Chapter 3

I stared at my phone screen, my thumb hovering over the delete button. Another notification from Gabriel's social media account—a candid shot of him laughing over wine glasses. With her. My stomach twisted into knots as I zoomed in on the familiar brick walls and vintage posters of Marcello's—our restaurant. The place where Gabriel had first whispered "I love you" against my ear five years ago.

A gentle knock pulled me from my spiral. "Victoria? I brought coffee and those almond croissants you like."

Chloe stood in the doorway of my home office, concern etched across her features. She'd been stopping by almost daily since I'd called her sobbing the night I caught Gabriel with Anna. Today she wore her design firm's t-shirt, hair pulled into a messy bun—casual, comforting, familiar. Everything my life no longer was.

"You're an angel," I managed, setting my phone face-down as she placed the pastry bag on my desk.

"And you look like hell," she replied bluntly, pulling up a chair. "Did you sleep at all?"

I shook my head, wrapping my hands around the warm coffee cup. "He took her to Marcello's, Chloe."

"Who took—" Her eyes widened as understanding dawned. "That bastard."

I turned my phone toward her, displaying the photo that felt like a dagger to my heart. Gabriel feeding Anna a bite of tiramisu—the dessert we always shared.

"It's like he's deliberately trying to hurt me," I whispered, voice cracking. "But then he comes home and acts like nothing happened. Like I'm crazy for even mentioning it."

Chloe's face darkened. "That's gaslighting, Vic. Textbook emotional abuse."

I flinched at the word "abuse." It seemed too harsh, too definitive for what was happening. Gabriel wasn't hitting me. He wasn't screaming at me. He was just...

"I don't know how to explain it," I said, running a hand through my unwashed hair. "One minute he's cold and cruel, the next he's the Gabriel I fell in love with. Sometimes I think I'm losing my mind."

"You're not losing your mind," Chloe said firmly, gripping my hand. "He's playing games with your perception. Making you doubt yourself."

I wanted to believe her, but doubt had become my constant companion. "Maybe I'm overreacting. He says they're just business dinners."

"At the restaurant where you had your first date? Where he proposed?" Chloe's voice rose incredulously. "Victoria, listen to yourself!"

Tears welled in my eyes. "I know how it sounds. But you don't see him when we're alone. How he looks at me sometimes, like I'm still his whole world."

Chloe's expression softened. "That's the hook, sweetie. The glimpses of the man you fell in love with—they keep you hoping, waiting for him to come back completely."

My phone buzzed with a text from Gabriel: "Looking forward to seeing you tonight at the Harrington Foundation Gala. Wear the blue Valentino. I love how it brings out your eyes."

Something warm flickered in my chest at his words—a pathetic, desperate hope that tonight would be different. That tonight, he would be mine again.

"I should get ready," I said, wiping my eyes. "The charity gala is tonight."

Chloe looked like she wanted to say more but instead squeezed my hand. "Call me if you need me. Anytime."

As she left, I wondered if I should tell her about the nightmares, about waking up gasping, certain that someone was watching me from the shadows. But what would be the point? They were just dreams—manifestations of stress and insecurity.

At least, that's what Gabriel said when I told him.

---

The Harrington Foundation Gala sparkled with wealth and influence. Crystal chandeliers cast prismatic light over the city's elite as they mingled, laughed, and pretended to care about children's literacy. I stood alone near a marble column, the blue Valentino dress hugging my frame, scanning the crowd for Gabriel.

He'd texted that he would meet me here. An hour ago.

"Victoria! Darling, you look divine."

Margaret Whitmore, the foundation's chairwoman, air-kissed both my cheeks. "Where's that handsome fiancé of yours?"

"He's running late," I said, forcing a smile. "Board meeting."

The lie tasted bitter on my tongue. I had no idea where Gabriel was. My texts had gone unanswered, calls sent straight to voicemail.

Then the crowd parted, and there he was—tall, devastatingly handsome in his tuxedo. My heart leapt traitorously at the sight of him. Until I saw her beside him, her arm looped through his, wearing a red dress that clung to every curve.

Anna Hayes. In my place. At my side.

I stood frozen as they approached, Gabriel's smile never faltering.

"Victoria, there you are," he said warmly, kissing my cheek as if nothing were amiss. "Sorry we're late. The Jenkins account needed urgent attention."

We. As if they were a unit. A pair.

"I didn't realize Anna would be joining us," I managed, my voice remarkably steady despite the earthquake inside me.

"Last-minute change," Gabriel replied smoothly. "Anna has all the details on the Henderson proposal, and Thomas Henderson is here tonight. Couldn't miss the opportunity."

Anna smiled at me with practiced sympathy. "I hope you don't mind, Victoria. It's strictly business."

Before I could respond, Gabriel was guiding us toward a group of investors, his hand at the small of Anna's back—exactly where it used to rest on mine at these events.

"Gentlemen," Gabriel announced to the circle of powerful men, "you know my fiancée, Victoria."

A moment of acknowledgment, nods in my direction.

"And this," he continued, his voice taking on a warm, proud quality I hadn't heard directed at me in months, "is Anna Hayes, my indispensable right hand. She's revolutionized our approach to the Asian markets."

Indispensable. The word echoed in my head as the men turned their attention to Anna, who launched into a flawless explanation of market strategies. I stood beside Gabriel, a beautiful, silent accessory, while Anna commanded the conversation he had positioned her to lead.

Gabriel's hand found mine, squeezing gently. To anyone watching, it would appear a gesture of affection. But when I met his eyes, I saw it clearly—the cold satisfaction as he watched the pain he was inflicting register on my face.

"Smile, Victoria," he whispered, lips brushing my ear. "Everyone's watching."

In that moment, standing in a room full of people yet completely alone, I realized that Chloe was right. This wasn't love. This wasn't even passion twisted into possession.

This was punishment. A carefully orchestrated performance designed to break me piece by piece.

The question that kept me awake that night, staring at Gabriel's sleeping form beside me, wasn't why he was doing this.

It was whether I would survive it.