"Look at what you drove her to do," Aiden snarled.

"She held a pair of closed scissors near her ear," I pointed out, my voice flat. "She didn't even squeeze the handles."

"Because I stopped her!"

He kicked the discarded shears across the floorboards. The metal spun and hit the baseboard with a sharp clink.

"You're a cold, heartless bitch," he said.

"I am the one missing half my hair," I replied.

"I thought you had a shred of empathy." He tightened his grip on Zaria, pressing her closer to his chest. "She is losing her hair to an illness. You can't even spare a few inches without staging a massive tantrum."

"You sedated me and shaved my head in the dark," I said. "That's not a tantrum. That's a crime."

"Call the cops, then!" he shouted, his voice echoing off the walls. "Tell them I gave my fiancée a haircut so my sick best friend wouldn't feel like a monster. See who they side with."

"I don't need the cops," I said. "I just need you out."

"Gladly." Aiden scooped Zaria into his arms.

Zaria buried her face in his neck. "Aiden, I'm so sorry," she whimpered. "I ruin everything."

"You ruin nothing," he whispered, his tone shifting instantly to comfort her.

He carried her out into the hallway.

"Don't expect me to apologize tomorrow," he called back over his shoulder.

"I won't be here tomorrow," I said.

The heavy oak door slammed shut.

I walked to the corner, picked up the small plastic dustpan, and knelt on the hardwood floor.

I swept the dark clumps of my hair into a neat pile. My hands didn't shake. My chest felt entirely hollow. I dumped the remnants of my eight-year effort into the trash can, tying the plastic bag in a tight knot.

I walked into the bathroom and stared at the mirror.

Uneven, jagged patches of scalp stared back at me. I ran my fingers over the rough stubble. A strange sense of liberation washed over me. The girl who had bent over backward to please Aiden was gone, sheared away with the locks in the trash.

I walked back to the bedroom, sat on the edge of the mattress, and unlocked my phone.

A string of notifications illuminated the screen. My Twitter icon showed ninety-nine plus mentions.

I tapped the app.

Zaria's profile sat at the very top of my feed. She had uploaded a video an hour ago, right before Aiden slipped the sedative into my chamomile tea.

The location tag read: Maple Street Cafe.

I pressed play.

The camera panned up to the sprawling branches of the old oak tree outside the cafe. Then, it flipped to show Zaria and Aiden sitting side by side. Aiden laughed, wiping a smudge of powdered sugar off Zaria's cheek.

"Some things never change," Zaria's voice chirped through the tiny speaker. "Childhood sweethearts forever."

I scrolled down to the caption.

True love always wins against the corporate bankroll. Some people think money can buy a ring, but it can't buy history.

The comments section was a war zone.

User @ZariaFan99: That Mazie girl is such a homewrecker. You and Aiden belong together!

User @TechBro22: She literally bought his company just to force him to date her. Total psycho behavior.

User @ZariaLove: I heard Mazie threw a fit because Aiden spent an hour at the hospital with Zaria today. What a toxic third party.

Zaria had replied to that last comment with a single, sad-face emoji.

"Childhood sweethearts," I murmured to the empty room.

I stared at Aiden's smiling face on the screen.

"I'll always protect you," he had promised me eight years ago.

A drunk senior had cornered me against the bleachers at the university freshman gala. Aiden had shoved the guy backward, shielding me with his own body.

"I guess I am the threat now," I said aloud.

I didn't type out a defense. I didn't block the accounts.

I took three quick screenshots, capturing the video, the caption, and the replies. I saved them to a secure cloud folder labeled Legal.

Then, I tapped the heart icon on Zaria's post.

I dialed the unsaved international number from my messages.

A woman answered on the second ring. "Hello? Is this Mazie?"

"Yes," I said. "I am confirming my seat on the flight."

"Oh, thank heavens!" The woman's voice cracked with emotion. "Your mother has been weeping since we got your text. We'll have a car waiting at Charles de Gaulle. Do you need us to arrange anything else?"

"Just the car," I said.

"Are you traveling alone, dear? The investigator mentioned a fiancé."

"I am traveling alone," I said, standing up. "The engagement is off."

"I am so sorry to hear that. Should we involve our legal team to handle any shared assets?"

"I already have a lawyer drafting the separation of my investments from his company," I replied. "He won't see another dime."

"Excellent. We'll ensure your privacy upon arrival. Your father is eager to meet you."

"I look forward to it," I said.

"Safe travels, Mazie."

"Thank you."

I hung up and walked into the walk-in closet.

I grabbed my black duffel bag and unzipped it. I pulled my silk blouses from their hangers, folding them in swift, efficient squares. I ignored the row of white dresses I had bought for the upcoming bridal showers.

I needed my passport.

I usually kept it in the small safe behind Aiden's winter coats.

I pushed his heavy wool trenches aside. A thick gray overcoat slipped off its hanger, tumbling to the carpeted floor.

I bent down to pick it up.

A folded piece of glossy paper slipped out of the side pocket.

I unfolded it.

It was a medical printout.

The black-and-white image showed a grainy, peanut-shaped curve.

Patient Name: Zaria Dawson.

Date: October 14.

The bold text at the top of the page read: Obstetric Ultrasound - 8 Weeks.

I stared at the black-and-white image. Eight weeks.

The betrayal was not just emotional anymore. It was physical. Aiden had slept with Zaria two months ago, right around the time I was finalizing the buyout for his failing tech firm. I had spent my nights crunching numbers to save his legacy, while he spent his nights in her bed.

I crumpled the glossy paper into a tight ball. I tossed it into the trash can next to the plastic bag holding my severed hair.

The heavy oak front door clicked open.

Heavy footsteps echoed down the hallway.

"Mazie? Where are you hiding?"

Lucia.

Aiden's mother marched into the living room. She wore a tailored crimson pantsuit and thick-soled designer boots. She didn't bother to wipe her feet. Clumps of wet dirt tracked across the hardwood floor I had spent an hour mopping yesterday.

"You're leaving a mess," I said, walking out of the bedroom.

Lucia scoffed, crossing her arms. "I am your future mother-in-law. You should be offering me tea, not criticizing my footwear. You've absolutely no manners."

"I am not making you tea."

"Excuse me?" Lucia narrowed her eyes, stepping closer. She looked at my bare, jagged scalp and let out a sharp, mocking laugh. "Aiden told me about your little tantrum. He said you shaved your own head just to make Zaria feel guilty. You look ridiculous."

"He told you I did it?"

"Don't play the victim. You're always trying to steal the spotlight from that poor, sick girl." Lucia waved a dismissive hand. "Anyway, I came here to settle the wedding party details. Zaria is devastated by your childish behavior today. To make it up to her, she will be your only bridesmaid."

I stared at her.

"You want my fiancé's pregnant mistress to be my only bridesmaid?" I asked.

Lucia blinked. Her smug expression faltered for one measured beat. "What nonsense are you spewing?"

"I found the ultrasound in Aiden's coat. Eight weeks."

"Oh, please." Lucia recovered quickly, adjusting her diamond collar necklace. "Men have needs. You work eighty-hour weeks. You neglected him. If Zaria is carrying my grandchild, that's a blessing. You'll still get the ring, so stop complaining."

I let out a dry, humorless laugh.

"There's no ring," I said. "And there's no wedding."

Lucia's face turned red. "You can't cancel the wedding! The invitations are already sent. The deposits are paid."

"Then you can marry him," I said. "Or Zaria can. I don't care. If you are so unhappy with my manners, go get a new daughter-in-law."

"You ungrateful brat," Lucia spat. "After everything we have done to welcome you into this family."

"Welcome me?" I stepped forward, closing the distance between us. "Three years ago, I worked three jobs to buy Aiden his first car. Zaria took it for a joyride and crashed it into a tree. Do you remember what you said at the hospital?"

Lucia clamped her mouth shut.

"You didn't ask how I felt about losing twenty thousand dollars," I continued, my voice rising. "You asked if Zaria was startled. You told me to stop crying over metal when she had a bruised wrist."

"She was fragile!" Lucia shouted.

"She is a parasite, and so are you."

Lucia raised her hand, her palm flying toward my face.

I caught her wrist mid-air.

Her eyes widened in shock.

I shoved her backward with both hands.

Lucia stumbled over her thick-soled boots. She flailed, her arms pinwheeling before she collapsed onto the beige sofa.

Her crimson suit bunched up around her waist.

She scrambled into a sitting position, her face twisted in pure rage.

"You just wait!" Lucia roared, pointing a shaking finger at my chest. "Tomorrow Aiden will have you on your knees apologizing to Zaria!"

The front door unlocked with a sharp metallic click. Aiden stepped into the foyer, carrying a glossy white shopping bag from a high-end boutique downtown. He kicked his leather shoes off, leaving them scattered across the entryway rug.

"My mother called me in hysterics," he announced, his voice carrying into the living room. "She claims you shoved her into the furniture."

I stood by the window, watching the city traffic below. I turned to face him. "She tried to slap me. I stopped her hand. If she fell, it was her own lack of balance."

Aiden groaned, dropping his keys onto the console table. He walked into the living room, his posture rigid. "I don't have the energy for this, Mazie. I just spent three hours calming Zaria down after your stunt this morning. She is terrified you hate her. I came here expecting you to be ready to apologize to both of us."

"I am packing," I said, my tone flat. "I am not apologizing to anyone."

Aiden sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as if I were a stubborn child. He adopted the magnanimous, patient persona he always used when he wanted to win an argument without raising his voice.

"Listen to me," he started, setting the white bag on the glass coffee table. "We're both stressed. The wedding is in two days. Zaria's health issues have everyone on edge. But I brought you something to smooth things over."

He reached into the bag and pulled out a crimson silk dress. It featured a plunging neckline and a slit up the thigh. It perfectly matched the dark red tie he had worn to his corporate gala last week.

"A peace offering," he said, holding the fabric up by the thin straps. "A matching set. I have the men's suit jacket out in the car. We can wear these to the rehearsal dinner tomorrow night. It will show my parents and the investors that we are a united front."

I stared at the dress. The cut was entirely wrong for my body type, and the sizing tag dangling from the collar read a size zero. I was a size four.

"You bought that for me," I said.

"Of course I did," he replied smoothly. "I saw it in the window and thought of you. It will look stunning, even with your new haircut."

My phone buzzed on the side table. The screen illuminated with a text notification.

The name Zaria flashed across the top.

I picked the device up and tapped the message.

Message read: Aiden bought me that gorgeous red silk piece today to cheer me up, but it was way too loose around my waist. I told him to give it to you instead of throwing it out. Glad it found a home! You always did like my cast-offs.

A dry, hollow laugh escaped my throat. The sheer audacity of the lie was staggering.

I looked from the glowing screen to the dress dangling from Aiden's fingers.

"You thought of me when you saw it," I repeated.

"Yes," he insisted, shaking the garment slightly. "Try it on. We can move past all this drama and focus on the future."

"Did she try it on in the store, or did you bring it to her apartment first?" I asked.

Aiden froze. His confident smile vanished. "What are you talking about?"

I turned the phone screen toward him, holding it up so he could read the bold black text. "Zaria just texted me. She said it was too big for her. You're giving me your pregnant mistress's hand-me-downs and calling it an apology."

The color drained from his face. His eyes darted from the phone to my face. "She is lying. She just wants to stir up trouble because she feels insecure."

"You went through my coat pockets," he suddenly accused, his tone shifting from defensive to aggressive. "You found the ultrasound."

"Eight weeks," I said, stepping away from the window. "You slept with her while I was draining my trust funds to save your bankrupt company."

Aiden tossed the dress onto the sofa. "It meant nothing! It was one night of weakness. She was terrified about her diagnosis, and I was terrified about the firm failing. We made a mistake. We sought comfort."

"A mistake," I echoed, closing the distance between us. "Two months ago, you bought those matching blue cashmere sweaters. You gave the women's fit to Zaria because she gets cold easily. I watched her wear it around my apartment. I stayed quiet then because I thought you were just overly protective of a sick friend."

"I am protective of her!" he shouted, his hands balling into fists.

"You're a coward," I said.

I grabbed the crimson dress off the cushions and hurled it directly at his face. The slick fabric slapped against his cheek, the heavy metal zipper grazing his jaw before the garment slid down to the floorboards.

Aiden slapped a hand against his neck where the zipper had scratched his skin. His eyes widened, completely unhinged by the physical rejection.

"You ungrateful bitch!" he roared. "I am trying to keep this family together! Do you know how humiliating it's to rely on your money? To have everyone in my office whisper that my fiancée bought my success?"

"So you punished me by sleeping with Zaria."

"Zaria actually respects me!" he spat, stepping over the discarded silk. "She needs me. You just use your bank account to castrate me at every turn. You hold your wealth over my head like a weapon."

"My bank account kept you out of federal court," I reminded him, my voice dangerously calm. "I worked eighty-hour weeks to build that portfolio. And my lawyers will be taking every penny back."

Aiden laughed, a harsh, grating sound that echoed off the high ceiling. "You think you can just walk away? The wedding invitations went out to five hundred of the most important investors in New York. If you cancel now, you will ruin my reputation. I'll lose the new funding rounds."

"Your reputation is not my problem anymore."

"It's your problem!" He pointed a finger inches from my nose. "You signed the venue contracts. You paid the deposits. You're going to put on a wig, put on a dress, and stand at that altar."

"Get out of my apartment," I said.

"This is my apartment too!"

"My name is on the lease. You've until midnight to pack your things, or I am calling building security to drag you out."

Aiden stared at me. The veins in his neck pulsed against his collar. He realized I was not breaking. I was not crying. The girl who used to bend over backward to massage his ego was gone, sheared away with the locks in the trash.

He spun on his heel and marched toward the foyer.

He yanked the front door open, the hinges whining in protest. He didn't step into the hallway immediately. Instead, he turned his head, his gaze sweeping over my jagged, shaved scalp with pure disgust.

"The wedding proceeds the day after tomorrow," Aiden snarled, his hand gripping the brass doorknob. "You better figure out how to clean up this mess before then."