First Floor; Denial

Nowadays

I stood in front of his door for what felt like hours—long, endless minutes stretching into forever. My light, floral dress clung to my skin, and my waist-length brown hair was so soaked you could've wrung water out of it. By the time I made it from one street to the next, I was drenched—fifteen minutes ago there hadn't been a single sign that the sky was about to split open and pour.

I took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of wet earth, then slowly let it out. My hand rested on the doorbell, but I just couldn't press it. A thousand thoughts raced through my head, yet none of them were convincing enough to make me actually do it.

Better late than never, right? That's what people say. But I was scared. Scared of his reaction. Scared he'd reject me. And what terrified me the most was that he'd look right through me like I was nothing—that I'd end up standing there like an idiot for even trying.

I had rehearsed this conversation in my head and in front of the mirror so many times. So many. But now that only minutes separated me from facing him, my stomach shrank to the size of a pea. If I could, I would've turned my back on that door and never looked back.

Finally, I pressed the doorbell.

My heart pounded in my throat. My ears rang and buzzed at the same time. The waiting was unbearable.

Then the door opened—and I froze.

A girl my age stood in the doorway, wearing his T-shirt. The one I had given him for his birthday.

Jealousy hit me so hard I didn't even know I was capable of feeling something like that. The fear evaporated in an instant, replaced by a tidal wave of rage.

Deep down, I think I'd known. He'd been way too "busy" lately. There were nights when he'd take calls or text at ungodly hours, and whenever I asked, he'd just say it was "work." Normally, that wouldn't have bothered me—he'd always worked late. But this was different. I saw it in his eyes. Every. Single. Time. The lie was right there, glittering in them. I was just too naive to recognize the signs.

"Yes?" the blonde girl finally spoke. Her voice grated on my nerves like a scratched vinyl record. It took everything in me not to lunge at her right then and there.

"Who are you?" I asked, my tone calm despite every nerve in my body being stretched to its limit.

"One of Lucas's friends," she replied proudly, straightening up with a wide, smug grin. I had to fight the urge to wipe it off her face. The last thing I needed was to spend the night at a police station. "And you are?"

Her condescending tone made my skin crawl.

"I'm Lucas's fiancée," I said, holding up the sparkling diamond on my finger.

Her eyes widened. Her mouth formed a small "o."

But before either of us could say another word, my dear—now ex—fiancé appeared behind her.

"Who is it?" he yawned, rubbing his eyes. But the moment he saw me, he went completely speechless.

Poison spread through my veins.

"Your ex-fiancée," I shot back curtly. I slid the ring off my finger and threw it at him. Then I turned to the girl.

"Lucas thinks the stereotypes about blondes are true. If you want what's best for you, run. And don't stop."

With that, I turned on my heel, ignoring Lucas as he rushed after me, shouting my name. I didn't want anything except to disappear. To never hear about him again.

For someone who had just found out she'd been cheated on, I was surprisingly calm. I should've screamed. I should've demanded answers. But... I was tired.

I came here to talk about what happened last night, and who do I find in his apartment? A girl who isn't even his type. And I was the one planning to apologize for overreacting. I hadn't slept all night. I was worried about him. Worried about us. While he was rolling around in bed with this girl.

I had never felt so humiliated in my life.

"Ashley!"

I kept walking down the pavement like I hadn't heard him, heading home. It was already late; the streets were empty. Maybe that was for the best. No witnesses.

"Ash, please, stop!" His footsteps quickened behind me, but I refused to turn around. Tears streamed down my face as if they had a will of their own. I didn't care. I just wanted to be away from him. Once and for all.

"I'm sorry!"

I stopped.

I didn't want to—but I did.

I turned back to face him, a few feet between us.

"I messed up. I know I did, and I'm sorry. Please, let's talk about this," he begged.

I was unmovable. There was nothing to talk about. He cheated on me while I was planning our wedding. Who knows how long it had been going on.

"Was there anyone else?" I sniffed.

"What? No, Teresa just—"

The disgust made me feel sick. Part of me felt a tiny flicker of relief knowing this Teresa was the only one. But it didn't make it better. It never would.

"Do you remember what I said? The day you proposed."

He hesitated, then lowered his eyes.

"I told you if you ever cheated on me—even once—it was over. Ashley and Lucas would cease to exist."

"Ashley, I—"

"You destroyed me, Lucas," I said, backing away. "Are you happy now? Ashley doesn't exist anymore."

The moment the words left my mouth, a sharp screech of tires cut through the air in the distance. It all happened in a single, fractured second. I heard Lucas shout—maybe my name, maybe for help—but before I could understand what was happening, my vision blurred, my eyelids grew heavy, and total darkness swallowed me whole.