she never thought it would happen like this. on a rooftop in manhattan, still in her met gala dress, mascara drying in streaks. her phone in her lap. her brother pacing in front of her. and the ring—the ring—burning a hole in her pocket.
“tell me it’s not true.” timothée’s voice cracked in a way that made her stomach twist. “please. tell me you’re not engaged to him.”
she didn’t answer right away. just stared out at the skyline like it could fix this. like it hadn’t already shattered.
“you weren’t supposed to find out like this,” she whispered.
tim stopped pacing. “how was i supposed to find out? before or after he slept with your best friend at the met?”
that hit harder than anything else.
“you think i don’t know how this industry works?” he said. “you think i haven’t seen the way people use each other?”
“he’s not like that,” she said too fast. but even she didn’t believe it anymore. not after the pictures. not after the silence that followed.
⸻
drew starkey was supposed to be the one. quietly reckless, stupidly charming. he saw her before the cameras did. called her “baby” when no one else noticed the shadows under her smile.
they met during an indie film shoot in the spring. he made her laugh. she made him want to stay. no PR, no red carpets—just two people in rented trailers and late-night coffee runs. he proposed in private, on a balcony in new orleans, with a ring that wasn’t flashy, just right.
she didn’t tell anyone. not even her brother. because keeping it secret felt like protection.
but secrets don’t protect you when the betrayal is public.
⸻
her best friend—ex best friend now—showed up to the met gala in custom valentino and too many lies. three drinks in, she disappeared. so did drew.
hours later, the internet found them. grainy photos. hands where they shouldn’t be. lips too close. flashes of a betrayal broadcast in high definition.
and when she called him, he didn’t answer. not until the next morning.
“it didn’t mean anything,” he said. but she heard the guilt in his voice. not denial—just damage control.
timothée heard too. he didn’t scream. he didn’t threaten. he just looked at her and said, “this is the man you want to spend your life with?”
and that was the part that broke her.
because once, the answer had been yes. now she didn’t know. she loved him. deeply. maybe still. but love shouldn’t have to survive this much bleeding.
⸻
she sat there in silence, watching the lights flicker across the city. the ring still in her pocket. the betrayal still fresh. tim sat beside her, didn’t say anything for a while.
then softly— “you deserve better than someone who risks you for a moment of attention.”
and this time, she didn’t argue.
⸻
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