POV: Lydia Hart
The engagement ring sparkled like a lie.
For the first time since Damian slipped it onto my finger, it felt heavy. Too heavy.
Maybe it was just the stress. The wedding planner's constant calls, my parents' obsession with guest lists, or the fact that Damian had become… distant. Not cold exactly: just unreachable, like a man standing behind glass, watching me without really seeing.
And Alex, she was different too. Still perfect, still unflappable, but her eyes didn't linger on me the same way. They slid past me, sharp and unreadable, like she was hiding behind herself.
We'd been inseparable since law school. She'd held my hair when I was sick, celebrated my every success, fought off heartbreak with late-night pizza and courtroom metaphors. But lately… I couldn't shake the feeling she was winning a case I didn't even know I was on trial for.
I blamed it on stress, until tonight.
Damian was hosting a private dinner at our townhouse. Just a small group: investors, a few friends, and, of course, Alex.
I'd been excited, maybe even relieved, to have her there. She always grounded me. She always made things feel normal.
Until I saw them together.
It was nothing obvious. Just the way his gaze flicked toward her when she laughed. The way she avoided meeting his eyes; too deliberate, too careful.
And then there was the wine glass.
I'd stepped out to grab my phone. When I came back, Damian was refilling Alex's glass, his hand brushing hers for just a moment. She froze. So did he.
It was a second. A single heartbeat. But I felt it like a knife between my ribs.
"Everything okay?" I asked, forcing brightness into my voice.
Alex's smile didn't reach her eyes. "Of course," she said. "Just wine."
Damian's jaw tightened, and I watched the faintest tremor cross his fingers before he set the bottle down.
Dinner was exquisite: seared salmon, lemon risotto, something French I couldn't pronounce, but I tasted nothing. My laughter sounded hollow to my own ears. I studied them the way Alex studies witnesses: looking for cracks, inconsistencies, tells.
And I found them everywhere.
After everyone left, I told Damian I'd clean up. He kissed my forehead, distracted, and went upstairs.
I stood alone in the kitchen, staring at the half-empty wine bottle. Her lipstick marked the rim of her glass: pale, perfect, mocking.
I reached for my phone before I could think and texted her.
Me: You and Damian seemed… tense tonight. Everything okay?
No reply.
I waited. Five minutes. Ten. Fifteen.
Still nothing.
When her message finally came through, it was short. Too short.
Alex: Just tired. Big case tomorrow. Sleep well, Lyd.
Sleep well.
The same thing she said the night my father died, when she stayed up till 4 a.m. holding me while I cried.
I stared at the screen until it blurred.
Something was wrong. I knew it.
But I couldn't confront her, not Alex. Not my maid of honor. Not the woman I trusted most in the world.
Instead, I turned off my phone and went upstairs, the lie of her message still glowing in my chest.
The next morning, Damian left early for meetings. I told myself I wouldn't snoop. That I wasn't that woman.
But then I saw it, the small black velvet box on his desk. My heart leapt, then faltered. He hadn't mentioned buying anything new for me.
I opened it.
Inside was a bracelet: delicate, gold, understated. Beautiful.
But it wasn't my style.
It was hers.
Alex never wore diamonds. She said they were too loud. But gold? Simple, refined, elegant? That was her. Always her.
The floor felt like it tilted.
I put the box back exactly as I'd found it, my hands shaking.
For hours, I told myself there had to be another explanation. Maybe it was a thank-you gift. Maybe she'd helped him with legal work. Maybe… maybe I was losing my mind.
But the truth wouldn't leave me alone.
By the time Damian came home that night, I'd rehearsed the question a hundred times. I never asked it.
He kissed me. Told me he loved me.
And for the first time since the engagement, I didn't say it back.
Later that night, when he fell asleep, I slipped out of bed and crept into his office again.
His laptop was open. The screen glowed faintly.
And there, in the corner of his inbox, was an email. From her.
Subject line: We need to talk.
I didn't open it. I couldn't. My fingers hovered over the mouse, trembling, every nerve in my body screaming.
Then the screen went black.
Footsteps sounded behind me.
"Lydia?"
His voice. Soft. Confused.
I turned slowly, pulse hammering, and tried to smile. "I couldn't sleep."
He looked at me for a long moment, eyes shadowed. Then he reached past me, closed the laptop, and said quietly, "Neither could I."
He didn't ask what I was doing. I didn't ask what the email was about.
We just stood there, both pretending not to be afraid.
But I knew, deep down, something had cracked, and it was only a matter of time before it shattered.