Beneath the ashes of betrayal

ChapterTwo

The glittering streetlights blurred past the window, hurting my eyes even more. I picked up my phone to see if there was any text or missed call saying it was just a deadly joke. Nothing. Like I was invisible.

I could still see it in my head — Jade on one knee, Maren smiling, my ring sparkling under those string lights. The gasps. The camera flashes. The way neither of them even looked at me like I was invisible to them.

“How could they?” I whispered, my voice cracking. Tears kept falling, hot and endless. My throat hurt from crying so hard.

The driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror again but said nothing. I was grateful for the silence. I gave him the address of a cheap hotel I remembered in Echo Park. It wasn’t fancy, but it was all I could think of. I had no clothes, no money, no plan. Everything I owned was still in the apartment I shared with Jade.

When the cab stopped in front of the small motel, I wiped my face and handed him my credit card with shaking fingers. He swiped it. The machine beeped. He tried again.

“Declined,” he said quietly.

My stomach dropped. I tried it two more times. Declined. Declined.

Jade must have canceled it already. Of course he did. He had taken everything from me in one night.

Jade has allowed me to use his debit card since he engaged me, but not anymore.

“I… I don’t have cash,” I whispered, ashamed.

The driver sighed but didn’t yell. “Just get out, miss. I’m sorry I said that with so much embarrassment."

I stepped onto the sidewalk in my heels. The night air felt cold against my tear-soaked face. The motel sign blinked above me, but I couldn’t even afford a room. I stood there for a long time, staring at the ground. My phone was almost dead. No one to call. My parents would probably side with “practical choices,” just like they always did. Friends? Most of them were at the party watching my humiliation and none said a word. Like it was all planned out.

I started walking.

My feet ached after ten blocks. The streets of Echo Park were quiet but not empty. A few people stared at the woman in the fancy dress crying as she walked. I didn’t care. I kept walking, past colorful houses and palm trees that looked too cheerful for how I felt.

Memories attacked me with every step.

Jade smiling when he proposed to me on our balcony six months ago. “You’re my forever, Freya.”

Maren helping me pick my wedding dress last month, laughing and saying, “You’re going to be the most beautiful bride.”

All lies. Every single moment. They all made a fool of me.

A fresh wave of pain hit me so hard I had to stop and lean against a wall. I slid down until I was sitting on the dirty sidewalk, hugging my knees. Sobs tore out of me again.

“Why wasn’t I enough?” I cried into my arms. “What did I do wrong?”

Cars drove past. Someone honked. I didn’t move. I felt empty. Worthless. Completely alone in a huge city that didn’t care about me.

After what felt like hours, I forced myself up and kept walking. My heels were blistered now. The fancy dress that I had chosen so carefully for Maren’s birthday was torn at the hem. I looked like a mess, but I didn’t care anymore.

Eventually, I found myself in Beverly Hills. The streets became cleaner, the lights brighter. I stopped in front of a tall, sleek building. A sign glowed softly: The Golden Hour Lounge.

I had seen pictures of this place online. It was expensive and luxurious. Mostly wealthy people drink here. But right now, I didn't care. I needed something strong to drink more than I needed air. I pushed open the heavy glass door and walked in.

The lounge was warm and softly lit. Gentle jazz music played in the background. Dark wood, golden lights, and huge windows that showed the sparkling lights of Los Angeles. A few well-dressed people sat at tables, talking quietly while staring at me. I ignored them and went straight to the long bar.

I sat at the far end, away from everyone. The bartender, a kind-looking older man, gave me a gentle look but didn’t ask questions.

“Strongest cocktail you have,” I said, my voice hoarse.

He nodded and made me something dark red in a fancy glass. I drank it fast. The burn felt good. It made the pain in my chest feel a little further away.

One drink became two. Then three. Then four. Then five.

The memories kept coming, louder now because of the alcohol.

Jade’s laugh. Maren’s hug. The way they looked at each other tonight — like they had been in love for a long time. How many nights had they been together while I waited at home like a fool?

Tears fell into my drink. I didn’t wipe them away.

I thought about my future — the wedding I had planned, the children I wanted, the life I thought we would build. All gone. In one night. On a rooftop in front of everyone.

I ordered another drink. My head was spinning, and I had no idea how I was going to pay. But I didn’t stop. The pain was still there, sharp and deep. I just wanted it to go away for a little while.

As I stared into my glass, a deep, calm voice spoke beside me.

“Are you okay?”

I slowly looked up.

A tall man stood there. He was incredibly handsome, tall, with dark skin that looked polished with wealth, broad shoulders, a sharp jawline, and intense dark brown eyes that seemed to see straight through me. His black hair had a touch of silver at the temples. He wore a perfectly tailored dark suit that screamed money and power. His cologne smelled luxurious.

I tried to speak but my lips shivered. Fresh tears came.

“No,” I whispered. “I’m not okay.”

He sat down on the stool next to me, keeping a respectful distance. His presence felt strong but not scary.

“Tell me what happened,” he said gently.

And for some reason, I did.

I told this stranger everything. The proposal. The ring. The betrayal by the two people I trusted most. How I had nothing left. How I was completely alone.

He listened quietly the entire time. He didn’t interrupt. He didn’t give fake sympathy. He just listened.

When I finally stopped talking, my shoulders were shaking. I felt exhausted, drunk, and empty.

The man handed me a clean white handkerchief from his pocket. The luxurious scent of his perfume clung to the handkerchief.

“I’m Alexander Voss,” he said softly.

Even through the alcohol haze, I recognized the name, it sounded too familiar.

But I was too drunk to think straight.

I took the handkerchief and wiped my face. “I’m Freya… Freya Langford.”

For a moment, the lounge felt quieter. The jazz music seemed far away. Alexander looked at me with those intense eyes, and something in his gaze made my heart skip despite all the pain.

He opened his mouth to speak again.

But before he could say another word, my vision blurred badly. The room started spinning faster than before. I tried to stand up, but my legs gave out.

Alexander caught me just before I hit the floor.

“Freya!”. He held me tightly against his broad chest.

For a brief moment, I felt safe in those powerful arms before everything went black.