Jake Jr Kaitlyno

I wasn't trying to pry, honestly. But Daniel's name flashed across the screen, and something made me look closer. *Can't wait until tonight. Three beautiful years together, and soon no one will know how much I love you.* My fingers trembled as I scrolled up, reading more messages. *I wish we could tell her now.* *Soon, baby. Just a few more days.* *Eden's so trusting. She has no idea.* The room spun around me. Three years? We'd been engaged for two years, dating for five. Which meant... "Is everything okay?" Sarah asked, noticing my pale face. "I need some air," I managed to say, sliding off the barstool. I stumbled outside, clutching Laila's phone like evidence of a crime. The cool night air hit my face, but it did nothing to calm the fire spreading through my chest. I needed to see for myself. --- The rooftop terrace of Daniel's apartment building was usually deserted at this hour. I'd been here countless times—we'd even shared our first kiss here under the stars. But tonight, I wasn't supposed to be here. I heard them before I saw them—soft murmurs and a woman's laugh. My heart pounding in my ears, I crept toward the corner where the sound came from. There they were. Daniel had Laila pressed against the railing, his hands tangled in her hair as he kissed her with a passion I'd never seen before. Not even with me. "I love you," he whispered against her lips. "I've always loved you." "I love you too," Laila responded, her voice breaking slightly. "I wish we didn't have to hide anymore." "We won't have to soon," Daniel promised, tracing her jawline with his thumb. I bit my lip hard enough to taste blood, forcing back a sob. Three years. They'd been together for three years while I planned our wedding, while I chose flowers and venues and menus, while I dreamed of our future. "I should go," Laila said. "Eden will wonder where I am." "Don't worry about her," Daniel said dismissively. "She never suspects anything." Never suspects anything. The words echoed in my mind as I backed away from the scene, careful not to make a sound. --- "To the happy couple!" Marcus King, Daniel's father, raised his glass at the pre-wedding family dinner. The restaurant was elegant—crystal chandeliers, white tablecloths, the soft murmur of the city's elite. But all I could think about were those text messages and that rooftop embrace. "Thank you," I said automatically, forcing a smile. Mrs. King's eyes flickered between Daniel and Laila, who sat across from each other at our table. "We're so pleased to welcome you to the family, Eden," she said, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "But we know what's best for Daniel," she continued, her gaze lingering on Laila. "We've always known where his heart truly lies." Something in her tone made my blood run cold. "Mom," Daniel warned, but there was no real reprimand in his voice. Mrs. King smiled, reaching across to pat Laila's hand. "Some connections are just... natural. Don't you think, dear?" Laila looked uncomfortable, glancing between Mrs. King and me. "I... yes, I suppose." "Daniel has always had excellent taste," Mrs. King continued, her eyes never leaving Laila's face. "In everything." The implication hung in the air like a poisonous cloud. I looked around the table—at Daniel's averted gaze, at Laila's guilty expression, at Mrs. King's satisfied smile. How long had they known? How long had they all been playing me for a fool? My engagement ring suddenly felt heavy on my finger, like a shackle rather than a promise. The sun glittered on the water as our boat sliced through the lake, creating a wake that sparkled like diamonds. Today was supposed to be our last hurrah before the wedding—a casual outing with friends and family to celebrate our upcoming union. But my mind kept drifting back to those text messages, to Daniel and Laila on that rooftop. "Eden, are you even listening?" Sarah waved her hand in front of my face. "You've been spaced out all morning." "Just wedding nerves," I lied, forcing a smile. Across the boat, Daniel stood with his arm casually draped around his father's shoulders, laughing at something Marcus said. Laila sat nearby, her sundress billowing gently in the breeze. She caught my eye and quickly looked away. Something felt wrong. The air was too still, the water too calm. "I need to get some fresh air," Laila announced suddenly, moving toward the boat's edge. "Be careful," I called out instinctively. But it was too late. As she leaned against the railing, her foot caught on something—a rope, maybe—and she pitched forward with a startled cry. "Laila!" I rushed toward her, reaching out as she splashed into the water. The boat rocked violently from her fall, throwing me off balance. I stumbled, my ankle twisting painfully as I grabbed for the railing. Instead of steadying myself, I found myself tumbling overboard as well. The cold water shocked my system as I plunged beneath the surface. When I emerged, gasping and sputtering, I heard panicked voices above. "Someone help!" I cried out, struggling to stay afloat in my heavy clothes. Through the blur of water and sunlight, I saw Daniel dive cleanly into the water—straight toward Laila. His powerful strokes carried him to her side as he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her toward the boat. "Daniel!" I called out, my voice breaking. "Help!" He didn't even look in my direction. Other guests rushed to the side of the boat, extending hands to pull me aboard. I clutched at their fingers, my engagement ring catching the light as I was hauled upward. "Are you okay?" Sarah asked, wrapping a towel around my shoulders. I nodded numbly, watching as Daniel climbed aboard with Laila in his arms. He laid her gently on the deck, checking her for injuries with tender concern. Not once did he look to see if I was safe. --- The rooftop terrace was silent except for the distant hum of traffic below. I stood in the same spot where I'd witnessed their embrace two nights before, waiting. They arrived together, as I knew they would. "Eden?" Daniel's voice held confusion tinged with alarm. "What are you doing here?" "Waiting for the truth," I said, my voice steadier than I expected. Laila stepped forward, her face pale in the moonlight. "Eden, I can explain—" "Can you?" I turned to face them both. "Can you explain how long you've been sleeping with my fiancé?" The silence stretched between us like a chasm. "Three years," I continued when neither spoke. "That's what I saw on your phone. Three years of lies." Daniel ran a hand through his hair, a gesture I once found endearing. Now it just seemed calculated. "It's not what you think," he began. "It's exactly what I think," I cut him off. "I saw you together here. I read your messages. And today..." My voice caught. "Today when we fell in the water, you didn't even look to see if I was okay." Laila's eyes filled with tears. "Eden, please—" "No." I held up my hand. "I want the truth. All of it." Daniel sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "Yes, we've been together for three years." "Three years," I repeated, the words bitter on my tongue. "There's more," he continued, unable to meet my eyes. "Laila was pregnant once." The world tilted beneath my feet. "Pregnant?" "It was early in our relationship," he explained, his voice hollow. "We lost the baby." Laila's hand moved protectively to her stomach, a gesture that spoke volumes. "You were going to tell me after the wedding," I realized aloud. "That's what your messages meant." Daniel nodded slowly. "We thought... we thought it would be easier that way." "Easier?" I laughed, the sound harsh and foreign to my ears. "You thought it would be easier to marry me while being in love with her?" "We were going to be together afterward," Laila said softly. "After your marriage. We were waiting for the right time." I stared at them both, these people I'd trusted with my heart. "There is no right time to destroy someone's life." As the truth settled around me like ash, I realized that everything—every kiss, every promise, every dream of our future—had been built on lies. The city lights blurred through my tears as Laila stepped toward me, her hands trembling. We stood on the rooftop terrace where I'd caught them together just days ago, the same place where Daniel had confessed their three-year affair. Now, Laila's face was streaked with mascara, her usual confidence replaced by raw vulnerability. "Eden, please," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I never meant to hurt you." I wrapped my arms around myself, feeling the cool night air against my skin. "Then why did you? For three years, Laila. Three years of lies." She reached into her purse and pulled out something carefully wrapped in tissue paper. With shaking hands, she unfolded it, revealing a delicate embroidery of interlocking hearts and flowers—the traditional Chinese double happiness symbol. "I made this for your wedding," she said, her voice barely audible. "I've been working on it for months." I stared at the intricate stitches, each one representing hours of work. The symbol of eternal love and happiness mocked me now, a cruel reminder of what I'd thought I was getting. "While you were sleeping with my fiancé," I said flatly. Laila flinched as if I'd slapped her. "I love him, Eden. I've always loved him." "And I loved you," I replied, my voice surprisingly steady despite the storm inside me. "For twenty years." She pressed the embroidery into my hands, her fingers cold against mine. "I thought I could let him go. I thought I could watch you marry him and be happy for you. But I couldn't." I looked down at the delicate stitching, imagining her working on it late at night while simultaneously planning her future with Daniel. The betrayal cut deeper than I thought possible. "You made this while you were with him," I whispered, tracing the intricate design. "While you were carrying his child." Laila's face crumpled, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. "I was going to give it to you at your bridal shower. I thought maybe someday you'd understand." "Understand what? That my best friend destroyed my life?" --- "I've known about them for over a year," Mrs. King said calmly, sipping her tea as we sat in her immaculate living room. I stared at her, unable to process her words. "You knew?" "Of course I knew." She set down her cup with a delicate clink. "Daniel and Laila are perfect for each other. They always have been." The room seemed to spin around me as pieces clicked into place—her strange comments at dinner, her knowing glances, her constant praise of Laila. "You... you helped them?" My voice sounded distant to my own ears. Mrs. King's perfectly manicured hand reached out to pat mine. "I merely recognized what was best for my son." "Best for your son?" I pulled my hand away. "You let him betray me. You let them both betray me." "Eden, dear." Her voice dripped with false sympathy. "Surely you don't think Daniel was ever truly in love with you? It was always Laila." I remembered all the times Mrs. King had invited Laila to family gatherings while subtly excluding me. All the times she'd made excuses for Daniel's absences. All the times she'd smiled at Laila with approval she never showed me. "You arranged their meetings," I said slowly, the realization dawning on me. "You covered for them." Mrs. King didn't deny it. Instead, she reached for a framed photo on the side table—Daniel and Laila at a charity gala, their bodies leaning toward each other despite standing several feet apart. "They need each other," she said simply. "I was simply ensuring my son's happiness." --- The rooftop terrace felt different now—no longer a place of betrayal but a place of endings. Daniel and Laila stood before me, their faces etched with worry as I paced the concrete floor. "You can have each other," I said finally, stopping to face them. "You can have the life you've been planning behind my back." "Eden—" Daniel started, reaching for me. I stepped back, out of his reach. "Don't." The engagement ring felt heavy on my finger—a three-carat diamond that had once symbolized forever but now felt like a shackle. I twisted it off slowly, feeling its weight one last time. "I thought we had something real," I said, looking at Daniel. "I thought you loved me." "I did love you," he said desperately. "I still do." "No." I shook my head. "You don't know what love is." I turned to Laila, whose eyes were red-rimmed from crying. "And you. Twenty years of friendship meant nothing?" "Eden, please," she whispered. "I never wanted to lose you." "But you did lose me," I said quietly. "Both of you did." With deliberate movements, I walked to the edge of the terrace where the city sprawled below us like a sea of stars. I placed the engagement ring on the stone ledge, its diamond catching the light one last time. "You can have each other," I repeated, my voice stronger now. "And the life you've been planning. But you can't have me." I turned away from them, toward the door that would lead me back inside—back to a world where I could start over without the weight of their betrayal crushing my chest. I stood outside my parents' house, my hand trembling as I reached for the doorbell. The engagement ring was gone from my finger, leaving a pale mark on my skin—a ghost of what might have been. Behind me, the taxi pulled away, its taillights disappearing into the darkness of the quiet neighborhood street. When my mother opened the door, her smile faded instantly. "Eden? What's wrong?" I couldn't speak. My throat closed up as tears welled in my eyes. "Robert!" she called over her shoulder. "Come quick!" My father appeared in the hallway, his reading glasses still perched on his nose. One look at my face and he was beside me, his arm around my shoulders. "What happened?" he asked, his voice gentle but urgent. The words came out in a rush—Daniel and Laila, the messages, the rooftop, the pregnancy. With each revelation, my mother's face grew paler, and my father's jaw tightened. "Three years," I whispered, the betrayal still raw. "They've been together for three years." My mother pulled me into her arms, her familiar perfume enveloping me as I finally broke down. "Oh, sweetheart," she murmured into my hair. "I'm so sorry." I sobbed against her shoulder, all the pain and humiliation pouring out. My father stood beside us, his hand on my back, his face grim. "I've canceled the wedding," I managed between sobs. "I left the ring on the rooftop." My father nodded, already reaching for his phone. "I'll start making calls," he said quietly. "The venue, the caterer..." "Thank you," I whispered, grateful not to have to face those conversations yet. --- Morning light streamed through the curtains as I sat at the kitchen table, my laptop open before me. The list of guests seemed endless—colleagues, friends, distant relatives who'd traveled from across the country for what should have been the happiest day of my life. "Are you sure you want to do this?" my mother asked, placing a cup of tea beside me. "I need to," I replied, my voice steadier than I felt. "It's better coming from me than through gossip." I picked up my phone and dialed the first number—my aunt Patricia, who'd flown in from Boston yesterday. "Eden, darling!" she answered. "I was just heading to the venue! Isn't it exciting?" I swallowed hard. "Aunt Patricia, I... I need to tell you something. The wedding has been canceled." There was a pause, then a flurry of questions. I explained briefly, my voice breaking only once. By the third call, I had my script down—apologetic but composed. As I hung up after the tenth call, my father entered the kitchen, his face somber. "The Whitakers are here," he said quietly. "They came for the rehearsal dinner last night and stayed over at the hotel." I nodded, gathering my courage. The Whitakers were old family friends who'd known me since childhood. Their disappointment would be the hardest to bear. When I stepped into the living room, Mrs. Whitaker's face fell immediately. "Oh, Eden," she said, rushing forward to embrace me. "We just heard. Are you alright?" Behind her, Mr. Whitaker shook my father's hand, their expressions grave. "I'm fine," I lied, forcing a smile. "Just... taking things one day at a time." --- "This is the final list of vendors," Rebecca Torres said, her clipboard immaculate as always. "I've contacted everyone on your behalf." We sat in my living room, surrounded by wedding paraphernalia—place cards, favors, and the elaborate floral arrangements that would never adorn the church. "The florist is willing to cancel without penalty," she continued, her voice professionally compassionate. "And the caterer has agreed to waive the cancellation fee." I nodded, grateful for her efficiency. Rebecca had been recommended as the best wedding planner in the city, and now I understood why. Not once had she shown pity or surprise when I called her this morning. "And the gifts?" I asked, gesturing to the corner where dozens of elegantly wrapped packages waited to be opened. "We can arrange for returns," she assured me. "Though some guests might prefer to keep their gifts as gestures of support rather than wedding congratulations." I ran a hand through my hair, overwhelmed by the practicalities of dismantling what should have been. "How do I even face them all?" Rebecca's expression softened slightly. "One step at a time," she said gently. "You're handling this with remarkable grace." Grace. Was that what this was? It felt more like survival. As Rebecca packed up her materials, my phone buzzed with a text message. I glanced down and froze. It was from Laila: "We need to talk. Please." My finger hovered over the delete button, but something stopped me. What could she possibly have to say that would matter now?