The wedding was a nightmare rendered in white roses and champagne.

Holden stood near the bar, a glass of untouched club soda in his hand, watching his best friend, Sean, dance with his new wife. It was supposed to be a happy day. But every time he looked across the ballroom, he saw them. Averie and Donnie.

They were inseparable, a tableau of feigned concern and blatant intimacy. Averie would lean in, whispering in Donnie's ear, her hand resting on his chest. Donnie would laugh, his arm possessively around her waist.

Earlier, outside the church, Donnie had engineered a scene. He'd "tripped" near Holden, stumbling dramatically and crying out, clutching his ankle. "He pushed me!" Donnie had yelled, his face a mask of pain.

Averie had rushed to his side, her eyes flashing with fury as she looked at Holden. "What is wrong with you?" she had hissed, cradling Donnie's head in her lap like a fallen hero. "He's just trying to be my friend, and you attack him?"

Holden hadn't said a word. He just stood there as Sean's mother, Mrs. Hayes, pulled him away, muttering, "That boy is a snake, and she's a fool."

Now, his phone buzzed in his pocket. A text from an unknown number. He opened it.

It was a video.

His thumb hovered over the play button, a sense of dread coiling in his gut. He pressed it.

The screen filled with Averie's face, flushed and breathing heavily. The camera panned down, and his stomach lurched. She was in a hotel room, tangled in the sheets with Donnie. She looked directly into the camera, a cruel smile playing on her lips.

"He thinks he can just wait me out," she whispered in the video, her voice a breathy taunt. "He has no idea."

Donnie's laughter echoed from off-screen.

Holden's hand went numb. The phone slipped, and he barely caught it before it hit the floor. His heart felt like a block of ice in his chest. It wasn't just a betrayal anymore. It was a spectator sport. She wanted him to watch.

He shoved the phone back into his pocket, his knuckles white. He needed to leave. He couldn't breathe.

He turned to head for the exit, but a soft hand on his arm stopped him. It was Averie.

"Don't go," she said, her voice a soft plea. "Stay. For Sean."

Before he could answer, a waiter passed with a tray of hors d'oeuvres. Crab puffs. Holden reached for one out of pure, anxious reflex.

"No," Averie said sharply, slapping his hand away. It was a quick, instinctive gesture. "You know you're allergic to shellfish."

He froze, his hand hovering in the air. She stared at him, her eyes wide with a flicker of confusion, as if her own body had betrayed her. She remembered his allergy. A detail from a life she supposedly couldn't recall.

The lie was so thin, so fragile, he could see right through it.

She recovered quickly, forcing a laugh. "Sean must have told me. I must have just remembered him telling me."

Donnie appeared at her side, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her flush against him. He kissed her neck, a long, possessive kiss meant for an audience of one.

"Let's dance, baby," Donnie murmured, his eyes locked on Holden's.

Holden watched them walk onto the dance floor, her body melting into his. He felt nothing. Not anger, not sadness. Just a profound, hollow emptiness. The man she was protecting him from was a ghost. The woman protecting him was the one holding the knife.