The bruises on my legs throbbed as I sat on the couch, pressing an ice pack against my aching skin. I should have been relieved, grateful even, that a stranger had pulled me out of harm's way before the truck barreled through the crosswalk. But all I felt was a numbness that seeped into my chest, spreading like a shadow. My body was bruised, sure, but it was nothing compared to the cracks in my heart—the ones that Colton had carved there.

The door slammed open, pulling me from my thoughts. Colton’s voice filled the room, frantic and sharp. “Layla!” he called, his gaze sweeping over me before he rushed forward. His suit jacket was half off, his tie loose around his neck. He knelt in front of me, his hands hovering, unsure of where to touch. “What happened? Are you okay?”

I stared at him, searching his face for answers he would never give me. His eyes were wide with concern, his brows furrowed like he actually cared. But I knew better now. I knew those same hands that hovered over me with worry had held Georgia, touched her in ways that had once been reserved for me. The thought turned my stomach, but I kept my expression calm. He couldn’t know what I knew.

“It’s nothing,” I said quietly, my voice steady despite the chaos inside me. “I wasn’t paying attention and almost got hit by a truck. Someone pulled me back.”

“A truck?” His voice cracked, and he grabbed my hands, his grip firm. “Layla, you can’t be careless like that! You’re a model, for God’s sake. What if something worse happened? You can’t risk your career—or yourself.”

His concern sounded genuine, and for a fleeting moment, I wanted to believe it. I wanted to believe that the man kneeling before me was the Colton I had fallen in love with—the one who had once made me laugh until my stomach hurt, who had whispered promises of forever into my ear late at night. But that man didn’t exist anymore. Maybe he never had.

“It was just an accident,” I said, pulling my hands from his grasp. The ice pack slipped, and he reached to adjust it for me, but I stopped him with a slight shake of my head. “I’m tired, Colton. I just want to sleep.”

He hesitated, his mouth opening as if to argue, but then he sighed and stood. “I’ll stay here with you,” he said. His tone softened, and for a moment, his hand hovered near my shoulder before he let it drop. “Just rest, okay? I’ll be here.”

I nodded, leaning back into the cushions and closing my eyes. His footsteps faded as he moved to the armchair across from me, and I could feel his gaze lingering on me. It felt heavy, like the weight of all the lies he had told me pressed into my chest. But I stayed quiet, pretending to drift into sleep, even as my thoughts raced.

Eventually, exhaustion won. My body gave in to the pull of sleep, though it was restless and uneasy. My dreams were fractured images—Colton’s smile, Georgia’s laugh, and the haunting memory of walking into his office to see her perched on his desk. The way her hand had lingered on his shoulder, the way she hadn’t moved to stop him, even when she saw me standing in the doorway.

When I woke in the middle of the night, the room was dark. The glow of my phone on the nightstand caught my attention, and I reached for it, my fingers brushing across the screen. A message notification blinked at me.

I opened it, and my heart stopped. The photo was unmistakable. Colton and Georgia lay tangled in each other’s arms, the soft hotel sheets draped around their bodies. Her arm was wrapped around his chest, her head nestled into the crook of his neck as though she belonged there. They looked peaceful, intimate. Like lovers.

The message beneath the photo was cruel in its simplicity: He’s mine now.

A sharp pain radiated through my chest as my breath hitched. My hands shook, the phone slipping slightly in my grip. I stared at the photo, willing it to disappear, to be anything other than what it was. But it didn’t change. It was real. The confirmation of everything I had tried so hard to deny.

How long had this been going on? How many nights had he spent with her, whispering the same sweet words he had once said to me? How many lies had he told to cover his tracks?

I thought of all the times I had questioned him—the late-night calls, the lingering scent of unfamiliar perfume, the excuses about long work hours. Each time, he had smiled, kissed my forehead, and told me I was overthinking. And I had believed him. I had let myself believe in the version of him that I wanted to see, even as the evidence piled up.

I cried until I couldn’t cry anymore. My body felt heavy, my mind foggy with exhaustion and despair. I wanted to scream, to throw the phone across the room, to wake him and demand answers. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. Because deep down, I already knew the truth, and no explanation he could offer would change it.

He had broken me, yes. But I wouldn’t stay broken. Not for him. Not for anyone.

The sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of my apartment as I leaned against the kitchen counter, scrolling through emails about the upcoming fashion show. It was one of the most prestigious events of the year, and being invited to attend was an honor I didn’t take lightly. My stylist had already sent over options for my outfit, and I was mentally preparing for the whirlwind of cameras and flashing lights when Colton walked in.

His voice was casual at first, almost hesitant. “Layla, Georgia wants to go to the fashion show with you.”

I barely looked up from my phone. “Georgia wasn’t invited.”

He sighed, his tone shifting into something softer, almost pleading. “She knows, but she really wants to experience it. She’s never been to an event like this, and you have the connections. Can’t you bring her as your plus-one?”

I finally looked up, narrowing my eyes at him. “My plus-one is reserved for someone who actually deserves to be there. This isn’t just some cocktail party, Colton. It’s an exclusive event, and I’m not going to risk my reputation by dragging along someone who doesn’t belong.”

His brows furrowed, and I could see the irritation creeping into his expression. “You’re making it sound like she’s beneath you. She’s not asking for much, Layla. She just wants to be included.”

I set my phone down, crossing my arms. “This isn’t about inclusion. It’s about boundaries. Georgia doesn’t get to crash events I’ve worked years to be a part of just because she wants to play dress-up.”

“Why do you always have to make things so difficult? You act like she’s trying to steal your career or something. She’s not a threat to you, Layla. Stop being so jealous.”

Jealous. The word hit like a slap. I stared at him, my anger boiling just under the surface. “Jealous? Of Georgia?” I let out a humorless laugh. “You really don’t get it, do you? This has nothing to do with jealousy. It’s about respect—something you and she clearly lack.”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, I thought he might drop it. But no. Colton always had to push. “You have no reason to feel threatened. Georgia admires you, Layla. Why can’t you just be gracious and let her come with you?”

I shook my head, exhausted. He wasn’t listening. He never did. “Fine,” I said finally, my voice flat. “If it’ll stop this argument, I’ll bring her.”

The smug satisfaction on his face was infuriating, but I let it go. Fighting with him was like talking to a brick wall. And if Georgia wanted to embarrass herself by tagging along to an event where she didn’t belong, so be it.

---

The days leading up to the show passed in a blur of fittings and preparations. I barely heard from Georgia, though I imagined she was busy selecting the most over-the-top dress she could find. On the morning of the event, I saw her post on social media—something about being “so excited for tonight” with a string of heart and star emojis. I rolled my eyes and put my phone down.

When I arrived at the venue that evening, the energy was electric. Photographers swarmed outside, snapping shots of every celebrity and socialite who stepped onto the carpet. The air buzzed with anticipation, and I felt the familiar rush of adrenaline that came with events like these.

Inside, everything was seamless. The décor was stunning, the designs were breathtaking, and I was too caught up in the excitement to think about Georgia—until my phone buzzed in my clutch.

Colton.

I didn’t answer. I had no intention of letting him or her ruin my night. But the buzzing continued, text after text flooding in until I finally gave in and glanced at the screen.

Why is Georgia saying she was turned away?

What’s going on, Layla?

Call me. Now.

I smirked to myself. I hadn’t done anything directly, of course. It wasn’t my fault Georgia was banned from events like this. She had a reputation for sneaking into exclusive spaces she had no business being in, and apparently, the staff at this particular show weren’t about to let it slide.

My phone buzzed again, this time with a call. I hit decline, my annoyance flaring. What did he expect me to do? Apologize for something that wasn’t my fault? If Georgia wanted to play in the big leagues, she needed to learn the rules. And one of those rules was that your reputation followed you everywhere.

The texts were relentless.

Why didn’t you warn her?

You embarrassed her on purpose.

Answer me, Layla. I know you’re seeing this.

I stared at the screen for a moment before my thumb hovered over his contact. Without hesitation, I blocked him.

Colton’s POV

I stared at my reflection in the mirror, adjusting the cufflinks on my shirt for the third time. Today was supposed to be perfect—or at least look that way. The wedding of the century, the headlines called it. Layla and I, the golden couple, tying the knot in front of the world. Behind the scenes, though? It was anything but golden.

My phone buzzed again, but I ignored it. Layla still hadn’t come home since that argument, and I’d resorted to using every number I could think of to get through to her. No response. Every time I called, she blocked me. It was like a game of cat and mouse, and with every block, my frustration grew.

Georgia walked into the room, closing the door softly behind her. “You look handsome,” she said with a smile, her voice laced with that familiar flirtation.

I glanced at her through the mirror. “Georgia, not now.”

But she ignored me, stepping closer and placing her hands on my chest. Before I could stop her, she leaned in and kissed me.

I pulled back sharply. “Are you insane? Someone could walk in.”

Her eyes flashed with irritation. “Why does it matter, Colton? You’re marrying her today, and I’m supposed to just stand by and smile like nothing’s wrong?”

I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. “We’ve been over this. If I end things with Layla now and marry you, it’ll ruin both of us. The press will eat it up, and the fallout won’t just affect me—it’ll drag you down too.”

Georgia crossed her arms, pouting like a child denied candy. “So what? You expect me to just wait forever?”

“No,” I said, lowering my voice. “But I need Layla to be the one to walk away. If I hurt her or humiliate her, the public will turn against me. Against us. She’s the victim in their eyes, Georgia. I need her to end things. Trust me, it’ll be worth it.”

She didn’t look convinced, but she nodded. “Fine. But if she doesn’t end it soon—”

“She will,” I cut in, hoping to silence her doubts. “Just a little longer.”

A knock on the door interrupted us, and a voice from the other side called, “It’s time for the entourage.”

I straightened my tie and gave Georgia a look that said, Behave. She rolled her eyes but followed me out, keeping her distance like the perfect family friend she was supposed to be.

The ceremony venue was breathtaking, just as Layla had insisted. Rows of pristine white chairs, massive floral arrangements, and a sea of familiar faces waiting for the event to begin. I stood at the altar, glancing out at the crowd, trying to keep my focus. Everything was going according to plan—or so I thought.

As the music swelled, signaling the bride’s entrance, I straightened, ready to put on the performance of a lifetime. Layla’s absence over the past few days had me on edge, but I told myself she’d show. She always did. Layla was too proud to let anyone think she’d been bested.

But then the music kept playing, and she didn’t appear.

I frowned, glancing toward the entrance. People in the crowd began murmuring, and my palms started to sweat. Where was she? I could feel the weight of a thousand eyes on me.

Where’s the bride?

Did she run away?

Did she leave him at the altar?

The murmurs in the crowd grew louder, and Georgia sidled up to me, her smirk barely hidden. “Looks like your perfect bride isn’t so perfect after all,” she whispered.

“Not now, Georgia,” I snapped, my temper flaring.

She held up her hands, feigning innocence. “Just saying. Maybe she finally got tired of playing house. You should’ve just picked me from the start. At least I wouldn’t have embarrassed you like this.”

I stepped away from the altar, signaling to the event coordinator to stall for time. My head spun with possibilities, none of them good. Layla had always been unpredictable, but this was something else entirely.

Until my secretary rushed toward me. She leaned in and whispered, “Sir, I don’t think she’s coming. Miss Layla...she is gone.”