Chapter 5
The Past
The morning after doesn’t feel real.
It never does.
But this one is different. This one settles over me like ash after a fire, thin and choking. It clings to my skin. My lungs. My ribs.
I sit on the edge of my bed in yesterday’s clothes. The dress is wrinkled, the hem dirty. My hair is a mess, falling in limp waves over my shoulders. Mascara smudges stain the corners of my eyes, dried and flaking like the residue of too many regrets.
I haven’t cried yet.
I’m not sure why. I think my body is too tired to give grief the energy it needs. Or maybe this is what shock looks like after a betrayal so loud it echoes for days.
Sebastian’s name is still a stone in my throat.
The engagement ring sits on my nightstand. It catches the early light like it still means something. Like it doesn’t understand that it’s just metal now. Not a promise. Not a future. Just a lie with a price tag.
My phone buzzes beside it. Again.
I glance at the screen.
Shock registers for a moment when my eyes focus not the letter spelling his name. Sebastian.
For the fourth time.
I don’t answer. I can’t. Not yet. I’m still peeling pieces of myself off the floor from yesterday.
The apartment smells like something between old coffee and the dying tulips in the vase by the window. There are photos of us everywhere. Laughing. Kissing. Holding hands. Framed moments of a life I thought was real.
Now every one of them feels like a punch.
A knock breaks the silence.
Not timid. Not hesitant.
Firm. Familiar.
I don’t need to check the peephole. I know it’s him. I know his knock like I know my own heartbeat.
Still, I hesitate.
Then I open the door.
Sebastian stands there, his face wrecked. Hair a mess. Eyes bloodshot. He looks like he hasn’t slept, like he’s been pacing in hell.
And behind him, like some dark echo of my worst day, stands Knox Cain.
Knox is unreadable. As always. Hands in his pockets. Eyes locked on mine, sharp and steady.
Sebastian steps forward. “Lana. Please.” His voice cracks.
I stare at him.
“You can’t be serious,” I say.
“Just hear me out.”
“I did. Yesterday. From the door. Through her moans.”
He flinches like I slapped him. “I need to explain.”
“There’s nothing you can say that I want to hear,” I snap.
Knox doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. But his eyes are on me, and it’s like they see too much.
Sebastian glances at him, annoyed. “Can we talk alone?”
I laugh. It’s bitter. Hollow. “Oh, so now you care about privacy?”
He reaches for my hand. I step back. “Don’t touch me.”
“Lana, please. It wasn’t what it looked like.”
I blink at him. “That’s the best you’ve got? That’s your defense? The oldest line in the book?”
His eyes beg. “It just happened. It wasn’t—”
“You didn’t mean for me to find out. That’s what you meant to say.”
Knox shifts behind him. Still silent. Still watching. His presence is heavy in the doorway, like he’s the only thing keeping Sebastian upright.
“You brought him?” I ask, turning my fury toward Knox. “What, to back you up? To convince me I’m overreacting?”
Knox shakes his head. “He asked for a ride.”
“So you just decided to play escort to a cheating fiancé?”
“I told him it was a bad idea,” Knox says simply.
Sebastian snaps, “You’re not helping.”
Knox shrugs. “Wasn’t trying to.”
I stare at them both. The man who ruined me, and the man who stood by and let it happen.
“You knew, didn’t you?” I whisper, hating that I’m accusing Knox.
Knox finally looks me in the eyes. “It wasn’t my place.”
I take a shaky breath.
“Not your place? You watched me plan a wedding while he was screwing someone else, and it wasn’t your place?”
He doesn’t respond. He doesn’t have to. The silence between us says it all. Betrayal doesn’t need to scream. Sometimes it just sits there, quiet and cold.
Sebastian reaches into his coat pocket. Pulls out a folded piece of paper. A note. A letter. Something pathetic.
I don’t take it. I reach for my ring instead I swiped from the nightstand and hurl it at his chest.
It hits with a dull clink, then bounces to the floor.
“Get out,” I say.
“Lana…”
“Get. Out.” My voice cracks. The tears finally arrive, hot and fast, and I can’t stop them.
Sebastian hesitates like he might try again, but Knox steps in. He grabs Sebastian’s arm and turns him toward the hall. No struggle. Before he goes, Knox looks back. He doesn’t say anything. He just watches me fall apart.
Then the door closes.
And I collapse. My knees hit the floor. My chest caves in. Everything I’ve been holding back pours out of me like a storm. I cry until I can’t breathe. Until I can’t think. Until my voice is gone. The ring glints by the doorway like a curse.
I crawl to the kitchen. I grab the wine from the counter and pour myself a glass with shaking hands. It’s not even noon.
But I don’t care.
The taste is bitter. Sharp. I drink it anyway.
My phone buzzes again.
Another text.
Sebastian: I’m sorry.
I delete it without reading the rest. My reflection stares at me from the dark screen. Eyes hollow. Mouth a line of rage.
This is how it starts. The quiet kind of dying you mistake for healing.
And for the first time, I stop caring if I ever come back.
I don’t remember falling asleep.
I just remember waking up on the floor, cold and twisted like a crumpled piece of paper someone meant to throw away.
My mouth is dry, and my head pounds with the dull, persistent throb of dehydration and hangover and unspoken truths.
There’s a wine glass on the carpet, tipped on its side.
A dark stain blooms across the rug like a shadow that refuses to fade.
Sunlight sneaks through the blinds, soft and accusing. The kind of light that makes you see everything you’ve been avoiding. The mirror across the room shows my reflection in broken fragments: pale skin, tangled hair, mascara smeared under hollow eyes.
My stomach lurches. I crawl to the bathroom and vomit until my ribs hurt. I sit on the cold tile afterward, forehead against the wall, breath catching in my throat.
This is how it feels to hit rock bottom, I think.
But then I remember last night wasn’t even the worst part. That came earlier, with Sebastian and the ring and the tears I can’t stop replaying.
I drag myself into the shower. Hot water. Scalding. I want it to burn. I want it to scrape the memory of him off my skin. I want to feel clean, even if just for five seconds.
It doesn’t work.