Your Rival Saw Me Naked

Chapter 124

The engagement party was my mother's idea, obviously. Planned three months ago when Daniel and I were still pretending everything was fine and I hadn't yet been publicly humiliated at a high school reunion that would live forever on the internet.

Too late to cancel now without causing more drama, according to Mom. Which really meant: too late to cancel without her having to explain to her book club why her daughter couldn't keep a man.

So here we were. The country club. White tablecloths. Champagne flutes. A string quartet playing something that sounded expensive and boring. Everyone dressed like they were attending a wedding instead of celebrating my impending doom.

Daniel showed up twenty minutes late, which honestly? Bold move for someone who'd just told an entire gymnasium I was bad in bed.

But according to my mother, we needed to "work things out." She'd invited him. Told him it would be "good for appearances."

I found out when he walked through the door holding a bouquet of apology roses like that was going to fix anything.

"Zoey." He smiled that tight, practiced smile he used with donors at university functions. "We should talk."

"We really shouldn't."

"Your mother thinks—"

"My mother isn't the one who got humiliated on social media."

He had the audacity to look wounded. "I apologized for that."

"You said you were sorry I took it the wrong way. That's not an apology. That's gaslighting with punctuation."

Before he could respond, my mother materialized like she had a radar for potential scenes. "Daniel! So glad you could make it. Zoey, darling, people are waiting."

She steered us toward the center of the room like we were show dogs at Westminster.

The crowd parted. Conversations paused. Everyone turned to watch with that hungry look people get when they're about to witness something uncomfortable but entertaining. I recognized half of them from my childhood—neighbors, family friends, people who'd watched me grow up and were now watching me fall apart in real time.

Daniel cleared his throat. Adjusted his tie and smiled at the room like he was accepting an award.

"I just want to say a few words about Zoey and me," he started.

My stomach dropped. I hadn't agreed to this. Hadn't even been consulted.

"Relationships are about growing through challenges," he continued, voice carrying across the room with that professor cadence he used in lectures. "About learning to communicate, to compromise, to build something stronger together."

I wanted to dissolve into the floor. Wanted to grab the microphone and tell everyone he was currently demonstrating the opposite of communication. Wanted to run.

But I just stood there, smile frozen, while everyone watched me like I was the season finale of their favorite reality show.

That's when Chase walked through the door.

My breath stopped. Completely stopped.

He was in a dark suit that probably cost more than my car, hair styled back, looking like he'd walked out of a magazine about men who had their lives together. He moved through the crowd like he owned the space, completely unbothered by the stares, found a spot near the bar, and leaned against it with the kind of casual confidence that made every other person in the room look like they were trying too hard.

Daniel's speech stuttered. "And, uh, we're committed to—to building a future based on mutual respect and—"

His eyes found Chase. His whole face did this weird flicker thing.

"And growth," he finished lamely.

Polite applause. A few awkward smiles. My mother looked thrilled, like this train wreck was going exactly as planned.

Then someone—probably my aunt Linda, who lived for chaos—called out, "Zoey should say something too!"

The crowd murmured in agreement; heads turned. Phones lifted slightly, ready to capture whatever came next.

My mind went completely blank.

Chase was watching from his spot by the bar, expression unreadable. Not smirking. Not smiling. Just watching. Like he was waiting to see what version of me would show up for this performance.

I grabbed the microphone before I could talk myself out of it.

"Right. Okay." My voice came out too loud, then too quiet. "Partnerships are about, um, growth. Like Daniel said. And commitment to building something that's, you know, sustainable and based on shared values and mutual understanding."

I sounded like I was reading from a corporate handbook on team building.

"We're really excited about the future and everything it holds. So. Yeah. Thanks for being here."

I handed the microphone back before I could make it worse. More polite applause. Sympathetic smiles that looked like pity wrapped in politeness.

I needed air, immediately.

The terrace was empty, thank god. I gripped the railing and tried to remember how breathing worked. The country club stretched out behind me—manicured lawns, decorative fountains, people who had their shit together in ways I clearly didn't.

"That speech was painful to witness."

I whipped around. Chase stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets, face still unreadable.

"I didn't know he'd be here," I said, defensive immediately.

"I meant yours." He stepped onto the terrace. "That thing about partnerships sounded like a hostage video."

"You don't get to judge my life."

"I'm not judging." He moved closer, voice dropping. "I'm just saying you're miserable and everyone can see it except you."

My hands tightened on the railing. "You don't know anything about me anymore."

His jaw tightened. Something flashed in his eyes—hurt, maybe, or frustration. "I know you don't laugh like you used to. I know you apologize for taking up space. I know that guy in there doesn't deserve you, never did, and you know it too."

The words landed like a punch. Not violent. Just true. Too true.

My throat closed. My hands went numb. I wanted to argue. Wanted to defend my choices. Wanted to tell him he was wrong. But I couldn't.

He stared at me for another beat, waiting for something I couldn't give him. Then he turned and walked away, footsteps echoing against the stone terrace until they disappeared entirely.

I stood there gripping the railing hard enough to hurt, watching the string lights blur through tears I refused to let fall.

Because he was right. And that was the worst part.