The rain poured heavily outside, drumming against the wide windows of the apartment Liana Brooks had shared for five trusting, agonizing years. Lightning cracked across the night sky like laughter mocking, sharp and cruel.
Liana stood frozen in the middle of the bedroom, her breath catching shallow and useless in her throat. The air felt too thick to breathe and the silence in the room too sharp to bear. She didn't need to look again, but her eyes kept finding the phone on the nightstand, glowing like a taunt.
There it was—the message she would never unread.
Honeymoon suite booked.
Three words. So small. So ordinary. And yet they shattered her world in a single heartbeat.
Not for her.
Not for them.
The suite wasn't booked for Liana and Michael—the man who had promised her forever in the safety of whispered vows and diamond rings. No. That suite was for Michael and her sister.
Juliet.
The name tasted like ash.
Juliet, who had sat across from her at every family dinner, smiling with that same sweet innocence that once made her so easy to trust. Juliet, who had listened to every one of Liana's late-night worries about Michael's distance, about the growing coldness she couldn't explain. Juliet, who had nodded sympathetically, poured the wine, whispered that Michael was probably just stressed.
And all along, she had known.
Liana's pulse roared in her ears. Her body went cold, then hot, then numb again. This wasn't just infidelity—it was betrayal woven carefully through every year of her life. A calculated theft of trust, of love, of family.
Her knees weakened. She stumbled backward, catching herself on the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped, creaked softly beneath her weight, as if mocking the countless nights she had shared there with a man who'd been lying beside her in every possible way.
How long had they been laughing at her?
The question clawed through her mind. How long had they looked at her—at her excitement, her wedding binder, the dress fittings—and smiled, knowing the joke was on her?
The thought made her sick.
Her hand pressed to her stomach, as though she could steady herself against the nausea rising from deep within. The apartment, her haven, her home suddenly felt like a tomb built from deception.
She looked around, dazed. The half-packed boxes labeled Wedding décor. The open laptop still displaying a spreadsheet of vendors and menu costs. The framed engagement photo on the dresser. Michael's hand on her waist, his eyes warm and bright.
Behind them, out of focus, Juliet stood with her perfect smile.
Liana's heart clenched.
Every single memory was poisoned now.
She crossed the room, hands shaking, tearing the photo from its frame. The glass cracked, slicing her thumb, but she didn't flinch. She stared at the blood welling up, bright and real. The pain grounded her more than anything else had tonight.
She couldn't stay here.
Not another second.
With a sudden clarity that cut through the chaos, she knew she had to leave.
She had to get out—away from the lies, from the suffocating air that still carried Michael's cologne.
Liana's hands moved on instinct. She grabbed her old denim jacket from the chair, her fingers fumbling at the sleeves. Her engagement ring sat on the nightstand. She stared at it for a long moment. Then she left it there, along with her phone, her keys to the apartment, her life.
All of it could rot.
The elevator button slipped beneath her trembling finger twice before she managed to press it. When the doors slid open, the mirrored walls reflected a stranger. Mascara streaked down her cheeks, eyes wide and glassy.
The ride down felt endless. Each floor number blinked slowly. Her chest heaved. She wanted to scream but couldn't even find her voice.
When the doors finally opened onto the drenched street, the storm hit her full force. Cold water soaked through her clothes in seconds, plastering the jacket to her skin. But it felt cleansing. The rain washed over her like penance.
She didn't look back at the high-rise behind her. That building had been her dream once. Now it was just a monument to her stupidity.
Liana stumbled toward her car—a small, aging sedan dwarfed by the sleek vehicles in the luxury parking lot. Her hands shook as she fumbled with the keys, but she managed to start the engine.
The wipers screeched across the windshield as she pulled into the street, the city lights smearing into chaotic streaks of color through the sheets of rain.
She didn't know where she was going. She just drove.
The familiar streets of her comfortable life blurred past—the boutique coffee shop where she and Juliet used to meet on Saturdays, the park where Michael had proposed beneath the cherry blossoms. Each landmark was a wound.
Her tears mixed with the rain until she couldn't tell which was which.
She drove faster. Past the rows of neat suburban homes, past the quiet neighborhoods that had once made her feel safe.
Finally, she crossed the bridge into the Financial District. The towers loomed, glittering in the rain. It was the kind of world she never belonged to. Cold, perfect, untouchable.
Maybe that was the point.