Chapter 4
Sara made it back to the honeymoon suite before she broke.She walked through the door with her spine straight, her phone in her hand, and Abbie close enough behind her to catch her if her knees gave out.
The villa smelled like white roses, coconut sunscreen, and last night’s champagne.
On the table by the terrace, a silver tray held chocolate-covered strawberries the resort had sent for the newlyweds.
Someone had piped Forever Begins Here in dark chocolate across a porcelain plate.
Sara stared at it, then laughed.The sound came out wrong. It cracked through the pretty room, sharp and awful, and turned into a sob before she could stop it. She bent over in the middle of the perfect honeymoon suite, crying so hard her chest hurt.
Abbie was there instantly, arms around her.
“I’m here,” Abbie said. “I’ve got you.”
Sara clutched at her like they were sixteen again and some mean girl had made a comment about Sara’s thrift store dress at a school dance before anyone understood that the Archmonts had money but never showed it off.
Abbie gave that girl a black eye but this wasn’t a school dance. This was Sara’s marriage.
“He said vows,” Sara choked out. “Yesterday. He said them yesterday.”
“I know.”
“In front of my parents. In front of everyone.”
“I know, baby.”
“He brought her here.”
Abbie held her tighter. “I know.”
That was the worst part. Not that Brayden had wanted someone else.
Not even that he had touched Brooklyn after promising forever to Sara.
The worst part was the placement of it. Brooklyn at the welcome party.
Brooklyn at brunch. Brooklyn in the hoodie.
Brooklyn in the villa. Brooklyn folded into the wedding weekend like a secret he had dared Sara not to notice.
Sara had walked down an aisle lined with white orchids while another woman waited in the wings.
She pulled back and wiped at her face. “I feel stupid.”
Abbie’s expression changed. “Don’t you dare.”
“I married him.”
“He lied.”
“I defended him.”
“He manipulated you.”
“I let him invite all those people.”
“Because you were trying to be a supportive wife.” Abbie took Sara’s face in both hands. “Listen to me. Being generous to a man you loved doesn’t make you stupid. It makes him disgusting for using it.”
Sara closed her eyes.“I don’t want my parents to know.”
“They’re going to know eventually.”
“My mother will be so disappointed.”
“In him.”
“In me too.” Sara opened her eyes, shame crawling up her throat. “They’ll think I rushed. That I was too young. That I confused charm for character. Everyone will think I was some sheltered girl desperate to be chosen.”
Abbie’s mouth softened. “Maybe they’ll think their daughter got hurt by someone who should have protected her.”
Sara looked toward the wedding dress hanging across the room. Yesterday, her mother had cried while buttoning the back. Her father had kissed her cheek before walking her down the aisle and whispered, “You never have to earn love, sweetheart. Remember that.”
She thought he was being sentimental.Now the words fet like a warning she was too blind to see.
Abbie guided her to the edge of the bed and sat beside her. “What do you want to do?”
Sara laughed bitterly. “I want to go back to yesterday morning and run.”
“That’s not an option.”
“I want to disappear.”
“That is an option, but I don’t recommend it.”
Sara looked at her.
Abbie reached for a tissue and handed it over.
“If you disappear, Brayden gets the story. He gets to say you had a meltdown, or the pressure was too much, or you’re spoiled and dramatic.
Brooklyn gets to post little bikini quotes about peace and alignment.
His followers get to call you insecure while he cries in a linen shirt. ”
The image was so precise Sara almost gagged.
“He would do that,” she whispered.
“He already started doing it the second he told you not to ruin the weekend.”
Sara wiped her face. “I hate that you’re right.”
“I’m often right. It’s part of my burden.”
Despite everything, Sara almost smiled.
Abbie took her phone and began moving with purpose. “We need folders.”
“Folders?”
“Screenshots. Videos. Timelines. Things that make me want to commit assault. Separate folders.”
“Abbie.”
“What? Organization prevents prison.”
Sara leaned against the headboard while Abbie sat cross-legged beside her, scrolling with frightening focus.
They saved Brooklyn’s stories. They saved the brunch photo with Brayden’s hand too low on Brooklyn’s back.
They saved the welcome party shot where Brooklyn’s fingers rested on his chest. They saved the now-deleted villa story from Sara’s screen recording.
The more they collected, the more Sara saw.
Brooklyn in the background of the rehearsal dinner reel, watching Brayden instead of the couple speaking.
Brayden tagging everyone in a group photo except Brooklyn, even though she was visible at the edge.
Brooklyn posting a champagne glass two weeks ago with a man’s hand barely in frame, the watch familiar enough to make Sara’s stomach lurch.
“Wait,” Abbie said suddenly.
Sara looked over.
Abbie held up a small cream card. Sara recognized it from the pocket of Abbie’s dress.
“What is that?”
“That man from earlier. Dominic Reed. He gave it to me after you almost dropped dead by the cabanas.”
Sara sat up. “He gave you his card?”
“Not like that. He said if we needed help making sense of public posts, he knew someone.”
Sara frowned. “That sounds weirdly specific.”
“It’s printed on the card.” Abbie turned it around.
The card was matte black with silver lettering.
Dominic Reed
Founder, DoubleBooked.
Abbie was already searching. Her thumbs flew over the screen.
“Oh,” she said.
Sara’s stomach tightened. “Oh what?”
“DoubleBooked is an app.”
“What kind of app?”
Abbie looked up, eyes bright with the first clean spark of hope Sara had seen all day. “The kind built by someone who hates cheaters almost as much as I do.”