Writers Jam

I had never been a morning person, but today was different.

The sun hadn’t yet broken over the horizon, and already, the house seemed to be humming with silent anticipation. Silver gift boxes lined the hallway, florists were due at seven, and a bottle of Dom Pérignon was chilling in the kitchen fridge—an engagement celebration waiting to unfold.

I padded barefoot across the marble tiles, rubbing sleep from my eyes, hair still tousled, heart a little lighter than usual. Today was supposed to be the beginning of my forever.

I was holding Damon’s, my fiance’s, favourite mug—dark roast with a splash of oat milk, no sugar. He always teased me for how sweet I took my coffee. “You drink it like a dessert,” he’d laugh, kissing the top of my head. He was like that, sweet, with a great sense of humour, and all mine. But, he was also a workaholic through and through, much like me. It was one of the first things that had attracted me to him— his work ethic. It was also why when I opened my own company, I asked him to look after all my finances. Over time, I’d come to trust him with my company, my money, and now, my heart. Hell, I trusted the man with my life.

Given how devoted he was towards his work, it was no surprise he was in his study this early in the morning. Not a single one of my staff had arrived yet, and he was already working. It was almost endearing how dedicated he was. It just made me love him that much more.

As I turned toward his study to surprise him, something stopped me. A sound.

A moan.

My brows creased.

The study door was half-open. Just a sliver, enough to hear the wet slap of skin, the ragged breath of two bodies moving in sync.

I froze.

Another moan. A woman’s voice. Familiar.

No.

No, no, no.

The coffee mug slipped from my hand, shattering on the marbled floor like my heart. I pushed open the door.

And there they were.

Damon. My fiancé. Naked. On the leather couch I had bought for his office in my home.

And Claire—my best friend. Straddling him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

They didn’t even stop.

Damon’s eyes flicked up first. His rhythm stuttered but he didn’t stop. Claire turned, saw me, and—

Smirked.

I didn’t scream. Didn’t cry. I stepped backward, calmly, like my body had detached from my soul and was moving based solely on muscle memory.

“Get. Out.” My voice was low, unshaking, every word laced with an undercurrent of quiet anger I was feeling deep in my bones. I clung to that anger like it was my lifeline, helping me breathe, keeping me afloat.

Damon pushed Claire off, suddenly flustered. “Eva—wait. It’s not what—”

“Don’t.”

One word, spoken quietly, firmly. Enough to freeze him mid-sentence.

Claire had the audacity to reach for her blouse slowly, without shame. “Eva… let me explain.”

“You were in my house. You were going to toast me tonight. You were going to give a speech,” I said, my voice calm, way too calm. There was no way in hell I was going to give either of them the satisfaction of seeing me break.

Claire shrugged, buttoning her shirt. “I still can. If you want.”

My hand twitched toward a paperweight on the bookshelf. I didn’t throw it. But God, I wanted to.

For a moment, I imagined doing just that, the paperweight hitting her head, deep red blood gushing out from the gash on her forehead as she gasped. I shook my head internally, shaking the image away as soon as it had come. As wonderful as it sounded, I couldn’t give into that temptation. No matter how much I wanted to.

“Leave,” I said instead. “And if either of you speaks to me again, I’ll show the world exactly what kind of filth you both are.”

Damon reached for my arm. “You don’t understand—”

“Touch me,” I said, voice suddenly venom, “and I’ll make sure the last thing you feel is regret.”

Claire grabbed her heels and coat, expression unreadable now, and left without another word.

Damon stayed. “I made a mistake. That’s all this is. A mistake. It meant nothing.”

I finally looked at him, those eyes I’d seen my entire future in, those lips I’d kissed tenderly countless times. Why, I wanted to scream at him. But what was the point? What good was that going to do? Besides, he wasn’t the man I’d fallen in love with. Not anymore. He wasn’t the business partner I trusted with my finances either, not even the liar he turned out to be.

He was just a coward, with no shame whatsoever.

“You didn’t make a mistake, Damon. You made a choice.”

And then, because I wanted it to sting, I smiled as I said:

“Now watch how good I am at surviving it.”

I turned my back and walked away, shards of porcelain crunching under my feet, the bitter scent of coffee in the air.

On my way to my room, I picked the bottle of Dom Pérignon from the fridge, taking my phone from the pocket of my pyjamas and calling my PA.

“Good morning, ma’am,” Candice chirped on the other end, bright as ever. For someone who looked like a plastic, dumb blonde, she was way too smart and energetic.

“Cancel the engagement party,” I said to her without any preamble whatsoever even as the words left a bitter taste in my mouth.

There was silence on the other end for a few moments before she spoke again, “Sure, ma’am. Anything else?”

“No,” I answered before hanging up.

This was one of the reasons I liked Candice and had kept her for so long. She knew when to pry and when to keep shut. Over time, she had become a good friend, and I was sure she was going to bombard me with questions later. But I wasn’t ready for it. Not yet.

The only thing I wanted right now was solitude, and a bottle of the finest wine to drown my sorrows in.

Then, I was going to annihilate Damon and Claire.

If only I’d known they’d had the same plan all along.