Valentine’s Day, I Sent Them to Hotel

Nora's POV: On Valentine's Day, I tied my fiancé and my best friend to a hotel bed with my own hands. Julian Prescott took three cold showers, then came out of the bathroom and frowned at me. "Can you stop acting insane? Do you really want me to sleep with someone else that badly?" I stood beside the camera on its tripod, frozen. Ever since I received a photo of him making out with another woman on the street, I had suspected every woman who lingered around him. Each time I booked a hotel room to test him, Julian would laugh, push me out, and later throw the recording at me. "You arranged it. I might as well enjoy myself." Over two years, we played that game 30 times. I thought we would keep tormenting each other until we were old. But this time, he was furious. He pulled a blanket around Lydia Sutton and stared at me with bloodshot eyes. "If you want to suspect me or hate me, fine. But don't hurt Lydia. She's a good woman, not one of your toys." That instinctive protectiveness finally gave me the answer I had waited two years to hear. I looked at the disconnected call on my screen and felt strangely relieved. At last, I could free myself. Julian glanced at my phone and saw the call had ended. His expression hardened. He strode over and closed one hand around my throat. "Who were you calling? The media again? You've dragged 30 women through this over two years. Are you going to humiliate Lydia too?" His grip tightened. A cold smile tugged at my mouth. "So now you care? You think a little public shaming is enough to pay for my child's death?" I grabbed his wrist and deliberately pressed his hand harder against my neck. "You hid her from me for two years. Didn't you know this day would come?" Julian's eyes widened sharply. He jerked his hand away as if burned. "Nora Whitman, you're insane." His chest rose and fell hard, and his face twisted with pain. "The woman in that photograph really was Lydia, but we were drunk. And the miscarriage was an accident. Why do you insist on torturing both of us?" 'Could that really have been an accident?' An intimate photo sent from an anonymous account didn't feel accidental at all. I dug my nails into my palm and slowly looked toward Lydia, who was curled on the bed. Julian had arranged for her to become my assistant. After spending every day together, she had also become the best friend I trusted most. On countless nights, I woke from nightmares about the miscarriage. Lydia was always the one who stayed on the phone with me, patiently talking me down whenever I fell apart. I walked to the bed and slapped her hard across the face. "Was the anonymous account that sent me the photograph yours too? Did you enjoy watching me lose sleep and fall apart?" Lydia covered her cheek as tears welled in her eyes. "Nora, it wasn't like that. I never wanted to hurt you. I was drunk when Julian and I got too close, but we've kept our distance since then. And I never sent you any photos. You have to believe me. I was supposed to be your baby's godmother." I gave a dry laugh and reached for my phone, ready to call Lily Grant and have her check every number registered to Lydia. Julian cut me off sharply. "Enough. Nora, I've put up with this for two years. Haven't you caused enough trouble?" He stepped in front of Lydia and looked at me with disappointment. "We still have time. We can still have children of our own." His voice trembled at the end, making it sound as though I was the unreasonable one. I pulled a medical report from the bottom of my bag and threw it at his face. "Open your eyes and read it. I can't have children anymore." Julian skimmed the report. His face changed for a split second. Then he said, "You're using tricks like this now too? You've seen plenty of women wave fake prenatal reports around over the last two years, trying to force you out and take your place." Lydia tugged at his sleeve, signaling him to stop. Julian gently wiped the tears from her face and left with his arm around her. He never looked back at me. He left me with only two sentences. "I'll come back when you've calmed down. You can't live without me, and I can't live without you. Nora, we're going to be tangled up in each other for the rest of our lives." The heavy hotel door shut behind them. I slowly picked up my phone and called Julian's grandfather, Harold Prescott. "You heard what he said. Lydia was the one who sent that photograph and caused my miscarriage. I'm calling off the wedding. And I'm taking my team with me when I leave the company."