Before I could muster a response, Damon cupped my face, his touch warm yet distant. "Tonight’s a great night," he said, his voice laced with anticipation. "There’s an annual event hosted by one of my business partners. Some of my friends will be there."

I parted my lips to speak, to ask if this was his way of patching things up or avoiding the cracks entirely, but he silenced me with a kiss. It wasn’t tender; it was possessive, commanding. I stood frozen as his lips moved against mine, robbing me of the words I so desperately wanted to scream. When he pulled back, I turned and headed upstairs to our room, moving like a lifeless puppet.

That evening, we arrived at the event. The venue was lavish, sparkling with chandeliers and the murmur of expensive conversations. I tried to focus on the grandeur, the soft hum of music, but my attention wavered the moment Miranda came into view.

She wore a crimson dress, fitted perfectly to her body, with a plunging neckline that left little to the imagination. The fabric shimmered under the light, drawing all eyes to her. She moved with an air of confidence, her lips painted in the same shade as her dress. My chest tightened, and a wave of inadequacy washed over me. I felt invisible in my simple black gown, standing in her radiant shadow.

Miranda greeted Damon with a hug, her arms lingering around his neck, followed by a kiss on his cheek that seemed too familiar for comfort. He didn’t pull away; instead, his lips curved into a faint smile.

She turned to me, her eyes sparkling with feigned sincerity. "Hey, Amara. I found out yesterday it was your seventh anniversary…"

Her voice was sweet, too sweet. I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. "Mine and Damon’s anniversary," I corrected, the sarcasm dripping from my words. "And thanks to you, it went so well."

Damon shot me a sharp look, his jaw tightening, but I didn’t care.

Miranda, unbothered, laughed lightly. "Congratulations to you both." She stretched out a wrapped box. "Please, accept my gift."

I stared at the box, then at her, rolling my eyes before turning on my heel. Without a word, I headed for the restroom, the air around me heavy with tension.

Damon caught up with me just as I reached the hallway, his hand gripping my arm. "Amara, what was that? That’s not like you."

I yanked my arm free, glaring at him. "You wouldn’t know what I’m like anymore." With that, I stormed off, leaving him standing there.

The evening dragged on painfully. I stood on the sidelines, watching Damon and Miranda move through the crowd like a power couple. Every time I tried to approach him, she’d swoop in with her practiced charm, guiding him toward someone else under the guise of polite introductions. It was as if I wasn’t even there.

I swallowed the lump in my throat as I watched her lay a hand on his arm, leaning in to whisper something that made him chuckle. My chest burned, jealousy and despair battling for dominance.

Finally, I’d had enough. I marched toward Damon, determined to tell him I was leaving. But before I could reach him, his voice stopped me.

"Miranda, you shouldn’t drink. Forgotten?"

I froze, my steps faltering.

A woman in their circle exchanged a glance with her partner. "Why, Mr. McCain? Is she sick?"

Miranda subtly glanced my way, a small, calculated smile playing on her lips. "I’m pregnant."

Gasps rippled through the group. My heart pounded, the word echoing in my ears. Pregnant?

The woman’s partner raised an eyebrow. "Really? Is it your unborn child, Damon?"

Damon smiled faintly, glancing at Miranda, who returned his gaze with a soft smile.

"So, she’s carrying your baby," the woman said, looking impressed. "I’ve heard rumors about you two. They said she’s captured your heart."

The man beside her chimed in, his tone curious. "If she’s your woman, then who’s that?" He gestured toward me. "I clearly remember meeting you with her once, Damon."

I waited, my breath caught in my throat, as Damon turned to me. His expression was distant, his voice low as he muttered, "Uh… she’s my… like a close friend."

The world tilted beneath me. A close friend? That’s all I was to him?

Before Damon could approach me, I turned and walked away, tears blurring my vision.

I couldn’t believe he’d said it. Just a close friend. The words played on repeat in my mind, sharp as broken glass. Seven years. Seven years of my life, my sacrifices, my love—and all it took was Miranda to erase it. I wasn’t even angry about her pregnancy, not entirely. It was his disregard for me that ripped me apart. His inability to defend me, to even acknowledge what we were. Was she the reason for his growing distance, his excuses, his lies? How long had I been blind?

The second I stepped into the house, I flung my purse onto the couch, its contents scattering. Tears blurred my vision, but I didn’t care. A sob broke from my throat as I sank onto the cold, unforgiving leather. My chest heaved, and each breath felt like a struggle. I had loved Damon with everything I had, but tonight, he’d made me feel like nothing.

Time passed in a blur before I heard the door click open. Damon’s familiar scent filled the room as he stepped inside, his voice laced with irritation.

“What’s wrong with you, Amara? You shouldn’t have left like that.”

I lifted my head and met his gaze, bitterness coating my words. “Really? I was supposed to stay and take in all the humiliation? That’s what you wanted?”

His brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

I stood, my legs trembling beneath me. “So I’m just a close friend, huh? That’s what I mean.”

He sighed, stepping closer, his hands raised like a man trying to tame a storm. “No, Amara. You’re the woman I love.”

I pushed him back, anger bubbling to the surface. “Then why couldn’t you say that at the event? Why did you embarrass me like that in front of everyone?”

“Amara…” His voice was soft, pleading.

I didn’t let him finish. “Miranda is carrying your child, and you didn’t even have the decency to tell me!”

His head snapped up, his eyes wide. “No. It’s not mine.”

“What?” My heart faltered.

“It’s her ex’s unborn child.”

“You’re kidding me.” My voice rose with disbelief. “You let them believe it was yours. You smiled. You didn’t deny it.”

“I didn’t say anything!” His tone was defensive now. “I just… I wanted to protect her dignity, like a good friend would.”

“And what about me?” My voice cracked. “You didn’t want her humiliated, but you didn’t care about humiliating me. It was so easy for you.”

“Why can’t you seem to understand?” he said, frustration lining his face.

“Why can’t you see how you’re crushing me, Damon?!” My voice broke on his name, the weight of my emotions finally breaking free.

His hands ran through his hair as he stepped closer again, his eyes scanning my face. “You don’t look good,” he muttered, his gaze dropping to my hand. He reached for it, his expression softening. “How did you get hurt?”

A bitter laugh escaped my lips as I pulled my hand away. “You just noticed it now? After everything?”

“I’m sorry.”

I shook my head, tears stinging my eyes again. “Why are you doing this to me, Damon? If I mean something to you, if you value what we share, why have you been disregarding me like this?”

He sighed heavily, taking my hands again despite my resistance. His touch was warm, but it didn’t soothe the cold ache in my chest. “I don’t mean to. It’s just… the circumstances. You shouldn’t take it to heart.”

Before I could protest, he cupped my face and pressed his lips to mine. The kiss was hot, demanding, and I wanted to push him away, but my body betrayed me. My head spun, my heart pounding as I lost myself in the moment. His touch, his scent, his presence—it was all-consuming, pulling me under.

Before I realized it, we were on the couch, our lips locked, his hands tracing my body. But then, the shrill ring of his phone shattered the moment.

He pulled away, fishing the device from his pocket. “Yes, Miranda?”

My chest tightened at her name.

“Hello, Damon. I just got home. I’ve got a splitting headache,” I overheard her say, her voice weak.

His brows knitted together in concern. “Really?”

“Yes. It’s not serious, but…” She coughed lightly, and Damon sighed.

“I’ll be there ASAP.” He ended the call and stood, his movements hurried.

“Damon.” My voice was quiet, shaky. I sat up, stopping him before he could leave. “I don’t feel well.”

He glanced at me, his expression distracted. “Come on, I’ll call my family doctor to come check up on you. Miranda needs me now.”

And with that, he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him without so much as a backward glance.

I collapsed back onto the couch, the ache in my chest spreading through my entire body.

An hour passed, and the doctor still hadn’t arrived. I managed to grab my phone, my hands trembling as I dialed Damon’s number. It rang and rang, but he didn’t answer.

A chime interrupted the silence, and I glanced at the screen. A message from Damon.

{Try to get better, Amara. I had picked the doctor to come check up on Miranda. I don’t want to risk anything with her.}

The words blurred as tears filled my eyes. My hand fell limply to my lap, the phone slipping from my grasp. My heart felt like it had been ripped out, stomped on, and discarded.

Risk anything with her? What about me?

I stared at the door, hoping, praying he’d walk back in, that he’d realize what he was doing to me. But deep down, I knew he wouldn’t.

The room felt colder than ever as the reality of it all settled over me. I was alone.

I stared at my phone countless times, willing it to ring, to vibrate, to do something that would prove Damon cared enough to call back. With trembling hands, I took it and dialed his number again. The ringing seemed louder in the oppressive silence of the room. When it cut to voicemail, my heart sank even deeper

I needed air. Anything to escape the suffocating weight pressing down on my chest. Wrapping myself in a coat, I stepped outside, the cold biting my fevered skin.

I clung to the hope that Damon might appear, that he’d realize his mistake and come for me, like he always did in the past. But the streets were empty. Only the crunch of snow under my boots accompanied me as I shuffled weakly forward.

My vision blurred, and my steps faltered.The ground rushed toward me, but before I hit it, strong hands gripped my arms, steadying me.

“Damon?” I whispered weakly, clinging to the hope it was him.

But when I looked up, I met a pair of steel-gray eyes—not Damon’s striking cerulean ones.

“Are you okay?” The man’s voice was deep, commanding, laced with concern that resonated in my ears as my vision darkened.

I tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. My body sagged against his hold.

“Hey, stay with me!” His sharp tone demanded my attention, but I couldn’t fight it anymore. My eyelids fluttered shut, and the world faded away, leaving only the echo of his voice ringing in my ears.

- - - - -

The antiseptic scent hit me the moment my eyes fluttered open. The sterile white walls and soft hum of machines confirmed I was in a hospital. Blinking against the fluorescent light, I turned my head and froze. A slightly familiar, strikingly handsome face was watching me.

“Hey, you’re awake,” he said, his voice softer than I expected.

I swallowed, my throat dry and scratchy. “Who are you?”

His lips curled into a small smile. “I brought you here.”

My mind raced to piece together the fragments of my memory. “Oh... thanks for that.” I nodded, realizing my manners had slipped. “You are?”

“Tyler. Kennedy,” he said, tilting his head as if expecting recognition.

“Tyler Kennedy?” I repeated, squinting at him. His name tugged at a distant memory.

He chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Goodness, you’ve forgotten me, Amara.”

The smile on his face sparked clarity, and my breath caught. “Tyler. You’re my brother’s friend.”

“Took you forever to remember me,” he teased. “Meanwhile, I never forgot you.”