Chapter 3: Mockery

I stumble back, the weight of his words crashing over me like a tidal wave.

"I don’t know her." The man who once held me close, who promised me forever, now looks at me like a stranger. A nobody.

The woman beside him, Emelia, tilts her head, a smirk playing on her lips. She thinks she’s won. But I’m not about to back down.

"I’m his fiancée," I declare, my voice steady, strong. "The one he promised to marry."

Emelia’s smirk widens, her eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. "Fiancée?" she repeats mockingly, her gaze dropping to my hand.

"If you’re his fiancée, then where’s the ring?"

Her words hit me like a slap, and my mind flashes back to the hotel, to the moment of anger and despair when I threw the ring away. The weight of that memory crushes me, leaving me defenseless.

I hesitate, my hand instinctively reaching for the place where the ring should be, but there’s nothing. The silence stretches, heavy and suffocating.

Emelia’s laughter breaks the tension, cold and cutting. "Exactly what I thought," she sneers. "No ring. No proof. Just another delusional woman clinging to a fantasy."

Callum remains distant, his expression unreadable, as if I’m nothing more than a nuisance delaying his day. Emelia tugs on his arm, her voice filled with authority.

"Come on, Callum. We have important events to attend. We don’t have time for this."

He glances at me one last time, his eyes devoid of any emotion. Then, without a word, he turns and walks away with her, leaving me standing there, humiliated and broken.

The tears threaten to spill, but I refuse to let them fall. Not here. Not in front of them. I won’t give them the satisfaction of seeing me crumble.

As the door closes behind them, the weight I’ve been holding back crushes me all at once. My legs falter, barely able to hold me upright as the reality sets in: Callum is gone. The man who once vowed to love me until his dying breath has discarded me like an afterthought, a whisper in the wind of his new life with Emelia.

I turn on shaky heels and push through the crowd, seeking refuge in the only place that feels anonymous enough to drown in my despair. The bar.

The dim lighting offers some solace, a veil to hide the tears I can no longer contain. I slide onto a stool, clutching the edge of the counter as though it’s the only thing anchoring me to reality.

The bartender approaches, his face lined with concern, but I cut him off before he can ask anything.

"Whiskey," I manage, my voice trembling. "Please..Please."

He hesitates for a moment, then nods, pouring the amber liquid into a glass. I grab it, the cool weight of the glass grounding me for a brief second, before I down the drink in one swallow. The burn in my throat is sharp, a distraction from the deeper, more cutting pain that resides in my chest.

But it’s not enough.

By the time the second glass is poured, the tears are falling freely. Silent and steady, they carve a path down my cheeks, and no amount of willpower can stop them.

"The one he promised marriage."

The words echo in my mind, mocking me. What a fool I was to believe him. To believe that I was enough. That I ever could be.

A laugh escapes my lips, bitter and hollow, catching the bartender’s attention again. He lingers, as though debating whether to say something, but I wave him off. "I’m fine," I lie, my voice cracking under the weight of the unspoken truth.

I’m not fine. I’m nowhere near fine.

The bartender’s voice pulls me from the fog of my sleep.

"Miss," he says, his tone firm but not unkind. "We’re closing up."

I blink, disoriented, my head pounding as if my heart has taken residence inside my skull. The bar is almost empty, chairs stacked on tables, and the faint scent of cleaning products mixes with the remnants of spilled alcohol.

"Yeah, okay," I mumble, pushing myself up from the counter.

The world tilts violently, and I grab onto the edge of the bar to steady myself. My legs feel like jelly, and my head is spinning, but I manage to nod at the bartender, muttering a slurred, "Thanks."

He watches me for a moment, his eyes concerned, but he doesn’t say anything. I stumble toward the door, clutching my bag like it holds some vital part of me.

The walk home is a blur. My heels scrape against the pavement, and the cool night air does little to sober me. I trip once, scraping my palm on the rough concrete, but I keep going, my feet dragging as though I’m trudging through quicksand.

When I finally make it to the front door, I fumble with the keys for what feels like an eternity before pushing it open.

The light flicks on, and my mother appears in the doorway, her eyes widening in shock. She’s wearing her old house robe, her face etched with concern and anger.

"Good Lord, what happened to you?" she exclaims, rushing toward me. "Are you drunk?"

I sway on my feet, unable to meet her gaze. The tears I thought I had exhausted at the bar come rushing back, burning my eyes and blurring my vision.

"Sit down before you fall," she says, her voice sharp but worried. She guides me to the couch, her hands firm on my shoulders.

Once seated, I bury my face in my hands, the weight of everything crashing down again. My mother stands in front of me, arms crossed, her expression a mixture of anger and concern.

"Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been?" she scolds. "Coming home like this in the middle of the night? You’re not a child anymore! What happened?"

Her voice is loud, but it’s the care beneath it that breaks me. I can’t hold it in any longer. The words spill out, raw and broken.

"Callum," I whisper, my voice cracking. "Callum ruined my life, mom"

Her brows furrow, and she kneels in front of me, her hands resting on my knees. "What do you mean?"

"He… he cheated on me," I sob, my hands trembling as I try to wipe my tears.

"He promised to marry me. He promised me forever, and then—" My voice chokes off, the memory of his cold gaze, of Emelia’s smirk, slicing through me like a blade.

Exhaustion overwhelms me, and before I can say another word, I slump back against the couch, drifting into an uneasy, tear-streaked sleep.

I woke up to the sharp sound of my mother’s voice cutting through the quiet of the morning.

"Get up, now!" she shouted, her tone a mixture of anger and urgency.

Disoriented, I sat up slowly, my head pounding as the events of the previous night came rushing back. The faint sunlight streaming through the window made me squint, and my body felt heavy, weighed down by exhaustion and heartbreak.

"What’s going on?" I mumbled groggily, rubbing my temples.

"Look at this!" my mother snapped, pointing toward the television. Her face was a storm of emotions—anger, disbelief, and something that looked like pity.

Still half-asleep, I turned my gaze to the screen. My heart stopped.

There he was.

Callum.

Standing tall and composed, his handsome face lit up with a smile I once believed was meant only for me. Beside him was Emelia, draped in a stunning white dress, her hand possessively looped through his arm. She looked radiant, smug even, her expression screaming victory.

The headline at the bottom of the screen read: "Callum Stone Announces his wedding with Emelia Rhodes."