Tomorrow is my wedding day. But tonight? I found Julian Thorne in bed with Ava Maxwell. Again. My billionaire fiancé. And my college bully. I pushed open the penthouse door. Julian didn’t even flinch. He just leaned back, lit a cigarette, and pulled Ava closer. “Yeah. We did it again.” Julian smirked. He blew out a cloud of smoke. His voice was almost cruel in its honesty. “What can I say, Nora? Old habits die hard.” “But don’t worry. You still get the ring. Tomorrow’s wedding is on.” He traced a finger down Ava’s spine. His cold eyes locked on me. “Think of it as a gift, Nora. Watching your Ivy League queen crawl into my bed and stay hidden — doesn’t that feel like sweet payback?” “Be a good girl. Get out. Tomorrow, you’ll still be my perfect bride.” From the bed, Ava shot me a smug, wicked smile. I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. I just smiled back. Turned on my heel and walked out. And gently clicked the door shut. Julian didn’t know the truth. I wasn’t here to catch him cheating. I came to the St. Regis for a thrill of my own — with tomorrow’s groom. … Five years. Julian and I were Wall Street’s power couple. He was cold. Ruthless. A total control freak. But once… he was actually good to me. At least… until Ava walked back into his life. Sophomore year at Columbia. Ava and her sorority girls cornered me. They ruined my dress. Shredded my final project. I was left freezing in the New York rain. Pathetic. Broken. Like a stray cat. Then came Julian. The Wharton prodigy. We only knew each other from a college investment competition. End of story. Yet he took off his expensive coat. Draped it over my shaking shoulders. He crouched down right there. Picked up my ruined papers, piece by piece. “Who did this?”
I didn’t say a word. He didn’t push it. Just turned and walked toward the girls still laughing nearby. I didn’t catch exactly what happened next. I only remember the smiles instantly dropping from their faces. Replaced by pure panic. Soon after, every anonymous post targeting me disappeared from the campus forum. Then, a hedge fund under the Maxwell empire was hit by an SEC probe, left reeling. The fallout left Ava’s father scrambling to contain the damage. And she was forced to lay low. It wasn’t until right before graduation that I learned the truth. Julian orchestrated the whole thing. He couldn’t tear down the Maxwell empire, but he knew exactly where to hit. A warning to Ava — she crossed the wrong person. The day he finally sought me out, he was waiting by the Columbia library steps. Hot latte in hand. That careless, expensive ease only someone like him could carry. “Heard you got the Goldman internship?” I nodded. A low hum. “So… would dating get in the way of your Wall Street career?” I froze. Something shifted in his expression — then came the smile. “Nora, let me take a shot at this. At us.” For a long time after, I thought that was the closest thing to redemption I’d ever known. In my most vulnerable moments, his voice was always there. “Don’t be afraid of them.” “I’ve got you.” That’s why, even as he got increasingly busy, his temper growing short, his texts turning into cold, clipped replies — I could never see him as the villain. At least… Until Ava came back.
Two years ago, Ava resurfaced in the New York social scene. By then, her name was already mud. After graduation, all her dirty laundry had been leaked. The bullying. The messy private life. Sent straight to the New York Post gossip column, complete with videos and chat logs. The Maxwell family moved quickly, but the damage was already done. They shipped her off to Europe to lay low. But the internet never forgets. When she came back, the Upper East Side parties didn’t worship her anymore. It probably didn’t take her long to trace the leak. To find out the original source was me. Strictly speaking, she wasn’t wronged. I was never a saint who repaid malice with kindness. Whatever she threw at me, I gave back ten times over. So, she hated me. But I never expected her to set her sights on Julian. The first time was at the Thorne Group’s anniversary gala. I arrived late because of a meeting. As soon as I walked in, I saw Ava. She was in a striking red gown, champagne flute in hand, standing right in front of Julian — a bright, almost innocent smile on her face. Julian looked entirely indifferent. He turned to his assistant. “Tell Legal to terminate all partnerships with the Maxwells.” Ava’s face stiffened. But she quickly recovered, asking softly, “Julian, are you taking this out on me for Nora?” Julian gave her a cold glance. “You already know the answer. Stay away from me.” I won’t deny it. In that moment, I felt relieved, even quietly, guiltily glad. After all these years, he still remembered. But later, things began to shift.
Ava pulled some strings. She managed to get hired by one of Thorne Group’s downstream partners. With constant workplace encounters, she always found a way to make her presence known. Deliberately delivering the wrong files, just to apologize with red-rimmed eyes. Sending him late-night messages in the group chat. “Long day, Julian. You okay?” Grabbing his drinks at business dinners, casually bringing up old college memories. At first, Julian genuinely didn’t care. He would even frown in front of me. “Is she psychotic?” I told him, “Just stay away from her.” He pulled me into his arms. Kissed my forehead. He sounded annoyed, but certain. Safe. “Don’t worry. I wouldn’t touch her.” Back then, I really believed him. Until one day. I accidentally caught a glimpse of his phone lighting up. It was a message from Ava. I didn’t catch the content. But I saw the contact name plain as day. The cold, formal “Ava Maxwell” was gone. Replaced by a single letter. “A”. That night, I asked him. “Why did you change her contact name?” Julian was reviewing financial reports. He didn’t even look up. “Work purposes. Easier to find.” “Easy enough to need a single letter?” He finally looked up, his brows furrowing deeply. “Nora, why are you being so sensitive lately?” I froze. Because since Ava’s return, that was the first time he had spoken to me like that. Laced with accusation. “I just asked a question.” “And I just changed a name.” He slammed his phone face-down on the desk, visibly irritated. “Do you have to spin everything into the worst-case scenario? Is that fun for you?” “What is the worst-case scenario?” I stared at him. “Julian, can you honestly say nothing has changed between you two?” He fell silent for a second. Then, a cold scoff. “So what? How do you want me to prove it?” The argument ended in bitter silence. Later, he tried to coax me. Blamed his temper on the pressure of a recent merger. Told me to stop overthinking. I tried to convince myself. Maybe it really was just a contact name. But more often than not, a woman’s intuition is terrifyingly accurate.
Julian and Ava went on a business trip to Chicago. They were supposed to be back in three days. I FaceTimed him, but he didn’t pick up. A sudden, inexplicable panic gripped me. I booked the earliest flight to Chicago the next morning. At the Peninsula Hotel, the front desk refused to give out his room number. I had to call Julian’s assistant. Lied about an urgent contract left in his room. Just to get the information. The moment I swiped the keycard and pushed the door open… I saw men’s and women’s clothes scattered across the floor. Julian had just stepped out of the bathroom. His dark hair still wet. Only a towel wrapped around his waist. And on the bed… Ava. Wrapped in silk sheets, a snow-white shoulder exposed. She tilted her head to look at me. The smugness was plain to see. In that instant, the world went dead silent. Julian froze. The next second, he was walking quickly toward me. “Nora, let me explain—” I stared at him. My voice trembling uncontrollably. “Explain what?” “Something happened at the reception last night. I drank too much.” He reached out to touch me, but I dodged. His arm hung stiffly in the air. His tone was frantic, like never before. “When I woke up, she was just here. I swear…” “You swear what?” I looked at him, the tears finally breaking through. “Julian, do you think I’m an idiot?” Ava let out a light, mocking laugh. She spoke slowly, dragging out her words. “Julian, why try so hard to explain? Two consenting adults. A little alcohol. Isn’t it perfectly normal?” “Shut up!” Julian snapped his head back, his glare murderous. Ava shrugged. And said no more. Later, Julian chased me. He chased me all the way from the airport to my Manhattan apartment. He tried everything to beg for my forgiveness. He swore that night was truly an accident, promising to cut Ava off completely. I was the only woman he would ever want to marry, he insisted. To prove it, he even offered to take me to City Hall right then and there. Did I believe him? Not really. But in the end, I still nodded. Not because I still loved him enough to forgive the betrayal. But because right around that time… I had just found out Ethan Hayes was coming back to the States.
My phone buzzed. The screen lit up with a brief message. 1208. I turned around. Walked toward the other side of the elevator hall. I stopped in front of room 1208. Before I could even raise my hand, the door opened from the inside. The man looked down at me. His gaze lingered on my slightly red eyes for a second. Then he stepped aside. “Come in.” Only a single wall lamp was on. The lighting was dim, intimate. On the coffee table sat an open velvet box. Inside, resting quietly, was a men’s wedding band. I glanced at it. “For tomorrow?” I asked softly. “Yeah,” Ethan replied lightly. “Didn’t want to lose it. Just took it out to check the size.” He looked entirely calm. As if tomorrow we were attending an academic seminar, not our own wedding. Suddenly, a wave of irritation hit me. “Ethan, I just came from Julian’s room.” Ethan gave a faint “Hmm,” his expression unchanged. “He was with Ava,” I pressed on. “The second time. No, to be precise, the second time I’ve caught them with my own eyes.” “You already guessed it,” he said. “But guessing is one thing.” He looked at me, his voice low and steady. “Hearing it for yourself is another.” I managed a bitter smile. “You really do know me.” “Nora Hoffman.” He cut me off. “You didn’t come to me tonight to dissect your ex-boyfriend’s infidelity.” I looked up at him. He stood at the boundary between light and shadow. His features were clean and sharp. But his eyes were deep, unreadable — like looking into still water with no bottom. “You came to make one final confirmation. Whether or not you’re actually going to marry me tomorrow.”
The room was dead silent. I didn’t deny it. Because everything he said was right. After the Chicago incident, Julian did seem to behave. On the surface, at least. He kicked Ava out of all collaborative projects. Deleted her contact information. He even went house-hunting with me, finalized our wedding date. He practically wore “making it up to you” on his face. I almost believed he was really going to settle down. Until three months before the wedding. I found a lipstick in his car’s glove compartment. One that didn’t belong to me. The shade was a bold “Blood Rose.” And that exact night, Ava posted a selfie on Instagram. Wearing a bold red lip. The caption read: It’s always more fun when you have to fight for it. Julian started coming home late. Not just once or twice, but constantly. He never took a shower without his phone. Sometimes I’d wake up in the middle of the night. I’d see him standing on the balcony. A cigarette glowing faintly between his fingers. The moment I walked over, he would put it out. Brushing it off as a work call. If I asked too much, he got annoyed. “Nora, why are you so sensitive lately?” “I run a massive corporation every day. I can’t revolve my whole life around you.” “The wedding is right around the corner. What are you still so insecure about?”
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