My Boyfriend proposed to my bestfriend

I held the room key in my sweaty palms, feeling both anxious and excited as I looked at the room number written on it. A smile tugged at my lips despite the butterflies fluttering wildly in my stomach, and each step I took felt heavier than the last.

Clara, my best friend, had accidentally let it slip a few weeks ago. I sat her down and made her spill all the details about the proposal David had been planning for months.

“Room 108,” I whispered to myself with a nervous grin.

When I reached the room, I was about to knock when I heard a beep from my phone. I glanced at it briefly, but seeing Clara’s name, I ignored it. She was just a doorway away now. I didn’t bother knocking. I pushed the door open and entered.

The sight knocked the air out of my lungs.

David was on one knee, his outstretched hands holding out a ring to none other than Clara.

The lively chatter immediately died down. Everyone looked at me like I was a rotten egg spoiling the atmosphere. David’s friends, the ones I had dined with and cooked for during my years with David, all had cheerful expressions that turned sour when they saw me.

I met David’s gaze. He had gotten up from his kneeling position. He hooked his arm around Clara and brought her closer. She didn’t resist. Instead, she placed her hands on his chest, claiming him as if he had never been mine in the first place.

I suddenly remembered when I started dating David five years ago and how I found out much later that Clara had a crush on him. I had confronted her, and she smiled sweetly and gave me speeches about how she didn’t mind, how her crush was small, and how it would fade with time.

David turned to Clara slightly. “You invited her?”

Clara nodded. “I had to, baby. She deserved to know you chose me. She needed to hear it from you.”

My fingers tightened around the doorframe because I wasn’t sure my knees wouldn’t give up on me too.

I crossed the room on unsteady legs. Every step towards him felt heavier than the last. I searched his face for some sign that this was all a misunderstanding. A smirk, nervous laugh, anything. But he only stared at me back, there was no surprise on his face, no guilt, no sign he was about to tell me this was all a joke. Still, I refused to believe it.

As I stood before him, ignoring everyone else in the room, I reached for his hands and cradled them between mine, as if holding them would suddenly wake me from this nightmare.

“It’s a joke, right?” I searched his face desperately.

“It’s not a joke, Amelia.”

He slowly slipped his hands from mine and let out a long breath, stepping back. I made a move to touch him again, but Clara stepped in between us.

“Don’t,” She warned, her eyes sharp. “David is my fiancé now, and I don’t want any random girl touching him.”

I froze.

Fiancé.

That was supposed to be me.

My fingers clenched into fists. Before anyone could comprehend what had happened—

Slap!

Clara’s head whipped to the side. A chorus of gasps filled the room. David rushed to her immediately, cupping her cheek.

“Clara!”

His entire attention was on her, checking her face as tho I had poured molten lava on it. After making sure she was fine, he rounded on me, fury blazing in his eyes. Before he could utter a single word—

Slap!

His head jerked sideways. The room fell silent. I had slapped him too.

David slowly turned back to look at me, one hand placed tightly against his stinging cheek. His jaw tightened, his nostrils flared, and for one terrifying moment, I thought he would retaliate, then Clara’s shrill voice cut through the air.

“Are you insane?!”

She lunged at me, her hand raised to strike, but I caught her wrist before it could reach me. She twisted against my grip, trying to break free. When she couldn’t, she wrenched her hand away with a sharp jerk.

“Am I insane?” I laughed bitterly, shaking my head as tears blurred my vision. “The only mad people here are the two of you.”

My voice cracked. I turned to Clara, disbelief written all over my face.

“You were my best friend.” I jabbed a finger toward her. “You could’ve told me. We would’ve figured something out.”

Clara scoffed.

“I told you.”

“You didn’t!” I snapped, taking a step toward her. “You said it was a fleeting crush. You told me I had nothing to worry about.”

“It doesn’t matter, Amelia.” David stepped between us like a shield. “I chose Clara, not you. And it will never change.”

I stared at him, too stunned to speak.

Was he serious? I had spent five years believing that if everything else in the world fell apart, David would still be the one person standing beside me. Apparently I’d been wrong.

He still didn’t get it. This wasn’t about losing him. It was about the two people I trusted most destroying me together. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. I slowly shook my head, taking another step back.

“Choose her a hundred more times,” I scoffed. “I couldn’t care less.”

David nodded once. A flicker of hurt crossed his face. I was confused. Hurt? He was the one who betrayed me.

“Just leave, Amelia,” he said quietly, and somehow, those three words hurt more than the betrayal. I didn’t argue.

I swallowed hard and forced myself to look away from him. My gaze swept the room. Every familiar face held the same look—disgust, annoyance, pity.

My eyes fell on David and Clara, their hands intertwined. I gave a slow nod.

“Congratulations.”

The smile I forced onto my lips felt painful. Without another word, I turned around and walked out. The chatter resumed almost immediately, as though I had never existed.

My chest felt constricted, as though a heavy block of concrete had settled on it. I leaned against the wall for support, no longer trusting my legs to carry me any farther.

I left the hotel feeling like a complete mess. My shoulders were slumped, my phone clenched tightly in my hand, and the dress I’d bought especially for this occasion was now wrinkled, the once-perfect fabric clinging to me in messy creases.

I didn’t even know where to go.

Home was the last place I wanted to be. Alone. Surrounded by memories. Left with nothing but the silence to keep me company while I cried.

So I kept walking aimlessly. I didn’t know where I was going, and honestly, I didn’t care. Every few steps, my mind dragged me back to Lucien—to his excuses, his lies, and the way he’d looked at me as though six years of marriage meant nothing.

I wiped at my cheeks, but the tears kept coming. I was tired of being angry. Tired of being hurt. Most of all, I was tired of feeling like my entire life had just fallen apart in the span of one evening.

I needed somewhere I didn’t have to be Bella Ortado, Lucien’s wife, Alisa’s mother, or the woman who had just signed away six years of her life. I needed somewhere nobody knew me. Somewhere I could sit down, breathe, and forget—just for a little while.

The city lights blurred through my tears until the warm glow of a small bar caught my attention.

I stopped at the entrance, I stopped at the entrance, staring through the glass at the people inside. Laughter drifted toward me, completely detached from the disaster I’d left behind.

“Fuck it,” I whispered to myself as I pushed the door open. For one reckless moment, I wanted to forget.

Shadows pooled in the corners of the space like spilled ink, heavy with the scent of old leather and expensive bourbon.

I made my way toward the bar and slid onto one of the empty stools. The bartender approached me almost immediately.

“What can I get you?”

I opened my mouth, ready to speak, only to realize I didn’t know what people ordered in bars, having only ever been here with friends and having only had a drink once in my life.

My gaze drifted over the rows of colourful bottles arranged on the shelves behind him. They all looked the same to me. I returned my gaze to him, leaning on the counter slightly.

“Something strong,” I muttered.

The bartender nodded once before getting to work. I waited patiently, my foot tapping unconsciously on the tiled floor as he mixed different drinks together.

A glass was placed in front of me, I picked it up, swirling the drink slightly. I didn’t notice the man who sat next to me on the stool.

I raised the glass to my lips.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

The deep voice beside me made me pause. I turned my head. A man in a charcoal suit occupied the stool next to me, one hand lazily wrapped around a glass of whiskey.

He looked to be in his late twenties, his sleeves rolled neatly to expose his forearms, as though he’d only just left work. He nodded toward my drink.

“That’s enough to knock out someone who barely drinks.”

I frowned, glancing at the glass in my hand before looking at him again, regaining my posture.

“Good.” I lifted the glass again. “That’s exactly what I’m hoping for.”

Before he could say another word, I emptied the entire glass in one gulp.

I regretted it instantly.