Chapter 2: The Betrayal

I bolted into the downpour, splashing through puddles so deep my sneakers squelched with every step, desperate to find Jason, desperate for answers.

My lab coat—still on from my late shift at the university—clung cold and wet to my skin. The sting of his words hurt worse than the chill. Every syllable echoed in my head, slicing deeper than the wind that whipped through Chicago’s empty streets.

Inside the private lounge, tucked away on the second floor of some River North speakeasy, the conversation rolled on. Laughter bounced off exposed brick and velvet curtains.

“Yeah, if she finds out, she’ll totally lose it.”

“Three years with her, and he can just drop ten million bucks? Not even Netflix goes this hard, man.”

“So, Jason, gonna dump her or what?”

Jason flicked his wrist at the bartender, sounding bored, like none of it mattered. “Dump her? I’m not done having fun yet.”

He tapped his chin, eyes drifting down, weighing something only he understood. Then came that sideways grin—the one that always undid me—the red mark by his eye catching the bar’s low light.

“Should I bring up breaking up? Just to mess with her a little? I mean, my salary’s only two grand a month—I can’t keep holding her back, right?”

“Dude, aren’t you worried she’ll leave if you keep this up?”

“You don’t get it. I’ve said we should break up so many times, and every time, Rachel just begs to get back together, bawling her eyes out.”

Jason looked so pleased with himself, body loose as he raised his glass in a lazy toast to the crowd.

The guy he toasted scrambled to clink glasses, nearly spilling his drink, desperate for Jason’s approval.

Someone nearby scoffed, clicking his tongue. “So pathetic, man. Like a stray dog—just lets people walk all over him for nothing.”

Outside, hidden in the shadows, I couldn’t listen another second. My legs turned to lead. My chest squeezed so tight I could barely breathe. I stumbled down the stairs and back into the rain, the city feeling like it was closing in, its pulse matching my own broken one.

My hand, numb from cold and shock, dove into my pocket. My fingers brushed the velvet ring box I’d hidden there. My knees nearly buckled. I clung to the wall, breath coming in short, jagged bursts, the pain sharp as glass.

Behind me, the lounge’s laughter faded, swallowed by the rain and the distant rumble of an L train overhead.