“Ah, damn.” He let out a soft laugh, like I’d reminded him of something insignificant. “I forgot to make it.”

“What?” My chest constricted, disbelief mingling with hurt. “But you messaged me. You told me to come here. You should be here.”

“I know, I know,” he said, as if pacifying a child. “I’ll make it up to you. I’m at a meeting. I’ll be there soon.”

Before I could respond, a soft, feminine voice echoed faintly through the phone. “Damon, do you like crabs or grilled salmon better?”

It was Miranda.

My heart sank. He didn’t even bother to hide it anymore. There was a shuffle, as though he had cupped the phone, but her voice had already done its damage.

“Damon.” My throat felt dry. “You’re with Miranda?”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes, okay?” His words were hurried, dismissive. Then the line went dead.

I stared at my phone, disbelief freezing me in place. Damon had just lied to me—for the first time, at least outright—and it was for her. A jagged pain tore through my chest, but I held onto that fragile sliver of hope. Maybe he’d show up, make it right. He had to.

Ten minutes turned into twenty, then an hour. My hands, bare and exposed, trembled from the biting cold. I cursed myself for leaving the house without gloves. Snow began to fall, light flakes landing on my hair and lashes. My breath came out in puffs of frost as I stood there, stiff and unmoving.

The staff at the entrance stole glances at me, their expressions filled with disdain and poorly concealed amusement. They muttered amongst themselves, and though I couldn’t hear their words, their derision was obvious.

I checked my phone again. No messages, no calls. Could he be stuck in traffic? Was something holding him up? But if that were the case, why hadn’t he called or texted to let me know?

Time crawled, each minute dragging my hope further into the ground. People streamed out of the restaurant, some glancing at me curiously as I stood, a frozen statue under the falling snow. My eyes stung with unshed tears, but I refused to let them fall.

At 10 p.m., the restaurant began to close. The staff started clearing the entrance, their mocking gazes landing on me as they stepped outside.

“You claim to know him. How pathetic,” one of them sneered, her voice sharp enough to cut through the night air.

The blonde among them smirked, holding up her phone. “He’s actually having a good time with his woman right now. And here’s this poor imposter.”

Their laughter was muffled as they walked away, but their words echoed in my mind, each one a stab to my chest.

His woman?

What were they talking about?

My legs felt like lead, rooted to the icy ground as snow soaked through my shoes and numbed my toes. The cold wasn’t just on my skin; it burrowed into my bones, wrapping me in a chill that went far beyond the weather. My breath rose in wisps of frost, the night closing in around me. Then, a faint chime broke the silence. I pulled my phone from my pocket, the harsh light of the screen momentarily blinding me.

It was a notification from Instagram.

My fingers, trembling from the cold and something far deeper, swiped across the screen. The wind howled around me, but I barely noticed. My breath hitched as Miranda’s profile popped up, her latest reel sitting proudly at the top of my feed. My thumb hesitated, hovering over the video. I didn’t want to watch it, but some masochistic part of me pressed play.

The reel began with an awe-inspiring view of the Palm Springs Aerial Tramway, the tram gliding smoothly up the mountainside. Miranda’s voice filled the air, cheerful and high-pitched. “Oh my God, I can’t believe I’m doing this! It’s so scary, but so exciting!”

The camera panned, and there he was—Damon. His familiar, striking features etched with ease and laughter, his arm draped protectively over Miranda’s shoulder. My heart plummeted. He chuckled as she clung to him, whispering something close to her ear. She laughed, leaning into him as the tram rotated, the two of them framed by a picturesque sunset.

I gripped my phone tighter, my knuckles whitening. This wasn’t just a reel. This was my nightmare laid bare for everyone to see.

The reel transitioned to the observation deck at the Mountain Station, a golden sunset painting the horizon behind them. Miranda’s voice trembled with awe. “The view is incredible! I’ve never seen anything like it!” Damon was by her side, pointing out landmarks in the distance. His hand, so familiar, steadied her waist as she leaned forward, her smile bright and carefree.

This was the trip I’d begged Damon to take me on for years. He always had an excuse: work was too hectic, or the timing wasn’t right. I’d held onto hope, thinking one day he’d follow through. But here he was, giving her my dream. My stomach churned with a mixture of disbelief and heartbreak.

As the reel ended, Miranda’s caption caught my eye, its words searing into my brain:

"Thought I’d never experience true happiness, but my true love proved me wrong. I’m in the moon."

The ache in my chest spread, sharp and unforgiving. My frozen fingers hovered over the screen before I dropped my hand to my side. My phone dangled limply, as though it carried the weight of my crumbling world.

Snow continued to fall, delicate flakes landing on my cheeks, melting into tiny rivulets that mixed with tears I refused to shed. Not here. Not in front of these people, these mocking eyes that had seen enough of my humiliation. My legs moved on their own, carrying me away from the restaurant, away from the whispers of strangers and the cold silence of betrayal.

By the time I got home, the silence felt deafening. The warmth of the apartment was supposed to be comforting, but it wasn’t. My coat hung limp in my hand as I stood in the entryway, unable to summon the energy to do anything more. Then, my phone buzzed. And buzzed again. It wouldn’t stop.

Each notification carried the same sting, dragging me back to Miranda’s Instagram. Another post. Another glowing comment section. I slumped onto the couch, the cushions swallowing me as I opened my phone.

The first post showed a photo of Damon holding a plate of seafood, his grin wide and dazzling. The caption read: “Dinner with the best company. ️” Comments rolled in beneath it like a tide, each one a blow:

“You two look so perfect together!”

“Couple goals ”

“Finally found someone who matches your vibe!”

I scrolled past it, only to find another post—a video of Damon and Miranda laughing at a joke, their faces so close they might as well have been one. The caption beneath it was worse: “Finding your soulmate feels like this…”

A sickening realization clawed its way to the forefront of my mind. Miranda hadn’t just replaced me in Damon’s life. She was flaunting it for the world to see—and I had a front-row seat because I’d been naive enough to accept her friend request.

Back then, Damon had spoken so highly of her when she’d returned from her long absence. “Miranda’s like family,” he’d said. “She’s been through a lot. Let’s make her feel welcome.” And I, blind and trusting, had believed him.

Now, I scrolled through her posts, each one more painful than the last. The comments were relentless, praising her beauty, their connection, their obvious chemistry. My fingers itched to type something—anything—but what could I say? That I was the one he’d promised to marry? That I was the one left standing in the snow while they lived out a fantasy?

The phone slipped from my hands onto the couch. My chest felt heavy, my breaths shallow. Each buzz of a new notification was a reminder of what I’d lost—or maybe what I’d never truly had.

I curled up on the couch, the weight of it all pressing down on me. Somewhere deep inside, a spark of anger flickered, but it was drowned by the overwhelming wave of heartbreak. Damon had given her everything he’d denied me. And now, the whole world was watching.

As I stared blankly at the ceiling, a single thought echoed through my mind: What happens now?

My chest burned as the tears I’d fought so hard to suppress finally flowed freely. The weight of the day pressed against me, sharp and unrelenting. Every moment, every betrayal played in an endless loop in my mind, slicing through me. The snow, the Instagram posts, the waiting, and the realization that I had been discarded for Miranda—they all came crashing down like an avalanche.

A sharp buzz snapped me out of my torment. My phone lit up with another notification. My fingers hesitated over the screen, trembling with a mixture of rage and anguish. I wanted to hurl the device across the room, shatter it against the wall. But instead, I opened the app and stared, numb, at the latest post Miranda had shared.

She was resting her head on Damon’s chest, her eyes closed in serene bliss while his face was angled away, as though he was sleeping. He looked peaceful, untouched by guilt or shame. The caption beneath it stung like salt on a wound:

"True love is the calm after the storm. #Blessed #HappinessFound"

I let out a bitter laugh that quickly turned into a sob. My chest heaved as I clutched the phone tighter. “Look at me,” I whispered to no one. “Sitting here, hoping he’d come back, while he’s there. With her.”

The night blurred into a fog of tears and exhaustion, and I hadn’t realized when I finally drifted off, my phone still clutched in my hand.

“Amara!”

I jerked awake to the sound of Damon’s voice, loud and intrusive. My heart raced as I blinked against the morning light streaming through the curtains. My body stiffened when I saw him standing before me. His hair was disheveled, his tie loosened, but he still looked infuriatingly composed.

He leaned down, his hands braced on either side of me as if to kiss me, but I flinched and leaned back. My voice came out cold. “What are you doing here?”

His brows furrowed. “You slept on the couch?”

I didn’t bother answering, pushing the blanket off as I stood. I kept my gaze steady on him, taking in the faint crease of annoyance on his forehead. For a fleeting moment, I thought about confronting him outright, demanding answers, but I decided against it. What was the point?

I turned to leave, but his hand shot out, gripping mine. “Hey, what’s going on?” His voice carried an edge of confusion, as if he were the victim in this mess.

I yanked my hand free, glaring at him. “Where were you last night?”

He sighed heavily, his fingers running through his hair. “At the company. I was working my ass off, as always.”

I scoffed. “Oh, I see. And Miranda? Has she suddenly become part of your work schedule now?”

His head snapped up, his expression shifting. “What are you talking about?”

“You went with her to Palm Springs Aerial Tramway,” I spat, my voice shaking. “Then you spent the night at her place. And now you have the guts to stand here and lie to me.”

His jaw tightened, his gaze hardening. “Were you spying on me?”

A sharp, incredulous laugh escaped me. “Spying? Are you serious?”

“You know I hate that,” he said, his tone low and accusatory.

“Oh, and I love being shamed and kept waiting outside Le Château Étoilé for three hours in the freezing cold!” I stepped closer, poking his chest with every word. “Three hours, Damon. I stood there, eating snow and feeling like a fool.”

His expression softened for a moment, as if realizing his mistake, but it quickly hardened again. He waved dismissively. “Three hours? Come on, you’re exaggerating. I’m sure you left after ten minutes.”

I stared at him, my disbelief giving way to fury. “Really?”

“Yes,” he said, exhaling sharply. “About Miranda—she needed me yesterday. She’s my best friend. I couldn’t just ignore her after all she’s gone through.”

“And me?” My voice cracked, my eyes stinging as tears threatened to spill again. “You made her happy at my expense. It was our seventh anniversary, Damon. Seven years. But to you, it was just another day. You sidelined me and turned me into a laughingstock. All for Miranda.”

“Come on, Amara.” He reached out as if to console me, but I stepped back. “I thought you’d understand. She was recalling bad moments, and I just wanted to lighten her mood.”

“And I’m supposed to just accept that?” My voice rose, thick with anger and hurt. “The last three months, you’ve done more for her than you’ve done for me in years. You don’t even talk about our wedding anymore.”

He waved a hand dismissively, his expression indifferent. “Is that what you’re upset about? We can postpone it.”

My jaw dropped. “W-what?”

“Yeah.” He nodded, as if it were a simple decision. “Miranda’s been going through a lot. You can’t imagine how hard her life’s been since her breakup. She feels shattered.”

“She’s pretending,” I hissed. “She came back because you’re successful now, and she wants to ruin what we have.”

“Stop it, Amara.” His voice was sharp now. “She’s not vile. She means well—for both of us.”

“No,” I snapped. “She only means well for herself.”

“You’re wrong,” he said firmly. “Yesterday, she helped me secure the Daven Technologies contract. That’s huge for my company.”

“She…” I faltered, my heart sinking. “No. That wasn’t her.”

“It was,” he insisted. “Tasha said she saw her dropping the contract documents on my desk. She didn’t even tell me about it until after closing hours. She’s so humble.” He paused, his expression almost reverent. “The last two months she’s worked for my company, we’ve flourished.”

My stomach churned as I stared at him. “You’ve got it wrong, Damon. That contract—I got it for you.”

His head tilted, his gaze doubtful. “Look, I know you’ve helped us bag some deals, but this is different.”

“What are you trying to say?”

He shrugged, his voice casual but cutting. “It can’t be you. You dropped out of college. You’re not as experienced as she is at convincing top companies.”

My vision blurred as the words sank in. “You…” My voice trembled.

He stepped closer, taking my hand. “Let’s forget about yesterday, okay? I’ll make it up to you.”

I stared at Damon, his words echoing in my mind like a hammer striking fragile glass. It can’t be you. My knees wobbled as a sharp ache spread through my chest. Those words weakened me, carving deep into my soul. How could he so easily dismiss me, the woman who had stood by him through every storm?