While hurt holds me in an unyielding grip, choking my life essence, it makes me want to rise one more time, like a phoenix from its ashes, and drag him down with me, incinerate him in the inferno of my agony.
Willing my face to remain impassive demands every bit of acting skill.
I force back the tears as I face the man I love, serving me a dish of deception I might asphyxiate on. The irony isn’t lost on me. The one who played a role her entire life has been played so damn well, I would award him an Oscar before bashing him to death with it.
I hear my name being called as everyone smiles, more or less fake, a matter of pleasantry.
My ears ring with the echo of treachery; the blow deafens me. I grip the rail to support myself, reminding myself I won’t break. I refuse to.
He moves toward the base of the staircase, and I swallow. The acidic aftertaste of betrayal boils my insides, dissolving my love into hatred as I take a step toward ruin.
I glance down at my dress.
I guess I made the right choice.
I am attending the funeral of our love.
20
TRISTAN
Our engagement party represents the end of deception and the beginning of reality.
I have no fucking idea what I am doing—nothing new since I met her—treading through a quagmire, the path to salvation eluding me. No plan to follow. No strategy in place.
Witnessing the woman who loved me turning into one who slants me a look filled with hatred, slices me open. It won’t deter me. She’s mine now, and no one can take her from me. That knowledge must be enough to appease the turmoil spreading through my insides like a poisonous net.
While my brain accepts the bitter reality of losing her, that this is the cost for my deception, my heart hurts like a motherfucker. My chest cracks open, the wound pulsing and festering in real time.
She snuck inside my empty heart, reviving the withering organ—that dead chunk, making it beat solely for her, only to smother it with harsh rejection.
I might be the king of deception, but if I knew there was the slightest chance she could forgive me, I’d turn into a fucking beggar, taking every crumb she threw at me.
I will win her back by any means, make her fall in love with me anew, and that constitutes the challenge of my life. Nothing can stop me on my quest for redemption. Not even her.
She hides her feelings with proficient ease. Damn, she’s a fantastic actor. But after a lifetime of pretending, she has perfected the game.
She plasters a shy smile on her face, making me chuckle. I was terrified of her reaction, that her emotions would overrule common sense. Not her. She schools her features, boasting a neutral expression while hiding her true desire—my total annihilation.
Everyone steals glances from her to me, but I quickly mask my emotions, sliding the poker face on as she squares her shoulders and climbs down the stairs, one step at a time.
In that black dress molded to her lithe figure and exposing her mouthwatering legs, she looks like a queen—the woman of my dreams, taking my breath away.
I shove my hands in my pockets not to maul her.
She reaches the last stair, towering over me to tilt the power imbalance, putting a smirk on my face.
I reach out my hand to her. There’s minimal movement on her face betraying her pain, but it disappears as fast as it appeared. She takes my hand, digging her nails into my palm until they break skin. She wants to hurt me, so be it. Nothing hurts more than observing the spark lacking in her gaze whenever our eyes connect.
Those happy times scatter, thrusting me into chasing them. Wondering if I can ever find them leaves me destitute.
“Nice to meet you, Viviana. You look stunning.”
She pierces me with a harsh expression that shoots an arrow straight to my chest, killing me on the spot.
“Thank you. And you are?”
I swear everyone sucks in a breath, eyeing our encounter with rapt interest.
