Five Years, A Forged Vow

Audrey POV:

Kristal finally looked up, her eyes wide and innocent, a picture of false humility. A tiny, almost imperceptible smile played on her lips. She looked at Brandon, her gaze filled with a fragile vulnerability.

"Oh, Brandon," she murmured, her voice a soft, breathy whisper. "Are you sad because of me?" Her hand reached up, lightly touching his forehead, a gesture so intimate it made my blood run cold. It was a gesture of ownership.

Brandon froze for a split second, a deer caught in headlights. His eyes flickered, as if remembering something, someone else. But then, it was gone. He seemed to have completely forgotten I was standing there, a few feet away, watching his every move.

He smiled, a gentle, almost tender smile, that made the air around them shimmer with unspoken history. "Never, Kristal," he said, his voice low and soothing. "What are your plans for tonight? Are you staying in town for a bit?"

He sounded like a man desperate to keep her close, a man who saw her as his entire world. The thought was a searing brand against my skin.

The crowd around us, still buzzing with excitement, seemed to dissolve. All I could hear was the frantic thump of my own heart. I couldn't let this happen. Not again. Not here.

"Brandon!" I cut through his question, my voice sharper than I intended. It shattered the intimate bubble they had created.

His head snapped towards me, his eyes now filled with a flash of annoyance. He finally seemed to acknowledge my presence.

"Audrey, we can talk about this at home," he said, his tone dismissive, a barely concealed irritation in his voice. "Don't ruin the mood for everyone."

Ruin the mood? My mood was already in tatters. Was this some twisted joke? He had set up this entire public spectacle, and now I was the one ruining it?

A bitter laugh bubbled up, but I swallowed it down. "Ruin the mood?" I repeated, my voice dangerously calm. "Brandon, why don't you introduce me to your... friends? And to Kristal."

His gaze shifted away from me, a clear sign of his unwillingness. He didn't want to define me in front of her. He didn't want to define us in front of her.

"Audrey, please," he urged, his voice barely above a whisper, meant only for my ears. "Let's not make a scene."

My eyes burned with unshed tears, but I refused to let them fall. Not here. Not now. I had to reclaim some semblance of dignity.

"No," I declared, my voice echoing with a surprising strength. "I think it's time everyone knew. I am Audrey Maxwell. And I am Brandon Cervantes's wife." I watched Kristal's face. Her coy smile faltered, replaced by a rigid mask.

Then, I delivered the final blow. "And in three days," I continued, my voice clear and steady, "we will be holding our formal wedding reception."

A hush fell over the crowd. People exchanged uncomfortable glances. Some looked at me with pity, others with open disdain, as if I had somehow violated an unspoken rule. Kristal's face crumpled. Her eyes welled up with tears, and she looked utterly heartbroken.

"Oh, Brandon," she choked out, her voice trembling. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know… I'm just so clumsy." She started to back away, her shoulders shaking. "I should leave. I don't want to cause any trouble."

Then, with a frantic sob, she turned and bolted, disappearing into the thinning crowd.

Brandon didn't even hesitate. His eyes, filled with a familiar protectiveness, followed her. He started to move, to follow her.

"Brandon!" I grabbed his arm, my nails digging into his skin. "What about the awards ceremony? What about our guests? You have a reception in three days!"

He whirled around, his face a mask of cold fury. He ripped his arm from my grasp, his eyes blazing. "She just got back to the country, Audrey! She needs me right now! She twisted her ankle!"

He shoved a small, velvet box into my hand. "Here," he snarled, "this is for you. Now everyone knows who you are, doesn' t that make you happy?"

He didn't wait for a response. He turned and ran after Kristal, disappearing into the darkening evening. He didn't look back.

I stood there, the velvet box heavy in my hand, the cheers replaced by a deafening silence. My mind registered the rough fabric, the unfamiliar weight. Then, a drop hit my cheek. Then another. The sky opened up, a torrential downpour, mirroring the storm raging inside me.

The rain plastered my hair to my face, mingling with the tears I could no longer hold back. The club was quickly emptying, people scrambling for their cars. I was alone. Utterly, completely alone. I looked down at the box. It was empty. The diamond necklace was gone.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. A rideshare notification. I had ordered it earlier, as a backup, a silly premonition that something would go wrong. Now, it was my only way out. I looked around for a shuttle, for anyone, but the parking lot was almost deserted. The driver pulled up, an old beat-up sedan. The windows were tinted dark, even darker than the approaching storm clouds. I hesitated, my heart pounding a panicked rhythm. My PTSD screamed at me, but I had no choice. I had to get home.