Three years had passed since Brielle and Finnigan exchanged vows.
Their home, a generous wedding gift from Finnigan's father, stood as a symbol of their union. But within its beautifully furnished walls, there was no warmth. They lived as strangers under the same roof-separate lives, separate bedrooms, separate worlds.
Brielle had built walls, high and impenetrable, locking Finnigan out of the heart he longed to reach. Every day, she added another brick, another layer of distance. Finnigan tried-he tried so hard-but his love often went unnoticed, unreturned. Still, he stayed, enduring the quiet ache of rejection in the name of love.
And sometimes... sometimes, it broke him.
This day was special-Brielle's birthday. Finnigan, a dedicated detective often swallowed by crime scenes and case files, took the day off. It was rare for him to set aside work, but today, he wanted to give her something beautiful. A quiet, romantic dinner. Just the two of them.
He decorated their dining room with flickering candles and soft music. He even picked out a silver pendant he'd seen weeks ago-a piece he believed would suit her perfectly. He messaged her during her shift, asking if she'd be home for dinner. Her reply came simply, "Yes. I'll be home."
That was all he needed to pour his heart into the evening.
Once everything was ready, he showered, dressed in a tailored shirt she had once complimented long ago, and combed his hair. A rare smile lit his face. He imagined her expression-surprised, maybe even touched. Hope stirred in his chest.
But time moved. And she didn't come.
9 p.m.
10 p.m.
He tried calling. Again and again. No answer.
Was she stuck at the hospital? Was there an emergency? Panic gnawed at him. He called her parents, hoping she might be with them-but they hadn't seen her either.
Then, something tugged at him. A gut instinct.
He opened Facebook.
There she was-smiling, laughing, clinking glasses with friends at a club. Tagged in several posts. Dressed up. Drunk.
Celebrating her birthday.
Without him.
Without a word.
Something in Finnigan snapped. He stared at the screen, numb at first, then hollow, then burning.
He flipped the table. Shattered plates. Crushed candles. The cake he baked for her splattered on the floor. He didn't even care about the blood on his hands-just that he had become invisible in her world.
He dropped to the sofa, breathing erratic, fists trembling, chest heaving with pain he could no longer contain. He didn't want to cry. But he did. Quiet sobs that cracked through his restraint.
At 2 a.m., Brielle arrived home-drunk, her heels clicking softly on the floor as she tiptoed inside. She froze when she saw the wreckage. Her stomach twisted.
Oh god. He made me a surprise dinner.
"Fin?" she called, inching closer. Her eyes locked on him-sitting in the dark, hands bloodied, shirt wrinkled, soul broken.
"You scared me," she said, trying to mask her guilt. "What... what happened?"
He stood slowly. His eyes were red, voice flat. "Nothing. I'll clean it tomorrow. I'm tired."
"Finnigan Lee Byrne!" she snapped. "Talk to me! What the hell happened?"
He turned, staring at her-hurt etched into every corner of his face. "It's nothing," he repeated. "Just... clean yourself up. Go to bed."
She stepped forward, grabbed his hand, recoiling at the dried blood. "You call this nothing?!"
He jerked away from her. "Please, Brielle. I don't want to fight. I've had enough disappointment tonight."
She didn't back down. "You're not even working today. Why are you-"
"Just shut up!" he shouted.
Silence.
He looked down, hands shaking. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I'm just... I'm exhausted. I spent the whole day preparing something special for the woman I love-who didn't even think to tell me she had other plans."
His voice cracked. "I know I'm not the man you wanted to marry. I know someone else has your heart. But I love you, Brielle. I've loved you since we were thirteen. And every day, I live in this house with a woman who looks right through me."
He clutched his chest, trying to slow his breath. "But I made a vow. To make you happy. So... if this is what makes you happy, I won't stop you."
A pause.
"Happy Birthday," he whispered. "Your present is on the table. If you hate it, throw it away."
He walked past her, into his room, and locked the door.
Brielle stood there, frozen. Her chest tight. She could hear him crying on the other side of the door.
She turned toward the coffee table and saw the gift. With trembling hands, she opened it. Inside was a beautiful silver pendant-elegant and delicate.
Tears welled in her eyes.
He remembered.
She checked her phone—dozens of missed calls and unread messages. A wave of guilt crushed her.
She placed the necklace on her makeup table and returned to the living room. Quietly, she started cleaning the mess. The least she could do.
Tomorrow, she would talk to him. Apologize.
But deep inside her heart... one question wouldn't leave her alone.
How did he know who I was with?
Was someone watching her?
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