"Want to dance?" he asked, his voice low, almost boyish in its caution.
I stared at him, my throat tight, my heart thrumming against the cage of my ribs.
"I'm not interested," I said. My voice didn't waver. It was the only solid thing I had left.
And I turned, walking away without another word, my heels clicking against the polished floor. I pushed through the doors to the balcony and let the cold night air wrap around me. I needed it—something real, something that didn't lie to me with warmth or smiles or swing music.
Behind me, the laughter swelled. The music played on.
But I stood outside alone, breathing in the frost-touched wind like it was the only honest thing left in the world.
The door to the balcony clicked shut behind me, and I exhaled, thinking—hoping—I'd finally found a corner of the night untouched by artifice. But she was already there.
Laura stood near the railing, her silhouette framed by moonlight, one hand tucked casually into the pocket of her sleek dress, the other holding a half-empty flute of champagne. She turned when she heard me, her face lighting up like this was a chance encounter between old friends.
"I have to say," she began, her voice warm with false candor, "this job... it's been such a blessing. I've never felt more at home. Everyone's just so welcoming—it's like I finally found a family."
She laughed softly, like it touched her deeply.
"And I'm just so excited for the trip," she added, her eyes flicking over me, gauging my reaction.
I blinked. "What trip?"
Laura's smile faltered—just a flicker—but she recovered quickly, letting out a light, incredulous laugh. "Oh... wow. You didn't know?" She tilted her head. "Next week. Portugal. The annual family vacation? Thomas, James, some family and friends and me, this year." She drew out that last word like a flourish. "We're all going."
Her words hit like a slap I hadn't seen coming. I tried to keep my voice steady. "No, our family trip is usually in the summer. The beach house. Not... not now."
Laura took a slow sip of her champagne, then gave me a look that was almost pitying, like she was gently correcting a child. "Well, I mentioned to Thomas that my dream vacation has always been Portugal," she said. "He said he knew the perfect place—said he'd been there before and it was magical." She paused, smiling wider now. "I had no idea it was where he proposed to you. Isn't that sweet?"
My chest tightened. I could hear the laughter from inside the house, distant and hollow.
Laura stepped closer, lowering her voice just enough to make it feel private. Intimate. Cruel.
"Usually you go on family vacation, I know," she said, her tone gentle, almost apologetic. " This year Tommy said that with the baby and everything... it just made sense I go instead. Don't worry, though."
She reached out and gave my arm a delicate pat. Like I was fragile. Like I needed reassurance.
"I'll keep an eye on him for you."
And just like that, she walked past me, her heels soft against the stone, her perfume trailing behind like smoke from a fire I hadn't noticed until it was already consuming everything.
And I stood there, hollow, the memory of my engagement shattered under the weight of her voice. The sea breeze didn't feel romantic anymore. It felt like it was trying to push me off the edge. I kept replaying it in my mind, over and over, clinging to the disbelief like a life raft—