My hair is the color of dark chocolate, a stark contrast to the platinum strand clinging to the expensive wool of Derek' s lapel. I was in our walk-in closet, a space that smelled of his cologne and my perfume, a symphony of our six years together. The air was thick with anticipation. Our wedding invitations sat in a pristine stack on the mahogany island, their gold calligraphy gleaming under the soft lights. Everything was perfect. Almost.
I plucked the hair from the fabric, holding it between my thumb and forefinger. It was unnaturally bright, almost white. A cold dread, sharp and unwelcome, snaked its way up my spine.
It's nothing, I told myself. He' s a tech CEO. He meets dozens of people every day. A hug, a handshake, a crowded elevator. There were a million innocent explanations.
But my heart, that traitorous muscle in my chest, began to hammer against my ribs. It knew. It remembered the hollow ache of abandonment left by my father, a wound that had never truly healed. That wound made loyalty not just a preference, but a necessity for my survival. Derek knew that. He had spent years convincing me he was the one man who would never leave.
"I will be your rock, Elaina," he'd promised, his charismatic smile and earnest brown eyes melting the walls I' d built around myself. "I will never, ever let you down."
The memory felt like a lie now, tainted by this single, shimmering thread of deceit.
I needed to ask him. I needed to see his face when he explained it away, to let his reassurances wash over my fear. I walked out of the closet, the suit jacket still in my hand, my steps silent on the plush carpet. His study door was slightly ajar, and I heard voices from within. It was Derek and his best man, Mark.
I paused, my hand raised to knock, when Mark's laughter floated out, laced with a cynical edge.
"Seriously, man? Ten days before the wedding? You're playing with fire."
My blood ran cold. The air thickened, pressing in on me until it was hard to breathe.
"It's not a big deal," Derek' s voice was smooth, confident, the same voice that had whispered promises to me just last night. "It' s just a pre-marital fling. A final taste of freedom."
A strangled sound escaped my throat, but I clamped a hand over my mouth to stifle it. My body went rigid, every muscle screaming in protest.
"A 'taste of freedom'?" Mark sounded incredulous. "The 'taste' is a social media influencer with half a million followers. Cory Pennington is not exactly discreet."
A wave of nausea crashed over me. Cory Pennington. I knew the name. Her perfect, surgically enhanced face and impossibly toned body were all over Instagram, usually draped in designer clothes and leaning against luxury cars. Derek had even liked a few of her posts, claiming he was just "admiring the photography."
"She's a firecracker," Derek said, a low chuckle in his voice that made my stomach clench. "Exactly what I need right now. A little excitement."
"And Elaina?" Mark' s voice was softer now, tinged with something like concern. "What about her? She' s a good woman, Derek. She' s been through enough."
The silence that followed stretched for an eternity. The world seemed to stop spinning. I held my breath, praying, begging for him to say the right thing. To defend me. To defend us.
"Elaina is... predictable," Derek finally said, and the word landed like a physical blow. "She's wonderful, of course. Loyal. Kind. But ever since her father left, she's had this... reservation. This quiet sadness. It's exhausting sometimes. I need someone who is just fun, no strings attached. Cory is that. Once we' re married, I' ll be the perfect husband. This is just getting it out of my system."
My vision blurred. The walls of the hallway seemed to close in on me. He had taken the deepest wound of my soul, the very trauma he had sworn to protect, and twisted it into an excuse for his betrayal. He wasn't just cheating on me; he was blaming me for it.
The suit jacket slipped from my numb fingers and fell to the floor in a silent heap.
The love I had for him, a warm and steady flame I had nurtured for six years, was extinguished in that single, brutal moment. All that remained were cold, hard ashes.
I turned and walked away, my movements stiff, robotic. I didn't run. I didn't cry. A chilling, methodical coldness settled over me.
I went back to our bedroom, pulled out my laptop, and booked a one-way ticket to Portland, Oregon. I had an old apartment there, a safety net my mother had left me, one I' d kept despite Derek' s insistence that we sell it. "You don't need a backup plan when you have me," he'd said. The irony was a bitter pill.
The flight was for ten days from now. Wedding day.
He wanted a taste of freedom. I would give him a lifetime of it.
And I swore to myself, with a certainty that settled deep in my bones, that Derek Gomez would never see me again.