“My Friends Bet I Couldn’t Do Better Than You—I’m Just Proving Them Wrong,” She Said With A Smug Little Smile After I Caught Her Perched On Another Man’s Lap. I Didn’t Yell. I Didn’t Beg. I Just Looked At Her And Said, “Prove This Too.” Then I Took One Photo, Sent It To Her Parents With, “I Thought You Should See This,” And Walked Out. A Minute Later, My Phone Blew Up. She Was Calling In A Panic—Because Her Dad Had Already Opened The Message.

She was wearing a dress I’d never seen before, something black and razor-strap tight. She was laughing, throwing her head back, her hand resting on Jared’s chest like she belonged there, like she’d always belonged there, and a cold numbness spread from my chest out to my fingertips. I moved toward the rope, but a broad-shouldered bouncer in a black suit materialized, his arm a polite but immovable barrier.

“This section is reserved.”

“Sir, my girlfriend is at that table,” I said. “Chloe. With Jared.”

He glanced over, then back at me, his expression not unkind, just professionally blank.

“You’re not on the list,” he said. “They’d have had to add you.”

I was locked out, literally and figuratively, standing there feeling like a tourist at my own relationship’s execution. Chloe chose that moment to look over, and her laughter died as her eyes met mine.

I saw a flash of something—surprise, maybe a flicker of guilt—but it was snuffed out in an instant, replaced by a cool, evaluating look. She whispered something to Jared, who smirked and said something that made Mark laugh, and then Chloe slid off Jared’s lap, smoothed her dress, and sauntered to the rope line. Up close I could smell her perfume, the expensive one I’d bought her for her birthday, and it felt like a betrayal all its own.

“Alex,” she said, her voice carrying over the music. It wasn’t a greeting. It was an announcement.

“You made it.”

“Chloe,” I said. “What’s going on?”

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