Chapter 2: When Worlds Collide

My phone was still buzzing. I pulled it out with shaking hands.

Three missed calls from Sandra. Two texts asking if everything was okay. One congratulatory email from HR about the promotion.

I stared at the screen until the words blurred together.

Then I did the only thing I could think of.

I called Harper.

She answered on the second ring. "Hey, I was just about to..."

"I need you." My voice broke. "Harper, I need you right now."

"Vio? What's wrong? What happened?"

I opened my mouth to tell her. To explain. But all that came out was a sound, broken and desperate.

"I'm on my way," Harper said. "Don't move. I'm coming."

The line went dead.

I sat there on the floor, surrounded by the ruins of my perfect life, and waited for my best friend to save me.

Because I sure as hell couldn't save myself.

I couldn't stop shaking.

My whole body had turned into something unfamiliar, something that wouldn't obey simple commands like breathe or stand or think. I was still on the floor when the door burst open twenty minutes later.

"Violet!"

Harper's voice cut through the fog. I heard her heels clicking, fast and urgent, then stopping abruptly.

"Jesus Christ." She was staring at the marinara sauce, the overturned containers, the disaster that used to be my life. "What the hell happened here?"

I tried to speak. My mouth opened but nothing came out except a sound that didn't belong to any human language.

She was beside me in seconds, dropping to her knees, hands on my shoulders. "Hey. Hey, look at me. Vio, look at me."

I couldn't. If I looked at her, if I saw the concern in her eyes, I'd break completely. And I couldn't afford to break. Not yet. Not when I still had to figure out how to breathe.

"He..." The word scraped out of my throat like broken glass. "Ethan and... Layla..."

Harper went very still. "What about them?"

"Here." I gestured weakly at the couch. My hand was shaking so badly I had to grab my wrist to steady it. "I came home and they were... they were..."

I didn't finish. I didn't have to.

Harper's face did something terrible. Something that told me she understood exactly what I was saying. Her grip on my shoulders tightened, and for a long moment, she didn't say anything. Just stared at the couch like she could see the ghost of what happened there.

"That fucking bastard," she finally said. Her voice was quiet. Deadly. "That absolute fucking bastard."

The profanity should have shocked me. Harper was always the composed one, the one who never lost her cool. But right now, hearing her rage on my behalf felt like the only real thing in the world.

"I saw them." The words kept coming now, spilling out like poison I needed to purge. "His hands were in her hair. She was... and he... and the sounds she was making..."

"Okay. Okay, stop." Harper pulled me against her chest, one hand cradling the back of my head. "You don't have to say it. I've got you."

But I couldn't stop. Now that I'd started, it was like a dam breaking.

"She looked at me, Harper. Right when I walked in. Before she pretended to be shocked. She looked at me and she was... she was happy. Like she'd won something."

Harper's breathing changed. Sharpened. "Where are they now?"

"I told them to leave."

"Good." She pulled back, hands moving to cup my face. Her eyes were blazing. "Where did they go?"

"I don't know. I don't care."

"You should care." Harper's jaw was tight. "We need to know where that son of a bitch is so we can... so we can..."

She trailed off, and I realized she was shaking too. Not with fear or shock. With fury.

"I never trusted him," she said suddenly. "I know I never said anything, but God, vio, I never trusted him. Something was always off. The way he'd look at other women when he thought no one was watching. The way he'd charm everyone but there was nothing behind it. Nothing real."

"Why didn't you tell me?" The question came out smaller than I meant it to.

"Would you have believed me?" She wasn't accusatory. Just honest. "You were so in love with him. So sure he was the one. I didn't want to be the bitter friend who couldn't be happy for you."

My throat closed up. She was right. I wouldn't have believed her. I'd been so blinded by what I thought we had that I'd missed everything.

"And Layla." Harper's voice dropped to something dangerous. "That manipulative little..."

"She said he told her we were having problems."

"Of course she did." Harper stood up abruptly, pacing. "Of course that's what she'd say. Make it sound like he was vulnerable, like you drove him to it. Classic cheater playbook."

I watched her move around the room, arms wrapped tight around herself. My best friend. The person who'd known me since college, who'd been there through every milestone, every breakdown, every triumph. And she'd seen what I couldn't.

"I asked how long." My voice sounded hollow. "He didn't answer."

Harper stopped pacing. "Meaning it wasn't the first time."

"No." The word tasted like ash. "It wasn't."

She crossed back to me, held out her hand. "Come on. You can't stay here. Not tonight."

I looked at her hand. Looked at the couch. The marinara sauce spreading across the floor like a crime scene. The home I'd thought was safe.

"I live here," I said stupidly.

"Not tonight you don't." Her tone left no room for argument. "Tonight you're coming to my place. We're going to drink wine, eat ice cream, and figure out how to destroy him."

"Harper..."

"I'm serious." She grabbed my hand, hauling me to my feet. My legs were unsteady, like I'd forgotten how to use them. "That bastard doesn't get to do this to you and walk away clean. Neither does that backstabbing little..."

My phone buzzed. We both looked down at it.

Ethan calling.

My stomach lurched. Harper snatched the phone before I could react.

"Don't you dare answer that," she said. "Don't give him the satisfaction."

It kept ringing. Five times. Six. Then stopped. Seconds later, a text notification.

Harper looked at the screen, her expression darkening. "He says he's at a hotel. Wants to know if you're okay. If you're safe."

The laugh that came out of me was ugly. "If I'm safe? He's worried if I'm safe?"

"The audacity." Harper was scrolling now, her face getting progressively more furious. "Oh, and look. Layla's texting too. She's 'so sorry' and 'never meant to hurt you' and... Jesus, she actually used a crying emoji."

I grabbed for the phone but Harper held it out of reach.

"No. You're not reading these. Not tonight." She shoved the phone in her purse. "Tonight, you're going to pack a bag, come to my place, and let me take care of you. Tomorrow we figure out the rest."

"I have work." The words came out automatically. "I got the promotion. Sandra told me today. I was going to..."

My voice broke. The promotion. I'd been so excited. So ready to tell Ethan, to celebrate with him, to plan our future. And all that time, he'd been...

"Fuck work," Harper said flatly. "Call in sick tomorrow. Hell, take the whole week off. You're allowed to fall apart, vio. You just caught your husband screwing your stepsister in your own home. You're allowed to not be okay."

I nodded mechanically. She was right. Of course she was right. But some part of me, some deeply programmed part, was still thinking about the promotion, about deadlines, about maintaining appearances.

"The wedding," I heard myself say. "Harper, at our wedding. Was she... were they already..."

"Stop." Harper's hands were on my shoulders again, grounding me. "Don't do that to yourself. Don't go down that road right now."

But I was already there. Already seeing it. Layla in her bridesmaid dress, that soft pink chiffon that had looked so beautiful on her. The way she'd hugged Ethan at the reception, just a beat too long. The way I'd thought it was sweet that they got along so well.

God, I'd been so stupid.

"I saw the way she looked at him that day," Harper said quietly. "At your wedding. I remember thinking it was weird, the way she watched him. But I told myself I was imagining things. That no one could be that terrible."

"She's my sister."

"Stepsister." Harper's voice was firm. "And blood doesn't mean shit if someone's willing to betray you like this."

I thought about Layla. The little girl who'd come into my life when I was twelve and she was nine. Her mother, Victoria, had married my father three years after my mom died. I'd tried so hard to be a good big sister. To include her, to protect her, to make sure she never felt like an outsider.

And she'd thanked me by sleeping with my husband.

"Victoria," I said suddenly. "Does Victoria know?"

Harper's face told me everything I needed to know.

"You think she knew?"

"I think Victoria's always resented you," Harper said carefully. "I think she's spent years watching her daughter live in your shadow, and I think she'd do just about anything to see Layla come out on top."

The room spun. "But that would mean... she'd have to have known. She'd have to have helped."

"Maybe." Harper pulled me toward the bedroom. "Or maybe Layla did this all on her own. Either way, it doesn't matter right now. What matters is getting you out of this apartment before Ethan decides to come back."

I let her guide me, numb and compliant. She pulled a suitcase from the closet and started throwing clothes in. Jeans, t-shirts, my favorite cardigan. She moved with efficiency, like she'd done this before. Maybe she had. Maybe she'd helped other friends through betrayals just like this.

"Toiletries," she muttered, heading to the bathroom. "Where's your phone charger?"

"Nightstand."

She grabbed it, wound it up, shoved it in the bag. I stood there watching her, watching her take care of me the way I should be taking care of myself. But I couldn't. Couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't do anything except stand here and breathe.