Betrayed By My Fiancée

Chapter 7: The Disrespect

Dante leaves the room, and I stay standing there for a second too long. The silence after him feels heavier than it should, like the house is holding its breath.

Leondra is gone, but she didn’t really leave anything behind except questions I don’t want to ask out loud. My chest still feels tight, not painful exactly, just… crowded. Like there’s no space left in me for anything normal.

Dante turns back to me, and I can feel his eyes on my face. He’s watching me too closely, like he’s trying to fix something he doesn’t fully understand. “Are you mad at me?” he asks. His voice is careful, like I’m fragile glass.

I let out a small smile, but it doesn’t sit right on my face. “Why would I be mad?” I say, and even I can hear how light I’m trying to make it sound. Then I add, a bit sharper than I mean to, “It’s not like you were checking her out or anything. Have you seen my clothes?”

The words come out fast.

Too fast.

I’m already shifting the focus away before he can dig deeper into me. Dante pauses, and I see it in his face—he caught it. That little dodge. But he doesn’t push. He just turns back to the closet again like the answer is hiding somewhere in the fabric.

I watch him for a second, my arms folding tighter around myself without me thinking about it. Nothing about this feels normal, but I don’t say that.

“I don’t understand this,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair.

He looks frustrated now, but not in a way that helps me relax. It just reminds me that something is off and neither of us knows how to fix it yet. He looks back at me.

“I’ll get to the bottom of this, don’t worry.” I nod slightly, even though I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be trusting right now. My gown feels too small on my body, like I borrowed someone else’s life and forgot to give it back.

“I can’t exactly walk around like this all day,” I say, trying to keep my tone even. But there’s an edge under it I can’t hide completely. It’s not just about clothes. It’s about being in a house where I suddenly feel like I don’t know where I belong anymore.

Dante doesn’t argue. He just changes quickly, grabbing his coat and moving as he has already decided what to do next. “Stay here,” he says. “I’m going to ask my mother right now.” Then he’s gone.

I stand there alone for a second, staring at the space he just left behind. My thoughts are loud again the moment he’s not in front of me. I don’t like how quickly everything shifted. One minute I’m trying to ignore something I can’t explain, the next I feel like I’m reacting to things I don’t fully understand.

I exhale slowly, forcing myself to move. Don’t spiral. Not yet.

Downstairs, I don’t walk in immediately. I stop near the hallway, close enough to hear everything. Dante’s voice comes first, sharp and direct.

“Where are Jade’s clothes?” There’s a pause, then his mother answers, laughing like he just asked something ridiculous.

“Those old rags?” she says. “You call those disgusting things clothes?” My stomach tightens instantly, like something inside me just pulled too hard.

Dante’s tone changes immediately. “You had no right to throw them away,” he says. “This isn’t the first time, and I won’t tolerate it again.” His voice is controlled, but there’s real anger under it now. His mother doesn’t even sound bothered.

“If she wants to live here, she should dress properly,” she replies. “I won’t have someone representing this family like that.” That word again. Representing. Like I’m some kind of problem they need to manage.

I walk in before Dante can respond again. I don’t know why I do it so suddenlybut , I just know I don’t want this turning into something bigger in front of me. “It’s fine,” I say.

Both of them look at me immediately. Dante looks surprised, like he didn’t expect me to speak. I feel it in my chest, that pressure building again, but I keep my face steady. I can handle this. I think I can.

Dante turns toward me quickly. “Jade, it’s not fine,” he says. “I’ll replace everything. You’ll have better clothes by today.” He sounds sure, like this is something he can fix with effort. I shake my head slightly.

“No,” I say. “I don’t need new clothes right now.” I pause, then add, quieter, “Can you take me home?” I don’t want to stay in this house anymore. Not right now. Not like this.

He hesitates for a second, searching my face like he’s trying to find the real answer behind my words.

“Are you sure?” he asks softly. I nod once. “Yes. I just want to go home.” That’s all I can manage without everything coming out at once. He finally nods back.

“Alright. Let me get the keys.” He leaves the room, and I stay standing there in the middle of it, feeling like the air got heavier after he walked away.

We don’t talk much in the car. The city moves outside the window like nothing is wrong, like people don’t have entire worlds shifting inside them while traffic lights change. My hand rests in my lap, but my mind won’t stay still. It keeps circling back to everything—Leondra, the closet, his mother’s words, the way none of it feels fully explained. I hate how many gaps there are.

After a while, I turn slightly toward him. “Have you ever had feelings for Leondra?” I ask. My voice sounds calm, but my stomach twists as soon as I say it. Dante’s grip on the steering wheel tightens just a bit. He doesn’t answer immediately. That pause stretches longer than I like.

Then he says, “No. I never have.” His voice is steady, but I feel the hesitation sitting right behind it.

I don’t push it. I just nod slowly. “Okay,” I say. He reaches for my hand, and I let him. His fingers wrap around mine like he’s trying to hold something steady between us. He lifts my hand and kisses it gently.

“You don’t have to worry about her,” he says. “I’m with you.” I nod again. I want to believe that more than anything, so I try to let it settle.

When we reach my building, the car slows and stops. He stays inside, like he always does. I lean in and we kiss—quiet, familiar, like muscle memory. Then I step out and close the door behind me.

I walk toward the entrance slowly, my thoughts still tangled and messy, like they didn’t get the memo that the day is supposed to move on.

When I reach my door, I stop.

My hand freezes on the handle. My stomach drops a little as I realize what’s missing.

“My bag…” I whisper under my breath.

I left it at his house.

And for some reason, that feels like the first thing I’ve actually messed up today.