Chapter 4

On Blair’s birthday, I bought her the limited-edition designer bag she had been drooling over for months.

The very next day, she carried it to an "accidental" coffee run with Ethan, making sure his arm was visible in the corner of her selfie.

She snapped a photo inside a dark movie theater—their fingers intertwined beneath the armrest while I sat right next to them.

The night Ethan proposed to me, Blair posted an essay pouring out her agony and bitterness.

[Tonight, I demand an answer,] she wrote. [If he loves me, he shouldn’t let me go.]

And she got it.

That night, when she threw herself at him, Ethan didn't pull away.

They agreed on one last wild trip together before the wedding. So, Ethan told me he had a week-long business trip.

Nausea rose in my throat.

Overtime? Business trips? Client dinners?

All of it was an excuse to sleep with my best friend.

Over those seven days, Blair posted dozens of videos.

She bragged about replacing all the memories Ethan had made with me, making sure his future was stained with her presence.

I watched every single clip like a masochist. From restaurants to luxury suites, from yachts to mountain trails—the same places Ethan had taken me, just with a different girl.

At first, my heart felt like it was being sliced into ribbons.

Then came the numbness.

And finally, a hollow sense of absurdity.

When love dies completely, even hate feels like wasted energy.

As dawn peeked through the blinds, my mind was made up.

The wedding was off.

I opened my laptop and started drafting an email to call off the ceremony and notify the guests.

Every keystroke hit like a blow to my chest.

Ten years of love. Twenty years of friendship. Gone in an instant.

Before I could hit send, my phone lit up with an incoming call from Blair.

"Chloe? Why are you calling so early?" Her voice was bright, sweet, and perfectly normal. "You’re about to be the most gorgeous bride in the world. You need your beauty sleep!"

I parted my lips, but no words came out.

Picking up on my silence, her tone instantly switched to sisterly concern.

"Chloe? Are you okay? Is it cold feet? Can't sleep?"

"Where’s Ethan? Why isn't he comforting you? Is he swamped with work again?"

"I swear, that idiot is unbelievable. If you weren't getting married tomorrow, I’d chew him out for you right now!"

The sheer irony burned.

Just hours ago, she had posted that tragic, heartbroken goodbye on Instagram. Yet here she was, playing the devoted best friend.

"I’m... fine," I finally forced out. "Just nervous. I wanted to hear your voice."

"...Silly girl," she chuckled softly. "Don't worry. Everything is going to be flawless tomorrow. I promise."

"Right now, just close your eyes and sleep. Leave the rest to me."

Suddenly, a faint groan came through the line. A deep, familiar male voice. Ethan.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. "Blair, are you keeping something from me?"

The other end went dead quiet. Then, she laughed nervously. "What are you talking about, Chloe? What’s gotten into you?"

"Put me on speaker," I said.

She hesitated, but I heard the click.

"Blair. Ethan."

My voice came out remarkably clear, steady, and cold.

"The wedding is off."

"I hope you two have a miserable life together."