Revenge is Served On A Platter

Layla’s POV

“Layla, I’m no longer interested in this relationship.”

The wine in my mouth splashed out before I could stop it. It hit the white tablecloth leaving a dark red stain. I sat there staring at Nick, waiting for the corner of his mouth to lift, waiting for the laugh that would turn the words into a bad joke. Nothing moved on his face except that quiet look of pity.

“Nick.” My fingers closed around the tissues on the table. I wiped at the mess even though my hands would not stay still. “Is this a joke? Because it isn’t funny.”

He kept looking at me the way someone looks at a person they have already decided to leave behind. “I’m serious. Let’s end it here.”

I forced the next words out. “You love me. Tell me you love me.”

I had spent the afternoon choosing this dress, fixing my hair, checking the mirror twice because he had called and said he wanted to take me to dinner. Work had kept us apart for weeks. Tonight was supposed to be different. The thought of what I had expected sat heavy in my chest while he watched me with that same calm expression.

“This isn’t about love, Layla.” His voice stayed even. “I’m not interested in this relationship anymore. Try to understand.”

Understand. The word made no sense. I reached across the table and covered his hand with both of mine. The skin under my palms felt familiar and suddenly foreign at the same time. “Did I do something wrong?” My voice had gone soft. I came here thinking you were about to propose to me. Tears pressed hard behind my eyes but I held them.

He pulled his hand free. “I never loved you. I never gave you any reason to think I was going to propose.”

The air left my lungs in a short, sharp breath. “What?” I leaned closer. “I saw you looking at rings. More than once. I thought you were planning something.” My voice rose without permission. “Say something that makes sense.”

“You were like a lost puppy out in the rain, looking for anyone who would notice you. I felt sorry for you, so I let you call yourself my girlfriend. I don’t like boring girls, Layla.”

The restaurant lights seemed to tilt. Tears spilled over before I could stop them. I stayed in the chair and let them fall while the words settled into the space between us. When I could speak again my throat felt raw. “Two years. You let me believe it was real. I thought we had something that would last. I was wrong.”

I stood. My jacket hung on the back of the chair. I took it and wiped my face with the sleeve, hard enough that my skin burned. I was halfway turned when he said my name.

“Layla.”

I stopped but did not look at him. “What else do you want to say?” I asked. “You’ve already broken whatever was left.”

He reached inside his jacket and held out a cream-colored envelope. I took it because my hands moved before my mind caught up. The paper felt thick and expensive under my fingers.

“My wedding invitation,” he said.

My stomach dropped. The breakup had already cut deep, but this went further. I stared at the sealed flap and felt the last of the air leave my chest. How had I sat across from him for two years and missed every sign?

Memories came without warning. Up until tonight Nick had been the one who sent flowers when I worked late, the one who texted throughout the day, the one who kissed me like he meant it and told me I was beautiful. None of that matched the man sitting across from me now.

I could not open the envelope. The hurt and the anger sat too close together. I tore the paper straight down the middle and threw both halves at his chest. Then I closed my fingers around the neck of the wine bottle, lifted it, and turned it over. Red liquid ran down the front of his shirt and onto the table. Heads turned at nearby tables. I did not look at any of them.

“Fuck you, Nick. I hope karma finds you in that marriage.”

I walked out. The cold air outside the restaurant hit my face and stole the last of the warmth from my skin. I found my car, started the engine, and pulled into the street.

I do not remember most of the ride home. Tears kept coming. Every red light, every turn, brought another memory of him. By the time I parked I felt emptied out.

I took the elevator up, walked the dim hallway, and unlocked my door. The lock glowed blue and the door opened.

“There’s the bride-to-be,” Isabella called. She came toward me with both hands already reaching for my left one. “Let me see the ring.”

I stepped past her and dropped onto the couch. The cushions gave under my weight. She sat beside me and took my hands anyway.

“Layla. You were so sure he was going to propose tonight. What happened?”

I looked at her. My face felt tight and swollen. No words came out.

She studied me for a long second, then guided my head onto her shoulder. “It’s all right if he didn’t propose yet. You’re both only twenty-seven. There’s still time.”

“Bella.” My voice barely made it past my throat. “Nick broke up with me.” The tears started again, quiet and steady.

She went still. “What? That can’t be right. I thought he loved you.”

“I thought so too. He said the only thing he ever felt was pity. And he’s getting married to someone else.”

“That son of a bitch.” The words came out sharp. “He ends it and hands you his wedding invitation on the same night? That’s the lowest thing I’ve ever heard. I’m sorry. I wish I could find him right now.”

I did not answer. I just cried against her shoulder. The tears kept coming no matter how many times I wiped them away. Bella did not tell me to stop. She did not fill the silence with soft promises. She simply held on, and the steady pressure of her arms was the only solid thing in the room.

After a while she stood and went to the kitchen. I heard the soft click of the coffee maker and the clink of a plate. She came back with a mug and a small plate of cookies, setting both on the table in front of me.

“Drink some of this. It might help.”

I lifted the mug with both hands because one was not steady enough. The heat moved through my palms and into my chest as I drank. The shaking in my fingers slowed a little.

“Come here,” she said, and pulled me close again. Her breathing was even. Mine began to match it.

“Did you open the invitation?” she asked after a stretch of quiet. “Did you see who he’s marrying?”

I shook my head against her shoulder. “I was too angry. I tore it up before I could look.”

My phone buzzed inside my bag. I reached down, pulled it out, and read the message from Summer.

Summer: Hi Layla. I tried calling Bella but she’s not picking up. I’ll send the address to the wedding venue in a bit. Can’t wait to see you guys tomorrow. Love you.

“Who is it?” Bella asked.

“Summer. She’s been trying to reach you. She’s sending the address soon.”

Bella frowned. “I left my phone in the other room. I still can’t believe she’s marrying a man we’ve never even met. We’ve only heard stories, and the invite shows up the night before. Something about it feels wrong.”

“She wanted to keep it private,” I said. “Summer has always done things her own way since college. We just go along with it.”

“Maybe. But I don’t think you should go tomorrow. Not after tonight. Summer would understand if you stayed home.”

“Staying home would feel worse. I can’t sit here and sink into this because of Nick. I’d rather be there for her.”

Bella watched my face for a moment, then nodded once. “All right. I like that. He’s not worth it.”

I managed a small smile and leaned heavier into her side. The quiet between us stretched without pressure.

Later, alone in bed, the ceiling above me stayed dark and still. The memories came back one by one. Every bouquet left on my desk. Every late-night call that ended with his voice soft in my ear. Every ordinary afternoon that had once felt safe. Two years of my life, ended in a single conversation at a restaurant table.

I kept my eyes open in the dark and asked the question that would not leave.

What was wrong with me?

What did I do wrong?