During our wedding rehearsal dinner, my fiancé Caleb’s adopted sister, Scarlett, called, her voice trembling as she claimed to be having a “panic attack” all alone at home.

I suggested he call a private car to take her to the emergency room or contact her therapist.

Instead, Caleb’s fingers dug into my wrist, his eyes glacial. “Ava, can’t you have a shred of compassion?”

“Scarlett is the one person I swore to protect for the rest of my life,” he said, his voice raw. “Only I can calm her down.”

And just like that, he abandoned a room full of our friends and family, bolting from the restaurant without a backward glance.

Returning late to our penthouse on Central Park West, the first thing I saw was a trail of discarded clothes. A trail of discarded clothes led from the entrance, and I could hear suppressed, heavy panting coming from the master bedroom.

I pushed open the door and saw Caleb pinning Scarlett against the wall. His white shirt was ripped open, her fingers tangled in his sweat-dampened hair.

Our eyes met. Without a word, he shoved me out of the room and slammed the door. The click of the lock was an epitaph for our five-year love story.

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1

The bruise on my wrist throbbed, a dull counterpoint to the unending sound of muffled moans and the rhythmic thud of bodies against the wall from the bedroom where Caleb was with Scarlett.

I stared out at the glittering New York City nightscape, numbly pouring one glass of whiskey after another.

The whiskey burned a path down my throat, but it was a dull ache compared to the chasm cracking open in my chest.

The door finally opened.

Caleb finally stumbled out, his hair a mess and his expression dazed.

His shirt hung open, and a dark bruise bloomed on his neck—a mark left by the strap of the silk nightgown he’d bought for me.

And Scarlett, wrapped in my favorite cashmere robe, was nestled against him as if she belonged there.

She sauntered over to me, her voice a venomous whisper in my ear. “You have exquisite taste, Ava.”

The air in the room crackled and froze.

Caleb finally saw me and reached out, but he was drenched in the cloying scent of another woman’s perfume, mingled with the sour, musky scent of sex.

I recoiled as if I’d been burned, knocking over the bar cart behind me.

The shattering of glass ripped through the tense silence.

“Disgusting,” I heard myself say.

My voice was jarringly sharp in the sudden quiet. Caleb’s expression hardened. “Do you have to be like this, Ava? You know Scarlett’s situation.”

I let out a cold laugh, gesturing to the fresh marks on his neck. “Her situation? Is this part of the treatment? Starring in your own twisted drama to save your sister? My God, Caleb, you’re just so noble.”

“Do you think Scarlett would have had a breakdown if you weren’t always pushing her buttons, Ava?” he shot back. “It was an accident. We’re still getting married, and I’ll make it up to you. Just drop it.”

I raised my glass in a mock toast. “Congratulations, Mr. Hawthorne. You’ve successfully comforted your sister. Here’s to a lifetime of happiness for the both of you.”

Caleb’s patience snapped. “Ava, have you made enough of a scene? She’s my sister!”

Scarlett suddenly let out a weak whimper from his side. “Caleb, I… I don’t feel well again…”

He immediately turned back to her. As he guided Scarlett back toward the bedroom, he threw a cold command over his shoulder. “You can sleep in the guest room tonight, Ava. Don’t disturb Scarlett.”

I seized a whiskey glass and hurled it against the wall. Shards flew, one of them slicing open the back of my hand.

Blood dripped from my knuckles, but I felt nothing.

Was this what rock bottom felt like? Even the sharp sting of the glass barely registered.

I stumbled out of that apartment.

…

At midnight, I made it back to my architecture studio.

Just as I collapsed into a chair, a shrill ringtone pierced the silence.

The name “Victoria” flashed on the screen, a venomous glow in the darkness.

“Ava! The wedding is about to start! Where in the world are you?” a sharp voice barked from the other end. “I knew it! You’re just some trashy, poor girl with no family! If Caleb hadn’t insisted, I never would have agreed to this marriage!”

“Mrs. Hawthorne, have Caleb and Scarlett arrived?” I asked, my voice a raw whisper. The shouting on the other end paused. “Why are you asking me that? You’re the bride! And Caleb is exhausted after being up all night with Scarlett. It’s perfectly understandable that he’s sleeping in!”

“Your son is busy exploring a new kind of 'family bonding' with his adopted sister,” I rasped, my voice hoarse and unrecognizable. “Should I send you the video?”

Dead silence, followed by an even more piercing shriek. “What nonsense are you spouting? Scarlett and Caleb have a perfectly innocent—”

I hung up and stared at the wall covered with blueprints for the home we were supposed to build together.

Every line, drawn over countless sleepless nights, now seemed to mock me in the morning light, a monument to my own foolishness.

My fingers traced the plans on the wall, the gut-wrenching realization hitting me that this house would never be built.

In a daze, I began tearing them down, one by one, not even realizing tears were streaming down my face.

Victoria had always despised me for being an orphan. No matter what I accomplished, I could never win her approval. Back then, Caleb would just pull me into his arms and tell me none of it mattered, that as long as he loved me, it was enough.

I was such a fool.

I had been so blind. All his talk about protecting Scarlett, all his “concern”—it had never been about sibling affection. The man I thought was my salvation had slept with his sister in our bed, right in front of me.

My phone vibrated nonstop, confirmation emails from wedding vendors flooding my inbox.

Like a robot, I replied to each one, canceling everything, bracing myself for the financial fallout.

Just then, a new notification popped up on my Instagram.

Scarlett had posted a close-up of Caleb’s bare chest. On the minimalist mountain range tattoo we had designed to symbolize our love, a new, clumsily carved letter ‘S’ scarred the peak. The caption read: ‘Finally reached the summit.’

Caleb had even liked it.

I stared at the tattoo I had designed for him, stroke by painstaking stroke, and I started to laugh.

The irony was staggering.

The vow I had personally inked onto his skin was now someone else’s trophy.

I left a comment under the post. A moment later, a video call from Scarlett came through.

On the screen, Caleb’s bare chest was covered in fresh scratches. Scarlett was curled up beside him like a kitten, deliberately shifting to expose the bite marks he’d left on her shoulder.

“Ava.” Her voice was sickly sweet. She traced the raw ‘S’ on his chest as if displaying a prize. “Caleb’s exhausted, still sleeping. He worked so hard last night…”

I watched her performance, my face a blank mask.

“Oh, by the way,” she added, her hand flying to her mouth in feigned surprise. “Isn’t today your wedding? It’s all my fault. If I hadn’t had that panic attack… Ava, you’re not mad at me, are you?”

The camera panned to Caleb’s sleeping face. His neck was a canvas of love bites.

“Drop the act, Scarlett,” I interrupted, my voice flat. “We both know who’s pulling the strings here.”

“Ava,” she sneered, her facade crumbling, “Caleb and I have known each other for over a decade. Did you really think a nobody like you could compete? We aren’t related by blood. He was always meant to be mine. And what are you? An orphan who scraped by on scholarships. What gives you the right to be with him?”

I laughed.

When we were together, Caleb had mentioned his ‘sister’ countless times. He’d always said she was fragile, that I needed to be good to her. I had once naively teased him for being such a doting brother, never imagining the truth.

She smiled smugly, then instantly switched her expression to a pitiful one. “Caleb, Ava is bullying me…”

He stirred, groggily opening his eyes. When he saw my face on the screen, he froze. “Ava…”

“Caleb, how did it feel to desecrate our vows?”

Scarlett immediately burst into tears. “It’s my fault! Caleb, please don’t fight with Ava because of me. I’ll just leave…”

The moment he heard her cry, Caleb exploded. “Enough, Ava! If you have a problem, take it out on me! Don’t you dare blame Scarlett! She’s already miserable, and you still want to attack her? It’s just a wedding! We can postpone it, what’s the big deal? Why do you have to be so vicious?”

“We don’t have a marriage license yet, Ava! Technically, I can do whatever I want. You can’t control me!”

Watching him shield Scarlett, I let out a derisive laugh. “You’re right. We’re not married. It’s your body, your choice.”

My calm tone seemed to placate him. “Good. Just stop being mad at Scarlett. As long as you’re good to her, we can have another wedding in a few days.”

I nodded calmly. He took it as a compromise and hung up, satisfied.

In that instant, something inside me snapped shut. I was done. Whatever happened with Caleb Hawthorne from this point on had nothing to do with me.