Chapter 3

I stumbled into the bathroom, splashing ice-cold water onto my face over and over, but my racing pulse refused to settle.

Tomorrow was my wedding.

The invitations were sent, the venue was booked, my tuxedo was hanging in the closet—everything was ready.

My hands shook violently as I dialed Chloe's number.

Once, twice, three times...

No answer.

I stared blankly into the mirror for a long time. Then, driven by an eerie instinct, I dialed Ethan's number.

The exact same busy tone.

My stomach plunged into an abyss.

I couldn't wrap my head around it. When they were sneaking around behind my back, did they ever feel an ounce of guilt?

Or did they just thrive on the cheap thrill of an illicit affair?

I knew Ethan was a travel vlogger. He had a habit of taking photos everywhere he went, leaving footprints all over social media.

I also knew people in media always kept burner accounts.

I searched the hotel's location tag on Instagram and sorted through nearby posts.

Finally, on a private account titled "The One Who Isn't Loved Is The Intruder," I found a photo.

In the picture, a woman's slender hand was popping open a bottle of champagne. On her wrist was a delicate bracelet—the exact one I had gifted Chloe for her birthday last year.

It was Chloe.

The caption was just one chilling line:

[Stolen time. Every second is a countdown.]

Below the post, dozens of comments praised their "undying true love," while a few questioned whether they were cheating.

Trembling, I opened the profile. This account was the polar opposite of the wholesome couple's feed I had followed.

This one had over a hundred thousand followers and had been created years ago.

On this account, he had documented the twisted dynamic between the three of us from the very beginning.

The very first post was full of passive-aggressive bitterness toward me:

[If I knew the campus sweetheart was that easy to get, I would've made a move myself. Can't believe my friend actually bagged her.]

[And he didn't even give me a heads-up about their lunch date. Did he really need me to show up in messy sweatpants just to make himself look good? What a joke.]

In the comments, people laughed about "fake bromance," and he replied with a smirking emoji.

Later, when I caught a bad flu and Chloe came over to care for me, he wrote:

[Some people have all the luck. Needs a full-time nurse just for a stupid fever.]

[Blessing in disguise, though. Ended up alone in the living room with her. Guess he's good for setting us up after all~]

Behind my back, in the corners I couldn't see, they had long crossed every line.

Ethan wrote: [We both secretly added each other on our burner accounts at the exact same time. Is this telepathy or what?]

Accompanying that post were countless screenshots of redacted text messages.

They talked about music, dreams, and art—everything Chloe claimed I was too practical to understand.

Ethan always stroked her ego, and Chloe constantly told him how effortless it was to talk to him.

One Valentine's Day, Ethan handmade chocolates and mailed them to her office, yet refused to accept any expensive gifts from Chloe, claiming he didn't want her spending her money on him.

Chloe melted, telling him he was the most special guy she’d ever met.

They played this delicate game of flirtation, but after every single update, Ethan made sure to claim that "my bro inspired this."

Buying him gifts was justified as "thanking him for taking care of Liam." Taking him out to eat was excused as "taste-testing restaurants for Liam."

In Ethan's twisted narratives, I was painted as hot-tempered, clueless, and emotionally distant.

Under the cover of self-righteous deceit, they indulged shamelessly in their forbidden betrayal.