Chapter 3 - The Collision
The sound of a key frantically scraping against the lock of my front door broke the silence.
The door flew open, slamming hard against the entryway wall.
Brandon stumbled in. He was out of breath, his hair a mess, smelling of cheap tequila, sweat, and Tessa's floral perfume. The arrogant, untouchable grin from the photos was completely gone, replaced by the sheer, unadulterated panic of a man whose world was currently burning to the ground.
"Claire!" he yelled, kicking the door shut behind him. "Claire, what the fuck did you do?!"
I didn't get up from the table. I just turned my laptop slightly so it faced the empty chair opposite me.
"I'm updating the wedding spreadsheet," I said evenly. "I just deleted the catering column."
Brandon ran a hand over his face, pacing the small space between the kitchen island and the living room. "Are you insane? My dad is threatening to cut me off! He's freezing my accounts! Mason’s phone is blowing up, everyone is calling me a piece of shit—you have to delete the comment!"
"I don't have to do anything," I said.
"It was a joke!" Brandon pleaded, rushing over and planting both hands on the table, leaning into my space. "We were all just drunk! Tessa showed up out of nowhere, she was being crazy, and Mason thought it would be funny to post it to rile you up. That’s it! It meant nothing!"
I looked up at him. I looked at the man I had spent three years with. The man who had kissed my forehead and told me to enjoy the planning.
I tapped my phone screen, pulling up the screenshot David had sent.
"Room 412," I read aloud, my voice echoing coldly in the apartment. "Door's unlocked. Make sure you don't smell like Claire's vanilla perfume this time."
Brandon froze. The color instantly drained from his face, leaving him looking like a ghost under the warm pendant lights of the kitchen.
"Where... where did you get that?" he whispered.
"David sent it," I said. "Along with the hotel receipt from last month. And the text where you and Mason planned tonight's little surprise."
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Brandon’s legs seemed to give out. He sank into the chair opposite me, his mouth opening and closing silently.
"It wasn't a last night of freedom, Brandon," I said, closing my laptop with a sharp click. "You've been free this entire time. You just wanted me at home organizing the caterer while you did it."
