1 Right before we were supposed to head to City Hall to get our marriage license for the ninth time, my best friend offered to touch up my makeup. But a second later, her wrist gave a violent jerk. The sharp edge of the dermaplaning blade sliced right across my cheek, leaving a long, stinging gash in its wake. “Oh my god, Audrey, I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to!” Sienna’s hands flew to her mouth, her eyes wide with a frantic, theatrical panic. But beneath her trembling facade, a sudden, icy realization began to pool in my stomach. Over the past two years, every single time we had an appointment at the County Clerk’s office, some bizarre accident would derail us. The first time, Sienna “accidentally” packed my driver’s license in her own luggage right before a weekend trip, leaving me without ID. The second time, she insisted on driving us to the municipal building herself, only to rear-end a delivery truck on the way. For two years, nine appointments, nine inexplicable failures. In the past, I would always force a smile, squeeze her hand, and tell her it was okay. But this time, I sat in the makeup chair, perfectly still. I didn’t say a word. Sienna was a veteran, high-end makeup artist. She had hands steady enough to do winged eyeliner on a moving train. She didn’t just slip. Blood welled up, warm and stark against my foundation. I pressed a tissue to my cheek, grabbed my purse, and hurried downstairs to hail a cab to the ER. But halfway down the block, I realized I’d left my insurance card on the vanity. I doubled back. When I pushed the front door open, I froze. Sienna was standing in the center of the living room, directly facing my fiancé, Nolan. “We broke up five years ago, Nolan. Haven’t we punished each other enough?” Sienna was crying, the tears streaming down her flawless face like rain on glass. “I haven’t had enough!” she sobbed, her voice cracking. “I did it on purpose. I sliced her face because I can’t stand the thought of you marrying her!” I stood in the entryway, the shadows swallowing me whole, as a thousand fragmented memories suddenly snapped into a brutal, cohesive picture. Sienna was always talking about the elusive “ex-boyfriend” she could never quite get over. Nolan was always making excuses for her clumsiness. None of it had ever been an accident. I looked down at my phone. On the screen was the digital wedding invitation I had been revising, the date pushed back yet again, ready to be sent to our families. The screen blurred as a cold, hollow sensation hollowed out my chest. With a single tap, I hit Delete. This wedding was over. 2 The sound of Sienna’s muffled sobs echoed through the living room. She was curled into the corner of the sofa, tears spilling over her lashes in perfect, tragic drops. Whatever anger had been on Nolan’s face slowly dissolved. I watched from the shadows of the hallway as his jaw unclenched, the harsh words he might have spoken dying in his throat. He crouched down in front of her, his gaze dropping to a tiny, barely visible nick on Sienna’s own finger. “Does it still hurt?” he asked softly. When he looked up at her, his eyes were brimming with a raw, unmistakable ache. A quiet, bitter laugh caught in the back of my throat. Just twenty minutes ago, when my cheek was sliced open and bleeding down my neck, Nolan had barely glanced at me. “Can you get to urgent care by yourself?” he had asked, checking his watch. “I’m swamped with these quarterly reports.” I had always known Nolan was a workaholic. I had accepted it. But seeing him now, completely abandoning his supposedly critical reports to kneel on the hardwood floor and meticulously apply a band-aid to Sienna’s manicured finger—it felt as though the blade had just dragged across my cheek a second time, cutting much, much deeper. I backed out the door silently, making it down to the street and into a cab before the tears finally broke. I clamped a hand over my mouth, the stifled sobs vibrating in my chest. The cab driver glanced in the rearview mirror and handed a box of tissues over the center console. “Must hurt a lot, huh?” he said gently. “Hang in there, sweetheart. We’re almost at the hospital.” It did hurt. God, it hurt. I just couldn’t wrap my head around it. How could Nolan Hayes—the man Sienna constantly complained was an emotionally stunted iceberg who never understood her feelings—be her mysterious ex? Sienna used to vent to me for hours about how cold her ex was, how his indifference made her feel like she was losing her mind. But Nolan wasn’t cold. Not to me. Whenever I was overwhelmed at the station, he would hold me until my breathing slowed, validating my feelings before offering solutions. He was the man who would wait up for me after a midnight broadcast, who brought me iced coffees in July and roasted chestnuts in December. A man who once drove forty miles in a blizzard because I was craving a specific slice of red velvet cake. How could he possibly be the callous villain of Sienna’s stories? When Nolan was drunk, he used to talk about his ex-girlfriend, too. He said she was high-maintenance, deeply self-centered, throwing massive tantrums if the universe didn’t revolve entirely around her. But Sienna had never raised her voice at me. If I accidentally knocked over her expensive setting powder, she was apologizing before I could even say sorry. I thought back to our first attempt at City Hall. When we realized my ID was missing, Sienna had practically hyperventilated with guilt. The next day, she drove three hundred miles round-trip to buy me a limited-edition vinyl record I’d been wanting, just to make it up to me. She had stood in my doorway, out of breath, sweating. I hadn’t second-guessed her for a moment. I forgave her instantly. The second time, when she crashed her car on the way to the clerk’s office, she got a concussion, yet she still insisted on giving blood when I needed a transfusion. My last memory before the anesthesia pulled me under was the sound of Sienna weeping, begging the doctors to save me. The third time, the fourth time, the fifth time… I had seriously started to believe I was just cursed. It never once crossed my mind to suspect my best friend. But it was all by design. Every single act of extreme kindness, and every single “accident,” existed purely because I occupied the space next to Nolan. The weight of this role—the oblivious placeholder, the buffer between two toxic, star-crossed lovers—suddenly felt crushing. I didn’t want to carry it anymore. 3 I went to the ER alone, got the cut cleaned, and took four stitches to the cheek. By the time I paid the co-pay and walked out into the cool evening air, the municipal offices were long closed. My phone buzzed. It was a message in our trio’s group chat, sent by Nolan three hours ago. “Sienna is really shaken up by the blood. She shouldn’t be alone right now. Let’s table the marriage license thing for another day.” I scrolled up, staring blankly at the endless stream of messages. Nolan loved communicating in this group chat. Whenever I asked him why he didn’t just text me privately, he would shrug, entirely nonchalant. “It was just the first thread that popped up. Sienna’s your best friend, right? Who cares if she sees we’re grabbing takeout?” Looking at it now, the truth was glaringly obvious. Every casual update, every photo of our dinners, wasn’t for my benefit. It was a twisted, passive-aggressive way of reporting his life to her. The deeper the love, the deeper the resentment. The echoes of their past complaints about each other rang in my ears. I let out a dry, exhausted chuckle. I had zero interest in being the third point in their twisted little love triangle. I stood on the sidewalk, typed out a message, and hit send. “There won’t be another day. We’re done, Nolan.” On the Uber ride back, I texted my real estate agent, telling her I wanted to list my condo immediately. Then, I asked the driver to pull over at a Target so I could buy two large suitcases. By the time I unlocked the front door of the apartment, an hour had passed since I sent the breakup text. The group chat had remained dead silent. I took a deep breath, thinking I had mentally prepared myself for whatever was on the other side of that door. But seeing Sienna curled up against Nolan’s chest on the sofa still made my heart stutter. When they heard the door click, they looked up. The moment Sienna made eye contact with me, massive, glistening tears spilled down her cheeks, soaking right into the fabric of the expensive linen shirt I had bought Nolan last week. “Audrey, I am so, so sorry,” she gasped, her voice trembling. “I just… I couldn’t control my hand…” Nolan didn’t push her away. Instead, he reached up and gently, reverently, wiped the tears from her cheek with his thumb. He stood up, his movements careful so as not to jostle her, and walked over to me. He grabbed my elbow, pulling me toward the balcony, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “You heard us earlier, didn’t you?” I looked at him, my expression perfectly flat, and nodded. There wasn’t a trace of guilt in his eyes. Instead, he looked deeply, profoundly annoyed. “Then stop making this harder than it has to be,” he snapped. “Can’t you just give Sienna a little time to adjust? She’s just having a hard time processing the fact that we’re getting married. She didn’t mean any harm.” His words slid from his throat like jagged glass, tearing into whatever residual affection I had left for him. “She didn’t mean any harm?” I repeated, my voice eerily calm. “And what about you? What was your excuse for buying your ‘ex’ ten-thousand-dollar Cartier bracelets? What about the monthly charges for flights to Aspen and Miami? I thought you were at sales conferences, Nolan. I thought you were working.” Nolan’s jaw tightened, a dark flush creeping up his neck. “You’ve been auditing my bank statements?” My throat tightened. It physically hurt to speak. In five years of being together, I had trusted him implicitly. I never demanded his passwords, never tracked his location, never asked him to report his every move. And this was the reward. The tenderness he showed Sienna was a language he had never spoken with me. Yet, instead of apologizing, Nolan was looking at me like I was the villain. “Could you stop being so completely irrational?” he demanded, running a hand through his hair. “Sienna and I are ancient history. I agreed to marry you, didn’t I? What more do you want from me?” He wasn’t lying. He had given me the grand gestures. The sweeping proposal on a rooftop, the three-carat diamond, the custom Vera Wang gown, the meticulous involvement in picking out our catering menu. But all I ever wanted was a heart that belonged entirely to me. “Nolan, you—” Before I could finish, a choked gasp erupted from the living room. Nolan sprinted back inside. Sienna had collapsed onto the rug, her hands clawing desperately at her throat, her face contorted in agony. “Hold on, I’m getting your inhaler!” Nolan’s face went completely white. His hands shook as he started ripping open the console drawers. Sienna had severe asthma. But as I looked at her, noting the very distinct, healthy flush in her cheeks and the lack of a true wheeze, my eyes narrowed. Before I could process the performance, Sienna suddenly scrambled across the floor, throwing herself at my feet and clutching my ankles. “Audrey, I know I messed up! I’m sorry!” she choked out, looking up at me with wide, terrified eyes. “Please… please just give me my medicine back!” 4 I stared down at her, utterly stunned. Sienna was gripping my legs like a drowning woman, her eyes pleading for a mercy I supposedly withheld. “Are you out of your mind?” I demanded, trying to shake her off. The setup was glaringly obvious. As much as I despised her right now, I would never hide someone’s medication. I wouldn’t play games with a human life. But Nolan believed her. Of course he did. He bought her pathetic, amateur-hour acting without a second thought. He shoved past me, storming directly into my bedroom. I heard the sound of hangers scraping aggressively against the rod. He was tearing apart my closet. I wrenched my legs free from Sienna’s grip and marched into the bedroom. My silk blouses and skirts were strewn across the floor, trampled under his shoes. “Why the hell would I take her inhaler? She’s clearly—” “Found it!” Nolan interrupted, pulling a small, plastic albuterol inhaler out of the pocket of his own trench coat, which had been hanging on the back of the door. He turned around, his face pale with a rage I had never seen directed at me. He closed the distance between us in two massive strides. As he brushed past me, he threw his arm out and shoved me hard. I wasn’t bracing for it. My heels slipped on the scattered silk blouses, and I went crashing backward. My hip slammed brutally into the corner of the heavy oak dresser. A sharp, breathless cry escaped my lips. Nolan didn’t even flinch. It was as if I made no sound at all. He dropped to his knees beside Sienna, holding her up, placing the inhaler between her lips with trembling hands. “Deep breath. That’s it. Are you okay? Do we need to go to the hospital?” he whispered, his voice thick with unshed tears. He was shaking. He was so deeply, entirely terrified of losing her. Without waiting for her to answer, he scooped her up bridal style. He walked right past me, carrying her out the front door, not sparing me a single glance. Watching the door click shut behind them, a strange, hollow laugh bubbled up in my chest. Five years. Five years of building a life, and there was absolutely no foundation of trust. We were just living in a house of cards, and Sienna had simply opened a window to let the breeze in. I dragged myself up, ignoring the throbbing pain in my hip, and pulled out the suitcases. I packed with surgical precision. Only my clothes. Only my books. Only the things I had bought for myself. The matching coffee mugs, the custom-engraved keychains, the framed photos—they all went straight into the trash can. Two hours later, the apartment was scrubbed clean of my personal footprint. I was zipping up the second suitcase when my phone buzzed. It was Nolan. “You crossed a massive line today, Audrey.” “You need to come to the hospital and apologize to Sienna right now. If you don’t… the wedding is postponed indefinitely.” This was the first time he had texted me outside the group chat in weeks, and it was to demand an apology for his ex-girlfriend. He was so profoundly arrogant, so entirely convinced that I would fold. He thought my love for him was a leash he could yank whenever he pleased. He was wrong. Before I loved him, I loved myself. “Whatever,” I typed back. I dropped the phone into my bag, took a deep breath, and headed to the TV station. In the dressing room, a young, nervous makeup assistant approached me. “Sienna called in sick. I’ll be doing your makeup and hair for the evening broadcast today, Ms. Evans.” “That’s fine,” I said softly, taking a seat in my usual chair. Looking at my reflection in the lighted mirror, my mind involuntarily conjured an image of Sienna. Two years into my relationship with Nolan, Sienna had miraculously landed a job at the network, assigned directly as my personal makeup artist. She had an uncanny ability to know exactly what shades complemented me. We liked the same indie movies, drank the same obscure oat-milk lattes. It felt like kismet. We were destined to be best friends. I remembered introducing them. I remembered doing all the talking, completely oblivious to the microscopic shift in Nolan’s eyes when he looked at her. Staring at the bandage on my cheek, the only thing I felt was a deep, burning regret for being so blind. “Use a heavier foundation,” I told the assistant. “Make sure the bandage isn’t too obvious.” This was the prime-time evening news. I couldn’t let a personal disaster tank my professional credibility. I took a long, grounding breath, put on my anchor smile, and walked onto the set. The countdown began, and the red light on the main camera blinked on. I looked into the lens, my cadence smooth and steady. But halfway through the opening segment, an ear-splitting burst of static erupted in my IFB earpiece. The piercing electronic whine felt like an icepick to the eardrum. I tightened my core, keeping my expression perfectly neutral, assuming it was just a control room glitch. But a few seconds later, the static cleared, replaced by a voice. Sienna’s voice. “I’m so sorry, Audrey. I’m sorry I ruined things between you and Nolan.” My heart slammed against my ribs. It was the first time in my entire career that a flash of genuine panic crossed my face on live television. “I was just so bitter,” her voice wept directly into my ear, loud and echoing. “I haven’t moved on. But I genuinely wanted to be your friend. Can you ever forgive me?” I glanced at the floor director, signaling wildly with my eyes to cut my audio feed, but forced my mouth into a serene smile for the camera. Sienna was practically sobbing into the microphone. It was a calculated, vicious attempt to break my concentration and ruin my broadcast. 5 My mind blanked for three agonizing seconds. I stumbled over the teleprompter script. A noticeable stutter, followed by mispronouncing a key diplomat’s name. “Audrey! You are a veteran anchor! What the hell was that out there?” The moment the broadcast ended, the executive producer cornered me in the hallway, his face purple with rage. I was exhausted, humiliated, and entirely out of patience. I refused to take the fall for this. “Someone hijacked my IFB feed. They were talking into my ear the entire time,” I said, my voice diamond-hard. “Who?! Find them! Now!” I didn’t need to look hard. I grabbed my coat and drove straight back to the condo I had vacated hours earlier. When I pushed the door open, I found Sienna sitting at the kitchen island, eyes red and puffy, sipping tea. Without breaking stride, I walked right up to her, raised my hand, and slapped her across the face. The crack echoed off the high ceilings. Sienna stumbled off the barstool, crashing onto the hardwood floor. She let out a pathetic whimper, clutching her cheek. It didn’t satisfy me. I stepped forward, raising my hand again. But before I could swing, my wrist was caught in a vice grip. I whipped my head around. Nolan was glaring down at me, his face a mask of absolute fury. “Have you lost your mind?!” he roared, his voice bouncing off the walls. “She just wanted to apologize to you! What did she do to deserve this?” “She hacked the control room intercom during a live broadcast!” I yelled back, wrenching my arm out of his grasp. “You want to talk about what she deserves? You come with me to the station right now and explain to my producers that this catastrophic broadcast was your ex-girlfriend’s fault!” I lunged toward Sienna again, but Nolan stepped squarely in front of her, acting as a human shield. “You always blame everyone else when you fold under pressure,” Nolan sneered, looking at me with pure disgust. “If you can’t handle the stress of being an anchor, maybe you should just quit.” Before I could tear into him, Sienna reached out and tugged gently on the hem of his sweater. “Don’t talk to her like that, Nolan. It really is my fault,” she whimpered, her eyes wide and innocent. “You guys are getting married. Please don’t let me make the bride angry.” Nolan and I both froze. The bride. She had never called me that before. It was a deliberate, perfectly timed wedge, isolating me into the role of the hysterical, nagging wife. The protective instinct in Nolan’s eyes practically overflowed. He leaned down, his voice dropping an octave, gentle and reassuring. “Don’t worry about the wedding. That’s a conversation for another time.” I wanted to laugh, but my phone rang. It was Station Director Davis. “Audrey, my office. Now.” When I walked into the executive suite, Mr. Davis looked up from his desk, his expression unreadable. “Audrey, I reviewed the tapes. That broadcast error wasn’t your fault,” he said, folding his hands. “Actually, you handled the disruption beautifully. Your composure under fire is exactly why I want to send you to the national affiliate network in Chicago. Are you interested in the promotion?” I sat there, momentarily paralyzed. Two years ago, this exact offer had been laid on the table. And I had turned it down without a second thought. I had told management my life was here, my home was here, my fiancé was here. But now? Now, the sand had completely slipped through my fingers. I had absolutely no reason to stay. “I’ll take it, Mr. Davis. Thank you,” I said firmly. “But if I leave, who takes the evening slot?” Mr. Davis sighed, looking deeply uncomfortable. “Your makeup artist, Sienna, has been lobbying the producers for a shot in front of the camera. I initially shot it down. But Nolan Hayes personally vouched for her. He called in some major favors with our advertisers, practically guaranteeing her success. So, we’re giving her a trial run on the late-night entertainment segment.” Hearing Nolan’s name made my pulse skip a beat. Nolan, the man who constantly preached about the integrity of hard work, who despised nepotism and corporate backdoor deals. He was cashing in his integrity to buy Sienna a vanity project. I touched the bandage on my cheek. A slow, chilling smile touched my lips. “I have two months before I need to report to Chicago,” I said smoothly. “I’d love to spend that time giving back to the network. Sienna doesn’t have any anchoring experience.” “I’ll train her.”
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