After My Groom Chose His Ex Over Me

Sebastian's key turns in the lock at 2:47 PM the next day. I'm folding the last of my clothes into a suitcase when he walks in, his footsteps confident on the hardwood. He's wearing yesterday's suit, wrinkled now, and there's a coffee stain on his collar I know I didn't put there.

"Nat, we need to talk."

I don't look up. The silk blouse in my hands—the one he bought me for our fourth anniversary—gets folded with mechanical precision. "There's nothing to talk about."

"Don't be dramatic." His voice carries that edge of impatience he uses when I'm inconveniencing him. He crosses to the dining table, and I hear the rustle of paper. The cancellation notices. Marcus worked fast. "What the hell is this?"

"Exactly what it looks like."

The papers hit the table with a slap. "You cancelled our wedding?"

"I did."

"Because of what? Because I saw Faye?" He laughs, sharp and disbelieving. "Jesus, Natasha. I was providing closure. She needed—"

"Your door is always open." I close the suitcase, finally meeting his eyes. "That's what you told her."

His jaw tightens. "You're taking that out of context."

"Then give me the context that makes it okay."

He runs a hand through his hair, and for a moment I see something flicker across his face—guilt, maybe, or calculation. "She was upset. I was being kind. You're being paranoid."

"I'm being clear."

"You're being insane." His voice rises. "Do you know what this looks like? Cancelling three days out? The humiliation—"

"For you or for me?"

He stares at me like I've grown a second head. "Fix this. Call Marcus. Tell him it was a mistake."

"No."

"Natasha—"

"And apologize to Faye." The words come out flat. "For causing her stress."

I reach into my pocket and pull out the engagement ring. Three carats, emerald cut, set in platinum. I chose it with him at Tiffany's, and he complained about the price even though his quarterly bonus could have bought ten of them. I set it on the table between us.

"Goodbye, Sebastian."

I walk past him. He doesn't try to stop me.

---

The Plaza suite is all cream and gold, the kind of elegant that feels like armor. I'm unpacking when my phone buzzes. Sebastian's name. I silence it. It buzzes again. And again.

By the fifth call, I turn it off entirely.

Apollo texts instead: *Dinner at 8? I'll pick you up.*

I'm in the lobby at 7:53, wearing the black dress I packed first—simple, severe, the kind that doesn't apologize. The marble floor gleams under chandeliers, and a pianist plays something soft and forgettable in the corner.

Then Sebastian walks in. Faye is on his arm.

She's wearing white. Of course she is. A little slip dress that shows off her collarbones, her hair perfect, her smile practiced. Sebastian's eyes lock on mine, and he steers her straight toward me.

"Natasha." His voice is too loud for the space. Heads turn. "We need to clear the air."

"There's nothing to clear."

"You've upset Faye." He gestures to her like she's evidence. "She thinks you hate her."

Faye's lower lip trembles. "I never meant to come between you. Sebastian and I—we're just friends now. I thought you understood."

"I understand perfectly."

"Then why are you doing this?" Sebastian's hand tightens on Faye's waist. "Why are you trying to ruin—"

"I'm not ruining anything. I'm leaving."

Faye steps forward, her eyes wide and wet. "Please, Natasha. I can't stand knowing I've caused you pain. If you'd just—"

She moves too fast. Her heel catches—or doesn't catch, I can't tell—and she's falling backward, her arms windmilling, her scream piercing the quiet lobby. She hits the marble with a crack that echoes.

"She pushed me!" Faye's voice is ragged, theatrical. "She pushed me!"

"I didn't touch her."

But Sebastian isn't listening. His face twists into something ugly, something I've never seen before. He closes the distance between us in two strides, and his hand comes up fast.

The slap snaps my head to the side. Pain blooms across my cheek, hot and sharp. The lobby goes silent except for Faye's sobbing and the pianist's hands frozen over the keys.

Then Apollo is there.

He moves like water, smooth and inevitable. His hand catches Sebastian's chest and shoves, not wild but controlled, and Sebastian stumbles back into a marble column. Apollo doesn't follow. He just stands there, his body between Sebastian and me, and when he speaks his voice is quiet.

"Touch her again," Apollo says, "and I will destroy you. Legally. Financially. Physically. Choose."

Sebastian's breathing hard, his face red. "You can't—"

"I can. And I will."

Apollo turns to me, and his expression shifts entirely. His hand comes up to my face, fingers gentle against the heat spreading across my cheek. His eyes are dark with something that makes my chest tight.

"Let's go," he says softly. "You're done here."

He takes my hand, and we walk out together. Behind us, Faye is still crying. Sebastian is still standing by the column, his fists clenched at his sides.

I don't look back.