My boyfriend has a buddy who he treats like a sister, and they’re practically inseparable. On the day we were supposed to get engaged for the ninth time, he ditched me at the venue. Why? Because it was their 20th “friendship anniversary.” “It’s just a delayed engagement. No need to rush. Are you really worried that no one will marry you?” Her latest Instagram Story popped up, and it felt like a thorn in my eye. “Twenty years of friendship. How could someone like you ever compare?” They hugged, looking way too cozy for “just friends.” I didn’t cry or create a scene. Instead, I calmly liked the post. Then, without a word, I vanished from his life. Six months later, he called, trying to win me back: “I got you that wedding dress you wanted. Come back, and let’s get married!” But it wasn’t my voice that answered—it was a man’s. “My wife’s pregnant. What do you want with her?” Content The day our engagement fell apart, I tossed the ring into a trash can. A cab driver waved me over and asked, “Where to?” “Just drive,” I replied. “Anywhere but back.” When Carter Delaney’s calls started coming in, I turned my phone off. It stayed off for three days. The night breeze by Santa Monica Pier felt calming, lifting the hem of my red dress. It reminded me of the first time Carter told me he loved me. He had been so young and awkward, his feelings written all over his face, impossible to hide. I had fallen hard for 20-year-old Carter. I even left my hometown of Austin, Texas, and moved to the unfamiliar Midwest for him. I quit a job I loved to become his secretary, a role I held for nine years. Fate sure has a twisted sense of humor. We got engaged nine times. And each time, she got in the way. Her name is Brielle Stokes. We fought about her more times than I can count. “I’ve told you, Brielle and I are just friends. Why are you so insecure?” “We’ve shared everything since we were kids—even baths. Do you really think it’s anything more?” “Skylar Quinn, you’re acting like a jealous maniac! Brielle’s already forgiven you for stalking us. What else do you want?” Carter’s expression darkened during those arguments. After each fight, I’d pick up my feelings, wipe my tears, and apologize. I was terrified of losing him, so I always gave in first. But this time, I felt nothing. No anger, no sadness—just a calm desire to stay by the ocean, doing nothing and feeling at peace. Carter found me without much trouble. I forgot that the hotel I booked was one of his. He burst into my room without warning. “Skylar Quinn, running away is such a childish move.” “It was Brielle and I’s 20th anniversary as friends. We were just celebrating! Can’t I have friends besides you?” Friends. Right. Friends who kiss? I kept that thought to myself. I knew he’d dismiss it as “just a game.” Not like it would be the first time. “Brielle and I have nothing going on. Stop sulking, okay?” His furrowed brows softened as he looked at me, almost concerned. “I’ll make it up to you with a bigger wedding. Brielle can even be your maid of honor. Will that make you happy?” His voice had a soothing tone. I remained silent, making his brows knit together again. “Skylar, if you don’t—” “Fine,” I interrupted. The old me would’ve argued until I caved and apologized. But now? I just smiled faintly. My unexpected compliance caught him off guard, but he quickly masked it with a relieved smile. He reached for my hand. “Let’s go home.” I pulled my hand away coldly and walked ahead of him. Carter paused, stunned for a moment. No fight? He didn’t know how to deal with that. When I reached his car, Brielle was already waiting. “There you are, Skylar! Carter’s been freaking out trying to find you!” She pouted, playfully scolding him. “I told you we should’ve brought her to the anniversary, but nooo. Look what happened—she’s jealous again!” “Skylar, I’m really sorry for him. Don’t be mad, okay? If you are, I’ll hit him for you!” She pretended to punch Carter’s chest but ended up in his arms. “Still the charmer, huh?” Carter smirked at her. “Ugh, stop holding me like that!” Brielle blushed and squirmed, glancing at me. “Skylar’s watching. Are you trying to scare her off again?” 2 I ignored them and quietly took the backseat without looking up. I’d fought so many times over the front passenger seat. If Brielle was around, it was always hers. “She gets carsick unless she’s next to me,” Carter explained. I seethed, baffled. He thought I was being petty. This time, I said nothing, and Carter looked a bit surprised. As the car started, Brielle turned to me. “Skylar, you’ve lost so much weight in just two days. Let me take you to dinner to apologize for Carter?” “Next time, I promise you’ll be invited to our hangouts!” “No need,” I replied sharply. “Just take me home.” Carter ignored me and drove to a restaurant instead. “You look like you haven’t eaten properly. Stop being stubborn.” The car stopped in a busy area filled with restaurants. Brielle tugged at his arm and said, “Carter, I want a Matcha Latte!” “You’re about to start your period. No iced drinks.” They acted like a couple. He knew her body better than he ever knew mine. At the restaurant, the server brought us lemon water. Brielle grabbed Carter’s glass, sipping it. “Yours is so sour!” she giggled, scrunching her nose. Carter smiled fondly, pinching her cheek. “You’ve got to stop stealing my stuff.” Then Brielle turned to me. “Skylar, you’re not mad, right? We’ve always shared everything since we were kids.” Carter froze, realizing how inappropriate that sounded. “Doesn’t bother me,” I replied. “You’ve shared everything since you were kids, right? Makes sense.” Carter exhaled in relief, even smiling faintly as if impressed by my “maturity.” For the first time, I didn’t care if they flirted. When Carter peeled a shrimp for me, Brielle snatched it before it reached my plate. “How sweet! You remembered I love shrimp!” she teased, placing it on her plate. Carter shook his head, amused. “Slow down. No one’s taking it from you.” Then Brielle slid the shrimp to my plate. “Here, Skylar. Have some. If it’s not enough, I’ll make Carter peel more for me.” “I don’t like shrimp,” I replied coolly, leaving it untouched. Carter’s brows furrowed. He must’ve been confused—shrimp was my favorite. But I don’t eat food that’s been taken from someone else’s plate. Brielle was allergic to seafood. She took it just to get Carter’s attention. Her face broke out in hives on the way back. Carter dropped me off on the roadside, insisting, “Brielle needs to go to the hospital. Call a cab.” “But—” He didn’t listen, focused solely on her as he drove away. The street was dimly lit. A couple of tall guys emerged from the shadows. “She’s got a nice body. Let’s grab her.” 3 I froze in panic, my heart racing as fear washed over me. My legs felt weak, and when I tried to run, I stumbled and fell. The two men closed in, stinking of sweat and booze. “All my money is in my bag. There’s about two thousand in cash and a few grand on my cards,” I stammered, blurting out my finances, hoping they’d just take the money and leave. Their eyes lit up as they rifled through my bag, confirming my words. “Don’t worry. I won’t call the cops. I didn’t see anything,” I begged, voice trembling. “I’ll leave—right now…”
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