“I know.”
“You heard everything.”
“Enough.”
She stared at the tie clip.
“I hid it once.”
The groom frowned.
“What?”
“Last month.”
“Why?”
“Because you were wearing it to that foundation dinner.”
He waited.
She continued.
“You talked about your father for ten minutes.”
“Everybody loved it.”
“And?”
She wiped her face.
“I was standing beside you.”
“Nobody asked me a single question.”
The groom looked at her.
“You were jealous of my dead father?”
She closed her eyes.
“When you say it like that, I sound insane.”
“How should I say it?”
“I don’t know.”
Neither did he.
The fiancée looked exhausted.
“I spent three years being introduced as your fiancée.”
“The groom’s fiancée.”
“The founder’s fiancée.”
“The rich man’s fiancée.”
“I hated it.”
The groom’s expression softened only slightly.
“You could have built anything you wanted.”
“That’s easy for you to say.”
“Maybe.”
“You already knew who you were.”
He thought about that.
There was truth inside the accusation.
Success had insulated him.
People did identify her through him.
Maybe he had not noticed how often.
Maybe he could have supported her better.
None of that explained the trap.
He said:
“You should have told me.”
She laughed.
“I did.”
“No.”
“You told me you wanted more independence.”
“You told me you hated some events.”
“You told me you wanted your own project.”
“You never told me you wanted my condo and company.”
She looked down.
“No.”
“I didn’t.”
He asked:
“Were you sleeping with him?”
She looked up sharply.
“The consultant?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
He believed her.
Strangely.
The betrayal did not require an affair.
Money and resentment were enough.
She whispered:
“I never cheated on you.”
The groom almost smiled from the absurdity.
“Congratulations.”
She flinched.
He regretted the cruelty immediately.
But did not apologize.
Not yet.
She looked toward the doors.
“What happens now?”
“The wedding is over.”
“I know.”
“You collect your personal things through an agreed process.”
“My attorney will communicate with yours.”
Her face hardened.
“So that’s it?”
“What should happen?”
“After three years?”
He looked at her.
“You planned to make two hundred people believe I betrayed you.”
“You planned to use my students.”
“My mother.”
“My employees.”
“You planned to make me choose between humiliation and money.”
She lowered her eyes.
The groom continued.
“I don’t know what part of three years survives that.”
She cried silently.
He did not comfort her.
That was one of the hardest things he ever did.
Because habit remained.