The night before the wedding, everyone gathered to play Spyfall. The word card I drew had the name of Julian’s ex-girlfriend written on it—my fiancé’s ex. The game began. Victoria, Julian’s sister, spoke with open contempt: “That country bumpkin who crawled back from the sticks.” Lucas, Julian’s best friend, flicked ash from his cigarette. “Such a poser. I hated being anywhere near her.” Julian was silent for a long moment, then added, “Jealous. Painfully so.” My sister Mia nodded eagerly. “She’s practically got a persecution complex. Always thinks everyone’s freezing her out.” Something tightened in my chest. I’d met Chloe, Julian’s ex, once—she was gentle, well-mannered, nothing close to what they were describing. So I couldn’t help defending her. “Smart. Beautiful. Fun, too.” The moment I said it, Mia burst out laughing. “Evelyn, I didn’t realize you were that full of yourself.” The next second, the whole room erupted. Then, in unison, every finger pointed at me. I was voted out unanimously. Only then did it finally register—*I* was the spy. The name on their word cards was mine. Evelyn Raven. And the person they despised was me. … While I sat there frozen, my best friend Sarah pushed the door open, back from her errand. She began handing out chilled beers, one by one. Six people. Five bottles. Nothing for me. An immense exhaustion crashed over me. The six of us grew up together. When I was ten, I got lost, spent a year drifting through the slums before I was finally found and brought home. After I came back, when they divided crêpes and doughnuts, only crumbs were ever left for me. At our college graduation, everyone decided last-minute to move the celebration elsewhere. No one told me. I stood waiting until dark, until a kindhearted security guard finally clued me in. By the time I made it over, they were already deep in laughter—not one of them had noticed I wasn’t there. This time was no different. My sincerity had earned me only mockery, spoken right to my face. I decided, then, that some circles simply couldn’t be forced. There was no point clinging to a place that would never hold me. “You guys keep playing. I’m a little tired. I’m heading out.” I grabbed my bag and turned to leave a heartbeat before the tears could fall. The door clicked shut behind me, but my legs felt like lead. I sank down into the shadows of the hallway, covered my face, and let myself sob. Through the door, I caught faint murmurs. “Julian, aren’t you going after her? Your fiancée looked pretty upset.” Julian’s voice came back flat, terrifyingly cold. “No need. She can process it on her own.” Victoria seized the opening. “We’ve been shutting her out since we were kids and she still acts like nothing’s wrong. Country folk—they can swallow anything.” Another round of laughter rang out from behind the door. … “No need. She can process it on her own.” Victoria seized the opening. “We’ve been shutting her out since we were kids and she still acts like nothing’s wrong. Country folk—they can swallow anything.” Another round of laughter rang out from behind the door. Then came Lucas’s voice: “She still has no idea we ditched her on purpose the day of that Taylor Swift tour, so Chloe could get her closure, right?” “Sharing a hug and a goodbye kiss on the stage of a sold-out concert—now *that’s* a romantic ending.” “Honestly, I don’t think any of us have ever gotten over the fact that Julian and Chloe didn’t make it.” “Tonight’s little game—consider it us finally getting revenge on her behalf.” Sarah quickly hushed them. “Shhh… don’t let her catch on. She spent one year on the streets and she’s been playing the fragile card ever since. If she finds out, she’ll milk the sympathy for all it’s worth.” Sarah paused, then asked, “The thing about her mom’s injury—that’s not going to leak, is it?” Mia’s voice, brimming with confidence: “Relax. I already coached Mom and Dad. They love me the most. Whatever act I ask them to put on, they’ll deliver.” Crouched by the door, my heart plunged straight through ice. So that day, when Mom said she’d burned her arm making pizza—it was a lie. Dad wasn’t actually flying to Sydney for business. Every single one of them had lied to me. All so Julian and Chloe could have their romantic farewell kiss. I don’t remember how I got out of there. Midsummer. A hot wind rolled off the river and swept over me, and still I felt frozen to the bone. Slumped in the back seat of the bus, my mind was a blank canvas, splattered only with the echoes of their sneers. With trembling hands, I dialed Sarah. “Sarah. In the seven years Julian and I have been together—he and Chloe never actually broke up, did they?” “You… you knew all along, didn’t you?” I gripped the phone, praying she’d tell me it was some sick, unfunny joke. She didn’t hesitate for even a second. “Yes. I’ve always known.” “Look, at first I thought Chloe was just some homewrecker too.” Sarah’s tone was infuriatingly casual. “But the more time I spent with her, the more I realized—she’s a genuine angel.” “She leaves her umbrella for stray dogs in the rain. She buys pads out of pocket for undocumented girls working under the table… She’s so kind. God, who *wouldn’t* love her?” My nose burned. Tears spilled unchecked. “And me, Sarah?! Do I *deserve* to be stomped on like garbage by every single one of you?!” Silence on the other end for a beat. Then a matter-of-fact scoff. “Evelyn, I’m doing this for your own good.” “You’re always so petty, holding grudges over every little thing. You’re honestly acting like a crazy bitch.” … Silence on the other end for a beat. Then a matter-of-fact scoff. “Evelyn, I’m doing this for your own good.” “You’re always so petty, holding grudges over every little thing. You’re honestly acting like a crazy bitch.” “Those two are ten thousand times better matched than you and Julian ever were.” I listened, disbelieving, to the voice bleeding out of my phone. My best friend. When she was being bullied at that private high school, I stood in front of her and nearly took a box cutter to the face. When her ex-boyfriend was cheating, I was the one who kicked down the hotel room door to get her justice. And now, she was standing on the opposite side of the line without a shred of hesitation. I hung up. The wedding event planner called next. “Miss Raven, regarding your castle wedding with Mr. Julian Grant—there are a few details I need to confirm with you.” “The roses for the venue arrangements have all been swapped out for lilies, and the dessert bar has been switched entirely to oat-milk-based items.” I went rigid. “Did… did Julian make those changes?” “They were Chloe’s suggestions. Mr. Grant said… to leave the arrangements entirely to her.” The last of the warmth drained from my chest. I have a severe lily allergy. Even brushing against the pollen sends me into anaphylactic shock. Julian knew this. He knew it perfectly well. And yet, for a single word from Chloe, he could dismiss even my life as if it were nothing. In that instant, my heart died. I typed and typed into the message field—accusations, curses, hurt—but in the end, I deleted every last word. “The details are fine,” I said, my voice steady. “You’ve only gotten one very important thing wrong.” *The bride.*
I hung up and started packing. In this mansion perched on the edge of Beverly Hills, there really wasn’t much that belonged to me. The expensive fiddle-leaf fig on the terrace—*they’d* picked it out together at that Malibu nursery. The California-leather sofa in the living room was lined neatly with limited-edition figurines *they’d* brought back from Disneyland. Even the double-door Smeg fridge was stuffed with the sugar-free seltzers, craft beers, and air-flown seasonal fruit that the five of *them* loved. The strawberries Julian had once picked up for me on a whim were shoved into the most forgotten corner of the crisper, skin split, weeping sour, rotting juice. And yet, the night we’d bought this house, Julian had held me tight and sworn: “This is *our* home, Evelyn. Just the two of us. No one else can ever intrude on us here.” Now every corner reeked of their late-night parties, their games, their laughter. It wasn’t a home. It was a hotel suite for entertaining friends. At two in the morning, the lock clicked. Julian walked in reeking of whiskey, a pink pastry box dangling from his hand. … It wasn’t a home. It was a hotel suite for entertaining friends. At two in the morning, the lock clicked. Julian walked in reeking of whiskey, a pink pastry box dangling from his hand. “Baby, don’t do this, okay?” He rubbed his temple, worn out. “It was just a joke at a party. Nothing personal. We’re getting married in a few days. Grow up a little.” He opened the box and pushed it toward me. “I made a detour to grab your favorite strawberry tart. Let me apologize on their behalf, hm?” I said nothing. I just stared coldly at the dainty little dessert. The tip of the tart had been bitten off. A perfect set of teeth marks was left behind. The truth was, I didn’t even like strawberries. Back in their circle, strawberry was the one flavor all five of them despised. So it was always the leftover they pushed onto me. Over time, they’d convinced themselves it was my favorite. My instincts told me: this half-eaten strawberry tart was Chloe’s discarded leftover. I lifted my head slowly. My voice was calm. “Call off the wedding, Julian.” “Chloe’s leftovers make me sick.” The evasion in his eyes flashed into anger. “Evelyn! Could you be any *more* sensitive?” His voice rose. “It’s just a dessert—do you have to conjure up an entire soap opera out of it? Chloe and I ended a long time ago! You’re on me like a paranoid guard dog every single day, and I’m exhausted!” I laughed, cold and sharp, and stared right through him. “*I* make you tired? I’d think the past four years of you and everyone else putting on a full-scale performance behind my back would be a lot more exhausting.” Julian and I had been together since high school. Then he left for Europe to study, and we survived four years long-distance. When he finally came back, he suddenly had every excuse in the book to delay the wedding. All of my friends kept telling me, “A man has to focus on his career first. Pushing him too hard will ruin his work.” So I waited, foolishly, for him to give me a title. Only tonight did I understand—for the seven years of our relationship, he and Chloe had never actually ended. No wonder he never once posted me on Instagram or Facebook as his girlfriend. Even in group photos, if half my shoulder was visible in the frame, he’d delete it within seconds and repost it cropped. I once asked him, in tears, why. He just stroked my hair, indulgent. “Silly girl. I’m protecting you. There are too many dangers in our circle.” Back then, I was naïve enough to think it was consideration. Now I understood. He wasn’t afraid others would envy me. He was afraid the girl he kept tucked away in his heart would *see* me.
“Julian. Sarah told me everything.” I took a step back, dodging his touch. “Haven’t you performed enough?” … “Julian. Sarah told me everything.” I took a step back, dodging his touch. “Haven’t you performed enough?” The color drained from Julian’s face. Panicking, he stretched his arms open to pull me in. “Evelyn, it’s not what you think! Let me explain—” “Don’t touch me!” Nausea surged in my stomach. I threw him off with everything I had. In the struggle, my elbow slammed hard into his lower back. “*Ah—*” Julian doubled over in agony, folded like a shrimp, and crashed to the floor with a strangled groan. I froze. Cold sweat soaked through my back in an instant. Julian had a serious old lumbar injury—one he’d gotten in senior year of high school, saving me. That night, I was walking home alone when a group of drunken vagrants cornered me. He came charging in with a baseball bat and took the beating in my place. Three of his ribs were broken. He was left with permanent nerve damage in his lower back. He’d been forced to give up his shot as an Olympic-track swimmer. For countless nights afterward, guilt kept me awake. But Julian, lying in his hospital bed, would grip my hand through the pain and kiss my forehead so gently. “Evelyn, my pearl. If something had happened to you, what would any of that glory even *mean*?” Back then, he really would have laid down his life for me. And now, he was the one grinding my heart into dust. I drew in a deep breath and calmly dialed 911. Half an hour later, I rode in the ambulance with him to Presbyterian Hospital. After swiping my card at the front desk for the emergency bill, I realized I’d left my trench coat draped over the chair outside his room. I doubled back. Through the glass window of the ER, I heard soft, coquettish sobbing from inside. “Does she even *know* how bad your back is?! How dare that lunatic put her hands on you?!” On the bed, Julian was gingerly lifting his hand, brushing tears from Chloe’s cheek. His voice was so tender it could have dripped water. “Don’t cry, Chloe… I’m not in pain. It’s my fault. I handled things badly between the two of you. I owe her an apology.” Chloe sniffled, her voice thick with resentment. “Are you really going to marry a woman that emotionally unstable? You two will *never* be happy! I regret it so much… If I hadn’t run off overseas out of spite back then, the woman marrying you should have been *me*!” Julian was silent. His silence was his agreement. If not for Julian’s gravely ill father wanting a docile housewife of a daughter-in-law, he would never have chosen me. Then Chloe, overcome with emotion, leaned down and kissed him on the lips. My blood turned to ice. … If not for Julian’s gravely ill father wanting a docile housewife of a daughter-in-law, he would never have chosen me. Then Chloe, overcome with emotion, leaned down and kissed him on the lips. My blood turned to ice. I was about to shove the door open—when a savage force yanked me back by the collar! *Crack!* The back of my skull struck cold brick. My vision blacked out instantly. Before I could even cry out, I was being hauled roughly around the corner of the stairwell at the end of the hallway. I forced my eyes open. Standing over me were the other four members of that little circle. Victoria stepped forward first, arms crossed, eyes brimming with condescension and disgust. “Evelyn. Since you already know, we’re not going to bother pretending anymore. You should be clear about one thing: the only woman Julian has ever loved is Chloe.” Lucas twirled a Zippo lighter in his fingers. “Evelyn, have some *dignity*. Don’t stand in the way of true love.” Mia leaned in, matter-of-fact. “Wake up. Julian only agreed to marry you as a tactic to force Chloe home from abroad. It’s called relationship gamesmanship. Get it?” I had done nothing wrong. And yet they’d convinced themselves I was the malicious homewrecker. Seeing me lying there, silent, Sarah crouched down. “I’m doing this for you too, Evelyn. Even if you strong-arm Julian into marrying you, he’ll never love you.” She pulled out her phone and thrust the screen at me—the group chat between the five of them on iMessage. “You know every time Julian said he was working late at the office? He was out shopping with Chloe.” “You know his phone’s Face ID was set to two faces? His own, and Chloe’s.” “You know the person highlighted on his Apple Calendar was Chloe’s menstrual cycle, and the person pinned at the top of his WhatsApp was her?” “Even that custom cake you got for your birthday last year? Chloe had already turned down that design.” “We kept it from you because we were afraid you—unhinged as you are—would hurt Chloe. Do yourself a favor and disappear.” Sarah added, with a cold smile, “If you try to make trouble for her, the four of us will make sure you regret it.”
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