The car stopped in front of the house that was supposed to be my honeymoon haven. I hadn't spoken the whole ride. My finger just kept tracing circles on the glass, stuck somewhere between anger and exhaustion.
Camila cut the engine and held out the keys. "You'll be okay, right?"
I nodded, even though it felt like a lie.
"Good." She forced a small smile. "I'll wait here till my ride comes. Ten minutes, tops."
I turned to her. "Why wait outside? You're already here. What are you, a stranger?"
"I just don't want to intrude."
"Come in," I said flatly. "You're not standing out here like some delivery girl."
She hesitated, then followed me inside.
The house opened wide. Polished wood floors, tall windows, every corner dripping with money.
"Wow," Camila whispered. "This place is..."
But I didn't hear the rest. My eyes had already locked on the cream sofa.
Jake wasn't alone. A woman sat on his lap, arms looped around his neck, lips grazing too close. I knew that face. It was one of the models plastered across gossip blogs, always listed among his "rumored flings."
I shook my head, breath catching. "I'm not doing this tonight."
Grabbing Camila's wrist, I pulled her toward the stairs. My chest felt like it was caving in.
The woman scrambled up, tugging at her dress. Jake stood, eyes wide, like a boy caught red-handed.
"Upstairs," I said, voice low but cutting. "Now."
Camila trailed me, too stunned to speak.
Upstairs, I slammed the door and leaned back against it, breathing hard. My eyes burned.
Camila stood frozen in the middle of the room. "Alora…"
"Don't." I pressed my palms over my face, then dropped them. "You saw that, right? I'm not crazy?"
"I saw," she whispered. "I don't even know what to say."
I let out a bitter laugh that wasn't really a laugh. "What do you even say, Cam? When your husband celebrates your wedding by parading one of his toys in your own living room?"
She stepped closer, careful. "Sit down, please. You're shaking."
I ignored her. My chest wouldn't stop rising too fast.
"Should I call someone?" she asked softly.
"No. Not yet. If I call anyone, the whole world will know before morning. I can't afford that."
"Then… what do you want me to do?"
"Stay," I whispered, my voice thinner now. "Just stay tonight. If I'm alone, I'll do something reckless. And he's not worth prison."
Camila pressed a tissue into my hand. Her fingers lingered on mine. "Then I'm not leaving."
The room tilted, and before I could stop it, a tear slid down my cheek. "God, Camila… what did I marry?"
The question echoed inside me, but another voice rose with it. My own, younger and foolish.
Two days after my broken engagement, I'd been at my desk, head buried in my arms. "If my mother reminds me one more time that I'm twenty-seven and still unmarried, I swear I'll move to Mars," I groaned.
Camila sat on the desk edge, sipping iced coffee, legs swinging. "Mars wouldn't have her nagging, true. But no oxygen either, babe."
I cracked a weak smile. "At this point, I don't care. If a contract marriage showed up, I'd sign just for peace."
Camila had laughed so hard she nearly choked on her straw. "You? Contract marriage? Please. You wouldn't last a week."
"Maybe. But at least people would stop breathing down my neck."
She'd leaned in, eyes glinting. "Funny enough, I was talking to my brother. His friend's looking for that. Contract marriage. No strings."
I'd laughed too, thinking it ridiculous. Neither of us knew fate was listening.
The memory slipped away, and the present slammed back. The silk-draped walls. The muffled voices downstairs. The sharp weight in my chest.
I pressed my trembling hands over my face. If only I had known. If only I had never let that joke become my life.
When I looked up, Camila was standing near the dresser, a tissue box clutched like a shield.
"Funny, isn't it?" My voice came out low. "I joked about signing a contract just to shut my mother up. And here I am…" The words died in my throat.
Camila looked away. Guilt flickered across her face.
Downstairs, a laugh rose, then faded. My jaw tightened.
"And now," I whispered, "I walk into my own house—on my own honeymoon—and find her curled up in my husband's lap, like she belongs there."