp.

“I’m allergic to seafood,” I replied calmly.

A brief pause followed.

Then she gave a small hum, like that was insignificant.

“You should have said something earlier,” she said, though there was no apology in her voice.

I glanced at Adrian.

He did not look at me.

He was pouring Selene a drink.

“I did,” I said quietly.

No one responded.

His mother turned slightly, looking around the table.

“There’s no one here to clear this up,” she said, her tone changing just enough to carry meaning.

Then her eyes settled on me.

“Well,” she continued, her lips curving faintly, “like mother, like daughter, I suppose you would know what to do.”

The words landed softly.

But they cut deep.

A quiet reminder.

A place I had tried to move past.

A place they would never let me forget.

My fingers tightened slightly against my lap, and for a moment, I did not move.

Then I stood.

“I’ll handle it.”

I began gathering the plates slowly, carefully, my injured hand aching with every small movement, the weight pressing against my fingers, sending sharp pulses up my arm.

I carried them into the kitchen one by one.

The sink filled quickly and I started cleaning.

My hands moved awkwardly, unsteady, my grip weak, and I had to adjust constantly just to keep from dropping anything.

The pain spread through my fingers, dull but persistent, and I clenched my jaw slightly, focusing on the task in front of me.

At least this was something I could still do.

A soft sound came from behind me.

Footsteps.

I did not turn immediately.

Then her voice came, light and almost playful.

“Evelyn.”

I looked over my shoulder.

Selene stood there, leaning lightly against the doorframe, her expression calm, her eyes watching me with quiet interest.

“I thought I should help,” she said, stepping inside.

I turned back to the sink.

“It’s fine.”

She moved closer anyway.

Too close.

Her presence filled the small space, her perfume faint but noticeable, and I felt it, the tension, the quiet pressure of her standing right behind me.

“You’ve always been so good at this,” she said softly.

I did not respond.

My fingers tightened slightly around the plate I was holding, the water running over it as I focused on not letting it slip.

“For someone who worked so hard to leave that life behind,” she continued, her voice almost thoughtful, “you still fit into it so easily.”

My breath slowed.

I said nothing.

Then suddenly, there was a sharp movement.

A quick shift.

A small, controlled gasp.

I turned instinctively.

Selene stumbled back slightly, her hand lifting, her expression twisting as she looked down at her wrist.

There was a thin line of red.

A cut.

Small.

But enough.

Her eyes widened, and she looked at me.

“You cut me,” she said, her voice soft, but carrying just enough shock.

The plate slipped slightly in my hand.

“I didn’t—”

Footsteps approached quickly.

Adrian’s voice came first.

“What happened?”

Selene looked up at him, her expression fragile now, her voice quiet.

“She didn’t mean to,” she said gently, holding her wrist like it hurt more than it should, “it was an accident.”

I stood there, my fingers trembling, my chest tight as I stared at her.

I had not touched her.

Not even close.

But she was already looking at me like I had.

And Adrian was already looking at me, anger brimming in his eyes. .