After His Fiancée Lied, He Destroyed Me Completely

The roller hissed against the drywall, a wet, sucking sound that grated against my raw nerves. *Sunbeam Yellow.* We had chosen this exact shade at a dusty hardware store in Brooklyn three years ago. I remembered the way the fluorescent lights hummed overhead as Cassius smudged a dot of the paint onto the tip of my nose, laughing as he promised that our children would wake up to sunshine every single day, no matter the weather outside.

Now, I was painting that promise onto the walls of his life with another woman.

"It's a bit patchy near the crown molding, Maya," Liana said. She was perched in the white rocking chair in the corner, her hand resting performatively over her flat stomach. "Do try to put some love into it. It is for *Cassius's* baby, after all. You wouldn't want the poor thing to stare at your mistakes."

My grip on the roller handle tightened until my knuckles turned the color of bone. "I'm doing my job, Liana. Just like you're doing yours."

Her smile didn't waver, but her eyes sharpened into slits. "My job is carrying his legacy. Yours is cleaning up the mess. Don't forget that he didn't fire you because I begged him not to. I told him you needed the money for your... condition."

She meant my broken heart. She meant the pathetic reality that I was still here, inhaling paint fumes and humiliation, just to be in the same orbit as the man who had forgotten me.

I dipped the roller into the tray, the yellow paint swirling like melted butter. The door creaked open. Cassius stood there, loosening his tie. He looked exhausted, the lines around his eyes etched deep by a stress he couldn't name.

"The fumes are strong," he muttered, stepping into the room.

I froze. The movement wafted the air around me—my scent. Vanilla and rain. It was the perfume I had worn since I was nineteen, the one he used to bury his face in after a long day.

Cassius stopped mid-stride. His nostrils flared. He looked at me, really looked at me, and for a heartbeat, the hostility vanished. His brow furrowed, a spasm of pain flickering across his features. He raised a hand to his temple, pressing hard.

"That smell..." His voice was a rasp, stripped of its usual icy polish. "Why does it... why do I know it?"

He swayed, his eyes losing focus. "It smells like... safety."

My heart slammed against my ribs. "Cassius?" I took a step toward him, the roller dripping unnoticed onto the drop cloth. "It's me. You remember."

Liana was out of the chair instantly. She moved with the precision of a viper, inserting herself between us.

"It's the paint thinner, darling," she cooed, her voice rising in a frantic pitch. "It's giving you a migraine. You've been working too hard." She reached into the pocket of her cardigan and pulled out a small glass vial and a bottle of water she’d had resting on the side table. "Here. Dr. Evans said to take this immediately if the headaches came back."

Cassius blinked, the fog of memory warring with the pounding in his skull. He looked at the vial, then at me. The vulnerability in his eyes curdled into confusion, then suspicion. He downed the liquid in one swallow.

Within seconds, his shoulders slumped. The spark of recognition was snuffed out, replaced by a dull, glazed compliance.

"You're right," he mumbled, turning his back on me. "Get this finished, Maya. I want the room aired out by morning."

***

Three hours later, I was downstairs, packing my supplies into my canvas tote. The silence of the penthouse was heavy, pressing against my eardrums. I just wanted to leave. I wanted to go back to my tiny apartment and scrub the yellow paint from my skin.

"Going somewhere?"

Cassius’s voice came from the shadows of the living room. He wasn't looking at me; he was looking at a piece of paper in his hand. The fire in the grate cast long, dancing shadows across his face, making him look like a vengeful god.

"I finished the nursery," I said, clutching my bag strap. "I'm going home."

"Home." He laughed, a dark, jagged sound. He crossed the room in two long strides and snatched my bag from my shoulder, dumping its contents onto the Persian rug. My sketchbook, my wallet, my keys—and a crumpled piece of lined paper.

He held the paper up. "Liana found this tucked in your side pocket."

I stared at it. The handwriting was mine. The loops of the 'y', the sharp cross of the 't'. It was perfect.

*I will cut it out of you before it breathes. He is mine.*

"I didn't write that," I whispered, the blood draining from my face. "Cassius, that’s a forgery. She’s been studying my journals—"

He didn't let me finish. He grabbed my upper arm, his fingers digging into the tender flesh, and dragged me toward the sliding glass doors.

"Cassius, stop! You're hurting me!"

He threw the doors open. The winter wind hit us like a physical blow, biting and cruel. He marched me to the edge of the balcony, forty stories above the glittering grid of Manhattan. He shoved me against the railing. The metal dug into my lower back, and for a terrifying second, I tipped backward, staring down into the abyss.

I screamed, grabbing his lapels to steady myself.

He leaned in, his face inches from mine. His eyes were voids, black holes where my Cassius used to be.

"You threaten my child?" he hissed, the words steaming in the cold air. "You threaten the only good thing in my life?"

"I didn't! I would never—"

"Shut up!" He shook me, and I gasped as my feet slipped on the icy concrete. "Listen to me, Maya. If you ever come near Liana or my child again... if you even breathe in their direction... I won't call the police."

He tilted me further over the edge. The wind roared in my ears, drowning out my sob.

"I will throw you off this ledge myself. Do you understand?"

I looked at him, tears freezing on my cheeks, and saw the absolute, unshakeable conviction in his eyes. He meant it. The man who had once promised to catch me if I fell was now ready to let me drop.

"I understand," I choked out.

He yanked me back onto the safety of the balcony and shoved me toward the door. "Get out."