EXPIRED LOVE

THE BROKEN PROMISE

ANNA'S POV

Returning to the hushed atmosphere of the house, I immediately noticed the absence of both Angel and my brother, Frank, from the living room. A sharp, unwelcome pang of suspicion hit me.

Something, I instinctively knew, was wrong. Frank had a notorious, almost pathological disdain for commitment and respect, especially where beautiful women like Angel were concerned. This worried me immensely because Angel wasn't just a casual friend; she was the sister I had chosen, the one person I could trust implicitly, without regretting a single moment.

My mind drifted back to the morning two years ago when fate had thrown us together on Doyers Street. I was running impossibly late for work and, in my frantic rush, had grabbed the TV remote instead of my phone.

Compounding the disaster, my ATM card had expired the previous week, meaning I relied solely on mobile transfers to pay for transportation.

Upon arriving at my workplace, I plunged my hand into my handbag, utterly confident, only for my heart to plummet when my fingers closed around the hard plastic of the remote control.

The taxi driver immediately began to shout, demanding his fare. I tried desperately to explain the bizarre mix-up, but he wasn't interested in logic or excuses.

All the surrounding passengers seemed to support his fury, urging him to drag me back into the cab if I wasn't going to pay.

"That's how they behave," one passenger sneered dismissively, "putting on airs like a slay queen when they can't even afford their transport fare."

Humiliation washed over me; I was frozen, utterly confused, and unsure how to escape the escalating confrontation.

Then, like a sudden, divine intervention, Angel appeared out of nowhere. She calmly asked what the commotion was about, and I recounted the humiliating tale.

"It's alright," she had said, her voice soothing. "Things like this happen to everyone sometimes."

She paid the bill without a second thought. I was immensely relieved, took her contact information, and promised to call her immediately. That accidental, chaotic morning marked the beginning of our deep connection, a friendship that only deepened into true sisterhood as we grew closer.

Shaking off the memories, I walked into the bedroom, and found Angel sitting quietly on the edge of the bed, but Frank was still gone. The moment our eyes met, I caught the strained, fragile expression on her face—a look that instantly confirmed my suspicion that something significant, and likely bad, had transpired during my absence.

While telling her about my fiancé Ken's imminent visit, she offered a cheerful, though clearly forced, smile. My gaze drifted lower. Tucked halfway at the corner of the bed, undeniably visible to anyone observant, was a discarded pair of men's boxers—Frank's boxers.

Angel was trying, poorly, to conceal them beneath her hand. I said nothing, choosing silence and pretending I hadn't registered the stark evidence lying between us.

"Angel, would you mind helping me in the kitchen?" I asked, standing up and purposefully moving toward the doorway.

"Let's start making something nice before Ken arrives."

"Sure," she replied, her voice sounding tight. "I'm hungry already." She stood and followed me to the kitchen.

Once the running water provided a semblance of privacy, I turned to her.

"So, what was the problem? You mentioned earlier that we would talk about it later." I prompted, remembering the profound sadness in her eyes when she first arrived.

"Babe, I still can't believe what I saw this morning," she whispered, her shoulders slumping as the mournful expression returned.

"What is it? Who is causing trouble for you this time?" I asked, leaning against the counter.

"I went over to Alex's house early this morning to surprise him and show him the final fitting of my new wedding dress," she recounted, her voice cracking.

"I found Annabelle and Alex in his room. They were having sex."

Tears, previously held back by sheer willpower, now tracked paths down her cheeks.

"Who exactly is Annabelle?" I asked, needing clarification on the secondary villain in this sudden tragedy.

"That friend of mine," Angel choked out, wiping her eyes frantically. "The one I told you came back from England specifically for my upcoming wedding with Alex."

A wave of heat and sympathy rushed through me. I felt profoundly sad and pained for her. I immediately pulled her into a tight, comforting hug, trying desperately to halt the stream of her distress.

I shook my head slowly, murmuring the thought aloud, but mostly to myself: "Why are some ladies like this? A girl that Angel just paid for an apartment for upon her arrival into the country, and she decided the best way to pay her back was by having s*x with her fiancé."

A profound silence settled over the kitchen, broken only by the sound of Angel's ragged breathing. She had reached the end of her devastating confession.

"To make matters infinitely worse, I called my mom. I told her everything, but she simply refused to believe me and demanded tangible evidence," Angel continued, her voice trembling.

"Desperate for proof, I drove back to Alex's house to check if they were still there, but of course, they had gone. I finally decided to head back to my hotel room at the City Choice Hotel—just to try and cool off my head. But when I reached my room, I encountered the most shocking, sickening sight: Alex was there, having s*x with three different girls, including Annabelle. As if what he did with her earlier in the house hadn't been enough, the brute was having a full-blown orgy."

Angel finished, her voice breaking completely, still completely lost in the deluge of her tears.

I was so utterly shocked to hear her final revelation that I immediately recoiled, withdrawing myself and releasing her from the protective embrace of my arm.

"What!" I shouted, the word catching in my throat. "What kind of monstrous man is he? Someone who is actively planning his wedding next week? Next Saturday, he is supposed to be standing at the altar, promising you 'for better or for worse,' yet this is how he behaves?"

"And that promise will not be made," Angel declared, furiously wiping away the residual tears streaking her face.

"I've already told him that I absolutely cannot marry him."

A sudden, heavy silence descended upon the kitchen. I took a deep breath, forcing myself to remain collected, because I knew Alex too well. He was not a man who accepted defeat easily, especially when it came to ownership.

He was a ruthless billionaire; he had the financial means and the overwhelming influence to get whatever he wanted, even if it meant resorting to aggressive tactics or outright force.

My mind immediately flashed to the potential legal nightmare—he might drag Angel to court, demanding restitution for every exorbitant cent he had spent on her.

"And what exactly was his precise reply to this ultimatum?" I asked, my voice low now, eager to gauge the scale of his inevitable reaction.

"That arrogant fool," Angel spat, the raw pain momentarily replaced by white-hot fury. "He told me, right to my face, that countless other women desire him, and he chose me. He claimed that I don't have the right to break up with him. But this time, he will certainly see my reaction."

With that final, trembling statement, Angel abruptly turned and stormed toward the door, tossing over her shoulder that she would see me later.

"Angel, wait! Where are you going so suddenly? At least let's finish the cooking so you can eat something before you leave," I pleaded, trying urgently to call her back.

"I'm going to my house. We'll talk later," she shot back, bursting through the back door. I followed her automatically, watching as she practically threw herself into her sleek car and sped away without a backward glance, the tires spitting gravel.

A profound sense of helplessness washed over me, overwhelmed by my best friend's devastating predicament. I recalled the endless stories she used to tell—how she would constantly praise Alex, showering him with sweet, idealized names that were so convincing they almost made a person reject their own fiancé in favor of 'her type' of man.

And now, the true, repulsive Alex had decided to pay her back with soul-crushing heartbreak. I slowly walked back to the stove, determined to finish the preparation of the elaborate meal before my own fiancé arrived.

Only a few minutes later, Frank—freshly showered and wrapped in a crisp robe—strolled into the kitchen and found me in the middle of stirring a pot.

"Where's your friend, Angel?" he asked casually, leaning against the doorframe.

"She has gone," I replied curtly, not bothering to lift my gaze from the simmering sauce.

"That was a rather sudden departure, wasn't it?" Frank pressed.

"Nothing much," I said, keeping my focus absolute, "she just realized she had another appointment she needed to catch up with." I continued to concentrate intensely on my cooking, resolutely refusing to look up.