Love Lies

Chapter 1

ONE

WITH THIS RING, I thee trap.

The thought is a shard of glass lodged in my throat, making every breath a jagged pain.

I twist the diamond between my thumb and forefinger, its sharp edges biting into my skin. This stone, once a symbol of his love and commitment, is now a shackle. A constant weight of his lies and broken promises. A suffocating reality I’d tried to breathe through.

Rough brick scrapes against my bare back as I retreat into the shadows. The flimsy fabric of my dress offers little protection against the night’s chill, but the cold is a needed distraction.

The street throbs. Impatient engines, drunken laughter, honking horns. Each blast jolts my frayed nerves, mirroring the anxiety coiling in my gut.

Car after car releases a parade of sleek dresses and tailored suits. They flow towards Hydra Nightclub, faces flushed, eyes bright with the promise of oblivion. My fingers tighten around the ring until the diamond digs into my flesh.

Should I leave?

Walk away.

Go home.

Pretend I was never here.

But a morbid need to know, to finally stop second-guessing, keeps my feet rooted. I need to face the truth whispering in the back of my mind, threatening to shatter the fragile illusion of my happiness.

My stomach clenches.

He’s late.

Or maybe he’s not coming.

Maybe this was all a mistake.

I push off the wall, ready to turn back. Then—

A flash of burgundy catches my eye.

Oxblood.

His favorite blazer.

He strides down the street, far from the office where he’d claimed he’d be buried in paperwork. Chin high, smug grin, eyes scanning the crowd with a predatory gleam. The entitlement radiating off him makes me sick.

James.

The bouncer greets him with a wide smile, instantly unclipping the rope.

He’s in.

It’s a confirmation and a condemnation.

An icy fist to the gut.

I cross the street, heels clicking sharp against the pavement, each step a hammer blow. The front entrance is out of the question. Too much light. Too much risk.

It has to be the back.

The alley beside the club looms, dark and cavernous. The stench of stale beer and rotting garbage assaults me.

I recoil, smoothing my hands down my dress in a futile attempt to reclaim some composure. My sweet perfume clashes with the rot, a nauseating reminder of where I am.

I press on, my gaze fixed on the single steel door.

This is it.

The point of no return.

My palm is cold and slick against the metal handle. One tug and the door swings inward, assaulting me with harsh fluorescent light. The bass vibrates through the floor and up into my bones, my pulse a frantic counterpoint to the relentless rhythm.

Ahead, a warmer light spills from an open doorway.

The air seizes in my lungs.

I slow my pace, tiptoeing past, when a gruff voice booms behind me. “Excuse me, can I help you?”

Busted.

I force a smile. “Oh, no thanks,” I chirp, an octave too high. “Just looking for the washroom.”

Before he can respond, I push through the double doors, plunging into the crush of bodies.

The music engulfs me. A sea of sweaty limbs and flashing lights presses in. I stumble toward the restrooms and duck into the nearest stall. The lock clicks, promising temporary sanctuary. Leaning against the cool metal door, I close my eyes.

Get a grip, Amy.

I blow out a long, shaky breath.

You can do this.

I fumble with the clasp of my handbag and pull out the wig.

Spicing things up for your fiancé? The saleswoman’s cheerful voice echoes in my mind, a mockery. He’s one lucky man! I remember her winking, oblivious to the dread hollowing me out.

Taking a deep breath, I gather my blonde hair into a tight bun and position the wig. Synthetic fibers feel alien against my fingertips. I smooth the dark curls around my face and step out of the stall.

The woman in the grimy mirror is a stranger. Dark curls obscure my features. My light blue eyes look dull, lost in the shadow of the wig.

Where is she now?

That happy, love-struck Amy?

Gone.

Replaced by this imposter.

This spy.

James’s proposal, once a cherished dream, has become a twisted nightmare. But tonight, the nightmare ends. Tonight, I take back my life. The curly-haired woman in the mirror has the courage to face the ugly truth.

I clench my fist, nails digging into my palm. The slight pain anchors me to the present.

It’s time.

The air vibrates. Blue and white beams of light slash across the writhing mass on the dance floor.

I push toward the bar, searching. My gaze snags on two servers balancing trays of sparkler-topped bottles.

They weave toward a secluded enclave of plush leather couches.

A group erupts in cheers. And there, in the center of it all… him.

My James.

A redhead clings to him like a second skin, her dress barely holding together.

Air leaves my lungs.

I stumble backward, hitting the stool hard. The world tilts.

“Whiskey neat.” My voice breaks.

The bartender slides a coaster over, eyes registering my distress. I don’t care. I can’t look away. James buries his face in the redhead’s hair. Whispers something. She giggles.

A sick lurch twists my gut. It’s not just the infidelity; it’s the intimacy. The tenderness is the betrayal.

He never touches me like that anymore.

The whiskey arrives. I swallow it in one gulp. The fiery burn is nothing against the hollow ache in my chest.

“Another,” I say, pushing the glass forward.

The bartender raises an eyebrow but complies.

I slide a twenty across the bar and pull out my phone. Fingers fumbling, I switch to video mode and prop the phone against my fresh drink.

He takes her hand and pulls her away.

No.

I drain the second whiskey and follow.

I weave through the crowd, keeping my distance.

They disappear down a dimly lit corridor.

Phone steady, I record as James backs the redhead against the wall, his body pressing against hers. His hand slides up her thigh. Beneath the hem. He trails kisses along her shoulder to the base of her neck. When his mouth finds hers, the kiss is deep, possessive, consuming.

Nausea rolls over me, hot and acidic.

Was it ever like this with us?

The thrill of his touch is a faded photograph, the colors muted by months of broken promises. Nothing is left but a dull ache.

A man bumps my shoulder. “Are you recording them, you little minx?”

Shame floods my face.

I turn and run. Back through the crowd. Back through the double doors. Back into the brightly lit corridor.

The security guard yells something, but his words are lost in the deafening thrum in my ears.

I burst out into the alley, gasping for air.

The night swallows me whole. I wipe at my wet eyes and force myself to walk.

James’s proposal flashes before my eyes.

Down on one knee, bathed in candlelight. Eyes shining with… what?

Love?

Lies?

It doesn’t matter anymore.

I stop, fingers trembling as I swipe through my phone. Send. One video after the other.

Forever barely lasted a year.

Tears stream down my face. A silent scream builds inside me. My ringtone cuts through the quiet residential street. A jarring intrusion.

James’s name on the screen sparks a twisted hope.

Maybe he finally sees the pain he’s causing.

“What the actual fuck, Amy?” His voice explodes, shattering the thought.

My heels pound against the pavement. “That’s what I should ask you!”

“Why the hell did you record us? What’s your endgame here?”

I freeze. “My endgame? James, I’m your fiancée!”

“So you keep reminding me. Fuck, I get it.” His words slur, laced with irritation.

My grip tightens on the phone. “Clearly, you need reminding!”

“But those videos… That’s some sneaky shit, Mimi.”

Mimi.

The pet name lands like a physical blow. A mockery. A reminder of the man he used to be.

Silence stretches, punctuated only by his heavy breathing.

“Mimi? You still there? You better delete those videos, you hear me?”

“Is this really all you have to say?” My voice is hollow.

I’m beyond anger. Beyond tears.

Just numb.

“Delete them,” he orders.

“You’re joking, right?!”

“I’m serious.”

“You were all over her! I saw it all! Don’t you even care?!”

“It’s just a bit of fun, fuuuck. Don’t be so dramatic. You always blow things out of proportion. Maybe if you weren’t always so wound up—”

“Enough!” I scream. “Enough. I can’t do this anymore. I’m done.”

He sighs loudly. “Oh, please. I give you ’til tomorrow morning to pipe down.”

“Fuck you. It’s over!”

“Mimi—”

I slam End Call and shove the phone into my bag.

“To hell with you, James Devlin.”

I yank the diamond ring off and hurl it into the darkness.

It vanishes. The suffocating weight goes with it. My finger feels wonderfully, terrifyingly light.

There’s no turning back.

I kick off my heels. The cold pavement is a relief. I walk toward the intersection, the slap of my bare feet a defiant rhythm against the silence.