Larissa's POV
The words hung in the air like a grenade with the pin pulled.
Wesley jerked away from Rachel so fast he nearly fell backward. His face went sheet white, then red, then white again. Rachel didn't even have the decency to look startled. She just slowly turned around, smoothing down her gold dress with the casual elegance of someone adjusting their hair in a mirror.
"Larissa." Her voice held no surprise, no shame. Just mild annoyance, like I'd interrupted her ordering coffee. "This is awkward."
Awkward. My boyfriend of too many years was balls-deep in my friend, and she called it awkward.
"How long?" The question came out steadier than I felt.
Wesley scrambled for his shirt, his hands shaking. "Rissa, this isn't what it looks like—"
"How fucking long?" My voice cracked on the last word.
Rachel examined her manicure with infuriating calm. "Does it matter? You two were never really compatible anyway."
The casual cruelty of it hit me like a slap. "Excuse me?"
"Come on, Larissa. You work constantly, you never want to go out, you dress like a librarian most of the time." She gestured at my red dress with obvious irony. "Wesley needs someone who can keep up with his social life."
"So you decided to volunteer?"
"I decided not to limit myself to outdated concepts like monogamy." She shrugged. "It's very restricting."
My hands clenched into fists. The urge to punch her perfectly contoured face was overwhelming. "You're unbelievable."
"Rissa, please." Wesley finally got his shirt on, though it was inside out. "We can work through this. It's not serious with her."
Rachel's eyebrows shot up. "Excuse me?"
"I mean, it doesn't mean anything," he backpedaled frantically. "You're the one I love, Rissa. You're the one I want to be with."
"Funny way of showing it."
"It just happened. We were talking, having drinks, and things got carried away. It's not like we planned this."
The desperation in his voice should have made me feel powerful. Instead, it made me feel sick. "This isn't the first time."
It wasn't a question. The way they moved together, the familiarity of their bodies, the complete lack of surprise on Rachel's face when I walked in. This had been going on for a while.
"Rissa—"
"Don't." I held up my hand. "Just don't. How long?"
Wesley's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. "A few weeks."
"Try a few months," Rachel corrected with a laugh. "Really, Wesley, if you're going to confess, at least be honest about it."
The room spun slightly. While I'd been working overtime, stressing about my dad's medical bills, planning our future, he'd been fucking my friend.
"You're both pathetic," I said finally.
"Now wait just a minute—" Rachel started.
"No, you wait." The rage I'd been holding back finally exploded. "You're a terrible friend and an even worse person. And you—" I turned to Wesley, who was still fumbling with his shirt buttons, "you're a coward who couldn't even break up with me before moving on to the next warm body."
"That's not fair," Wesley protested. "You never wanted to do anything fun anymore. All you cared about was work and your family's problems. When was the last time we went out and just enjoyed ourselves?"
"When was the last time you asked about my family's problems? When was the last time you even pretended to care that my dad might die?"
His mouth opened and closed like a fish. No answer.
"Larissa?"
We all turned toward the door. Denise stood in the doorway, her expression shifting from confusion to understanding to pure fury in the span of seconds.
"What the fuck is happening here?"
"Denise, I can explain—" I started.
"Oh, I think I understand perfectly." Her voice was deadly quiet as she took in Wesley's disheveled appearance and Rachel's smugness. "You absolute piece of shit."
"Denise, this isn't your business," Rachel said coolly.
"My best friend is my business." Denise stepped into the room, and despite being at least five inches shorter than Rachel, she somehow seemed to tower over her. "And you, you pathetic excuse for a woman, just destroyed a friendship over what? Mediocre dick?"
Wesley's face flushed red. "Hey—"
"Shut up," Denise snapped without looking at him. "You don't get to talk. You lost that privilege when you decided to cheat on the best thing that ever happened to your sorry ass."
"It's not that simple," Wesley tried again.
"It's exactly that simple. You're a selfish prick who couldn't keep it in his pants, and she's a backstabbing bitch who doesn't know the meaning of friendship."
Rachel's composure finally cracked. "Who the hell do you think you are?"
"I'm someone who actually gives a shit about other people's feelings. Foreign concept to you, I know."
I watched this verbal massacre with a strange sense of detachment. My best friend was eviscerating my ex-boyfriend and former friend with surgical precision, and all I felt was empty.
"We're leaving," I said quietly.
"Rissa, wait." Wesley stepped toward me, but Denise blocked his path.
"Don't even think about it."
"This is my girlfriend we're talking about."
"Ex-girlfriend," I corrected. "We're done, Wesley. We've been done. I just didn't know it until now."
The finality in my voice seemed to hit him like a physical blow. "You can't mean that. All this time, Rissa. We can work through this."
"All this time you just threw away for sneaking around behind my back."
"It wasn't like that—"
"It was exactly like that." I looked at both of them, these people who had been central to my life an hour ago and now felt like strangers. "You deserve each other."
I turned toward the door, but Wesley's voice stopped me.
"Rissa, I messed up. I'm begging you. It's just... if you weren't so wrapped up with your dad, I wouldn't have..."
"Don't you dare." I spun around, my voice shaking with rage. "Don't you dare use my father's condition as an excuse for your inability to keep your dick in your pants."
"That's not what I meant—"
"Yes, it is. You think because I'm worried about my family, because I'm working extra hours to help pay for his treatment, that gives you the right to go elsewhere for attention? Fuck you, Wesley. Seriously, fuck you."
Denise grabbed my arm gently. "Come on, honey. Let's get out of here."
We pushed through the party crowd, past curious faces and knowing smirks. The music felt too loud, the lights too bright, everything too much. I kept my head high until we reached the elevator, then finally let my shoulders sag.
"I'm sorry," Denise said as the doors closed. "I'm so fucking sorry."
"Did you know?"
The question hung between us. Denise's silence was answer enough.
"You suspected."
"I suspected. I didn't know for sure." Her voice was small, defeated. "He'd been acting weird lately. More secretive about his phone, less interested in spending time with you. And Rachel..." She sighed. "She'd ask about you two in ways that felt like fishing for information."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because suspecting and knowing are different things. Because I hoped I was wrong. Because I didn't want to hurt you over a feeling."
The elevator dinged, and we stepped into the lobby. The night air hit us like a slap as we exited the building.
"I need to get home," I said.
Denise pulled out her phone. "I'll call us a cab."
She tried several different apps. No cars available. Weekend night in the city, everyone was out, everyone needed rides.
"It's fine. We'll walk." I started down the sidewalk, my heels clicking against the pavement.
"Rissa, it's late. And we're dressed up. This isn't the safest—"
"I don't care." The words came out harsher than I intended. "I just need to move. I need to get away from here."
We walked in silence for several blocks. The anger was fading, replaced by a hollow ache in my chest. All this time. All this time with someone who thought so little of me he couldn't even end things properly before moving on.
"You know what the worst part is?" I said finally.
"What?"
"I don't even feel surprised. Not really. There was always something off about him lately. I just kept telling myself I was imagining things."
"That's not your fault."
"Isn't it? What kind of girlfriend doesn't notice her boyfriend is cheating for so long?"
"The kind who trusts people. The kind who has bigger problems to worry about than whether her boyfriend is texting other women."
A car slowed beside us. Music thumped from the open windows, and male voices called out something I couldn't quite make out over the noise.
"Just ignore them," Denise muttered, picking up her pace.
But the car didn't pass. It crawled along beside us, keeping pace.
"Hey! Hey, ladies!"
I glanced over despitemyself. Several men, clearly drunk, leering at us from the car windows. The driver was leaning out, his eyes moving up and down our bodies with obvious appreciation.
"You two need a ride? We've got room!"
"No thanks," I called back, not breaking stride.
"Come on! Don't be like that!"
The car pulled ahead slightly, then stopped. My stomach dropped as the car doors swung open.
"Shit," Denise breathed. "Walk fast. Don't run, just walk fast."
But it was too late. The guys were out of the car, cutting off our path forward. The driver was thick-necked with a tribal tattoo snaking up his arm. His friends flanked him, all of them swaying slightly from alcohol.
"Where you beautiful ladies going in such a hurry?"
"Home," I said firmly. "Excuse us."
I tried to step around them, but Tribal Tattoo moved to block me.
"Now hold on. We're just being friendly. You two look like you could use some cheering up."
"We're fine. Thank you."
"You don't look fine. You look upset. What happened? Boyfriend trouble?"
The accuracy of his guess made my skin crawl. "Please move."
"What if we don't want to?"
Denise stepped closer to me, her body tense. "Look, we don't want any trouble. We just want to go home."
"We're not trouble," one of the others said with a laugh. "We're fun."
"Come on," Tribal Tattoo said, his voice taking on a coaxing tone that made my flesh crawl. "One drink. We know a place. You'll forget all about whatever asshole made you sad."
"No." The word came out harder than I intended.
His smile disappeared. "No?"
"She said no," Denise stepped forward, brave and stupid. "Which part of that don't you understand?"
"I understand plenty." His hand shot out and grabbed Denise by the hair, yanking her toward him. "I understand you bitches think you're too good for us."
"Let go of her!" I lunged forward, but one of his friends caught my arm.
Denise cried out as Tribal Tattoo's grip tightened. "What's the matter, sweetheart? Don't like it rough?"
"Get your fucking hands off her!"
He released Denise with a shove that sent her stumbling backward. Then his attention turned to me, and his eyes went dark with something that made my blood freeze.
"What about you, pretty girl? You gonna keep running that mouth?"