First Class Runaway

Prologue The Heartbroken Dreamer

Sasha

"I swear, if you say 'timeless elegance' one more time, I'm hanging up," Erina threatens, her voice crackling through my AirPods.

I roll my eyes, stepping out of the cab. "It's a classic theme, Erina. Not my fault you have the taste of a thirteen-year-old obsessed with neon lights."

She snorts. "You know damn well my taste is impeccable. And speaking of taste, remind me again why you're marrying Brandon Walsh? I mean, I like the guy and all, but Mr. Finance Bro doesn't exactly scream 'forever.'"

I sigh, adjusting my tote bag. "We've been together since undergrad. That's six years, Erina. He was my first real boyfriend. The first guy who made me believe in… I don't know, stability?"

"Stability is for mortgages and retirement plans, not your twenties."

I shake my head, ignoring her as I step into the venue.

The grand ballroom is draped in ivory and gold, chandeliers casting a warm glow over the sleek marble floors.

Elegant floral arrangements—white roses, peonies, baby's breath—sit atop long banquet tables, and the massive windows offer a view of the New York skyline.

It's beautiful. Everything I imagined.

"Well, three months ago, when he proposed, I said yes," I remind her. "And we're standing in our venue right now."

I glance down at my engagement ring, twisting it absently on my finger. A classic round-cut diamond in a platinum setting, timeless and understated—exactly what Brandon thought I'd like. And he wasn't wrong.

Erina sighs dramatically. "Okay, okay, I'll behave. Where are you anyway?"

"Checking the venue one last time before my parents fly in."

"They're still convinced you're eloping, huh?"

I laugh. "You know my mom. She thinks any wedding that's not in Italy with three hundred of our loudest relatives doesn't count."

Erina hums. "And your dad?"

"As long as I'm not marrying an asshole, he doesn't care."

"Well, then. Let's hope Brandon is still a non-asshole."

"Erina."

"Kidding. Mostly."

I shake my head and end the call, tucking my phone into my bag as I make my way deeper into the ballroom.

Everything is perfect.

Or at least, it should be.

I pause, frowning as a sound echoes from the back hallway. A rhythmic thump-thump, followed by a muffled groan.

I freeze.

Rats.

It has to be rats.

This is New York, after all. A classy venue doesn't mean it's exempt from rodent infestations.

Another sound. Louder this time. A sharp gasp, the kind that makes my stomach twist because—yeah, no. That's not a rat.

That's a moan.

And it's coming from the bridal suite.

My chest tightens, but I shake it off. Staff, maybe? Someone sneaking in a break?

Still, my feet carry me forward before my brain can stop them. I push the door open an inch—just enough to see inside.

And then my world fucking implodes.

Brandon. My Brandon.

His suit jacket is off, dress shirt undone, pants around his ankles. And on her knees in front of him—Alyssa. Our wedding planner.

His fingers tangle in her hair. His head tips back. His lips part on a groan—one I know. One I've fucking memorized.

For a second, I don't move.

I don't breathe.

The only sound is my pulse roaring in my ears, drowning out whatever moans, gasps, and wet, filthy sounds are coming from the two people who are supposed to be making my wedding perfect.

Then, something inside me snaps.

I shove the door open. Hard.

The bang startles them. Brandon's head jerks down, Alyssa's eyes go wide, and for one blissful second, they're frozen.

Then—chaos.

Brandon stumbles back, shoving Alyssa away like she's the problem here. Alyssa scrambles to fix her dress, her lipstick smeared across her cheek.

"Sasha—"

I laugh. Loud, sharp, deranged.

"Oh my God," I breathe, clapping a hand to my chest. "This is—wow. Classic. Absolutely fucking classic."

Brandon steps forward, hands outstretched like I'm a spooked animal. "It's not what it looks like—"

"Really?" I gesture wildly toward Alyssa, still fixing her dress, her face red with humiliation. "Because it really looks like you were getting your dick sucked by our wedding planner."

He flinches. "Sasha, please. We can talk about this."

"Talk about what? The fact that you cheated? That you couldn't even wait three months before ruining the one good thing we had?"

Alyssa makes a choked sound. "I—I didn't mean—"

"Oh, shut the fuck up." I snap, eyes burning as I turn back to Brandon. "How long?"

He swallows.

"How. Long."

His silence is my answer. I swear I hear my heart my heart crack. Six fucking years gone down the drain just like that.

Betrayal hits first.

Then disgust. And Anger.

I watch Brandon struggle, shoving his stained, and still wet dick into his pants. There's really no coming back from this.

"Sasha. Baby."

He walks toward me and then stumbles on something on the floor— Alyssa's red lace panties.

"I'm done," I laugh bitterly and walk away.

"She meant nothing to me," Brandon says behind me.

I want to stop and ask him how he could do this to me after everything we've been through, but I can't stand the sight of his remorseful puppy eyes.

I once found them adorable, but now they are just fucking annoying.

I walk past the flower arrangements, that now have now lost their appeal and look like a blob of color in my teary vision, out of the building and into the busy street.

"Please, let's talk. We are getting married in a few hours," Brandon begs.

I keep on walking. No fucking idea where I'm going. All I know is that I have to get away from him.

Brandon follows behind me, muttering how sorry he is. I wish he could just stop.

I'm never forgiving him and the wedding is off.

Eventually, he gets lost in a crowd or gives up— which is a relief because people were starting to stare.

A few minutes later, I find myself at Erina's door.

"Sasha! That was quick. Did you…" She stops and takes another look at me. "Oh Fuck! What happened?"

"Brandon has been cheating on me with our wedding planner," I say blankly as I walk past her and into the living room.

"Alyssa?"

"Yup," I plop down on her couch and let out a deep and labored breath. I keep on hearing this ringing sound in my head and it's starting to give me a headache.

"Are you okay?" Erina sits next to me and takes my hand into hers.

"What is that sound?" I groan.

Erina's eyebrows go up. "Your phone. Are you sure you are okay Sasha?"

I ignore her question and take out my buzzing phone from my purse. Ten missed calls. Countless incoming messages. All from Brandon.

"Yeah, I'm okay," I switch off my phone and force a smile.

"Let me get you something to drink," she says and a few minutes later, she comes back with a bottle of whiskey and two glasses.

"So what exactly happened?" She asks after I down my first drink.

I tell her the whole thing. How disgusted I was and repeat the story a couple of times when Gabriella, Isabelle, and Naomi join us.

I answer their questions with an indifference that even surprises me.

Yeah. I'm okay. She was sucking his dick. He didn't say why. Yes. He's an asshole.

"That sucks, but good riddance," Naomi says earning a glare from everyone.

She's never been one to beat around the bush. Always saying what's on her mind but goddamn it stings.

"You would have ended up with a cheating bastard and that would have been way worse," she explains.

"I always thought his eyes were too far apart," Isabelle says earning a chuckle from me.

"So what are you going to do now?" Gabriella asks.

I shrug. "Cancel the wedding, I guess."

"What about your parents? The guests? Your honeymoon?"

"I don't fucking know!" I snap. "All I can think of is how much this hurts."

"It's okay. We'll handle everything," Erina says and gives the other girls a knowing look that I don't miss.

They're worried. I haven't shed a tear this whole time. Don't get me wrong, I'm hurt, but my anger exceeds the heartbreak.

"Thanks."

We sit there in silence each of us lost in thought, until someone puts on a movie— Notting Hill and before I know it, we are all engrossed in Hugh Grant and Julia Roberts.

"His accent is so romantic," Gabriella says dreamingly.

"Yeah, and he is hot!" Isabelle adds.

"I wish there were more men like him," Naomi slurs as we get to the scene where Hugh defends Julia from men who were talking smack about her.

"European men are so much more romantic," Gabriella comments. "Maybe we should all move to Europe and find ourselves our own Hugh's."

Naomi snickers and Erina rolls her eyes.

I know that I'm drunk, but Gabriella's suggestions makes so much sense. I mean if we can't find love in New York, why not move to a different continent.

Plus, everything's romantic over here.

I sit up.

"We should."

They all turn to look at me. Surprise evident on their faces.

"Seriously. We've all had tragic love stories, maybe it's time we switched it up," I stand up now, as the idea plays out in my head.

"Think about it. Move there for a year, learn a new language, maybe fall in love. Who knows what could happen. There are endless possibilities."

"Sasha, I was just joking." Gabriella chuckles dryly.

"I know, but this is something we could do."

The more I think about it, the more I'm determined to convince them to agree with me.

"I could use some adventure," Isabelle shrugs.

"Well, I've always wanted to move to Czech. It's stunning," Erina says.

"Barcelona is a dream," Gabriella adds.

"And I could go to Rome. Have a fresh start and enjoy my honeymoon," I smile.

"Alone?"

"Yes. I paid a lot of money for it. I won't let it go to waste."

I recall how Brandon made the argument that we should go fifty-fifty on the payments. We had a fight. But because I loved him, and he made a point about it being an investment toward our future, I gave in and paid half of the money.

What the fuck did I ever see in him?

"Plus, I have family there."

"Whoa. Calm down. Are you sure about this?" Naomi asks.

"Yes. I'm ready to get over this mess."

I can see the wheels turning in their head as they consider the idea.

"I'd love to see Switzerland," Naomi says, finally giving in to the plan.

"Okay. Guess we're all moving to Europe," Isabelle says with a laugh.

"And we could meet every month for updates," Erina suggests.

"Great!"

"To love and new experiences!" Gabriella raises her glass.

We clink our glasses, sealing the deal, but at the back of my head, a single thought occurs.

What if it all goes wrong?