I Pretended to Cheat So My Boyfriend Wouldn't Watch Me Die

The envelope arrived on a Tuesday. Heavy paper. Chapman Holdings letterhead. I opened it standing by the hotel window.

*Miss Bell: Your presence is required at the Chapman Holdings Annual Gala to finalize documentation regarding shared assets acquired during your cohabitation with Mr. Chapman. The Plaza Hotel. Saturday, 7 PM. Black tie.*

I read it twice. Set it on the desk. Stared at it for eleven minutes.

Shared assets. Like I was a business transaction being closed out.

I pulled the black dress from my suitcase. It hung loose now. I'd lost weight in Connecticut. Lost more after I came back. The fabric that used to fit perfectly sagged at the waist.

I didn't have another option.

Saturday came too fast and too slow.

I stood in front of the hotel mirror. The dress looked wrong. I looked wrong. My collarbones jutted too sharp. My face was pale even with makeup. I pressed my hand against my abdomen. Cramps had started that morning. My period always hit hard the first day. I'd learned to manage it quietly.

I took two painkillers. Put a third in my purse.

The Plaza lobby glittered. Chandeliers. Marble. Women in gowns that cost more than my hotel room. Men in tuxedos that fit like they were born wearing them.

I walked in alone.

The whispers started before I reached the ballroom. I felt them more than heard them. Eyes tracking. Mouths moving behind champagne flutes. I kept my chin level. My hands loose at my sides.

The ballroom doors opened.

Lucien stood near the center. Dark suit. Perfect posture. Yasmin beside him in a gown I recognized immediately — the designer I used to go to. The one who knew my measurements by heart. The red silk clung to her like it had been painted on.

She saw me first. Her hand slid up Lucien's arm. Proprietary. Practiced. She leaned into him and said something I couldn't hear. He turned.

Our eyes met across two hundred people.

His face didn't change.

I walked to the bar. Ordered water. The bartender looked confused but poured it. I held the glass and didn't drink.

The cramps were getting worse. I pressed my free hand against my stomach under the bar edge. Breathed through my nose. The painkiller hadn't kicked in yet.

Footsteps behind me.

"Raina."

Lucien's voice. Low. Controlled.

I turned.

He held two glasses of champagne. His eyes moved over my face. Down to where my hand pressed against my abdomen. Something flickered in his expression. Recognition. He'd tracked my cycle for six years. He knew.

He extended one glass toward me. Loud enough for the investors nearby to hear.

"Drink with me. For old times' sake." He paused. His mouth curved. "Unless you're pregnant again."

Nervous laughter rippled through the group around us. A woman in diamonds looked away. A man in a gray suit cleared his throat.

I took the glass. My hand didn't shake. I made sure of that.

Lucien raised his own glass higher. His voice carried across the ballroom.

"A toast," he said. "To loyalty. To knowing who you can trust." His eyes locked on mine. "To the people who stand beside you when it matters. And to recognizing the ones who don't."

More laughter. Polite. Uncomfortable. Glasses clinked around us.

I stood there. The champagne was cold in my hand. The cramps twisted deeper. I felt warmth between my legs. Wetness spreading.

I was bleeding through my dress.

I didn't look down. I kept my eyes on Lucien's face. I raised the glass to my lips and drank. The champagne tasted like metal. Like shame. Like three months in Connecticut waiting to die.

I drank until the glass was empty.

Then I set it on the bar. The sound was too loud. Crystal on marble.

Lucien was still watching me. Waiting for something. Tears maybe. A scene. Proof that he'd broken me.

I looked at him. Really looked. At the man I'd loved enough to destroy myself for. The man I'd lied to so he wouldn't have to watch me die. The man who was now standing in front of two hundred people making sure I knew exactly how much he hated me.

I felt nothing.

Not anger. Not grief. Not even pain.

Just the absence of everything I used to feel when I looked at him.

I turned and walked toward the exit. My dress clung to my legs. Wet. Heavy. No one said anything. They just watched.

The Plaza doors opened. Rain hammered the sidewalk. I stood under the awning and raised my hand for a cab.

One pulled up. Yellow. Ordinary. I climbed in.

"Where to?" the driver asked.

I gave him the hotel address.

He pulled into traffic. Windshield wipers beat against the glass. I sat in the back seat. My dress stuck to the leather. I pressed my thumbnail into my index finger until I felt the skin break.

The blood came slow.

I watched it well up. Dark and certain.

Then I closed my eyes and let the city blur past.