Page 10 of I Do, You Don’t (You Don’t #1)

Lara

A fter work, I stagger through the front door, exhaustion clinging like a second skin. The day was a blur of forced smiles and hollow conversations. Every minute dragged, and all I could think about was what Gideon left behind, an emptiness where he used to be.

I collapse onto the couch, the ache in my chest settling like an old wound. It’s been weeks since he left me at the altar, yet the pain hasn’t dulled. If anything, it’s sharpened, an ever-present reminder that everything I believed about love was a lie.

I close my eyes, and there he is: his voice, his arms, the scent of his cologne. The way his heartbeat once steadied mine. And then, just like that, he’s gone.

They walked into the diner just after the lunch rush, Gideon and Delilah. Together.

They slid into a booth as if they’d done it a hundred times before, as if it was theirs now. As if I had never existed.

I poured coffee. Took orders. Wiped counters. All the while, I felt like I was floating outside my own skin, watching a life I used to live play out without me.

It was the first time I’d seen him since the wedding. Since he left me.

No one mentioned it, except for my boss and Drew. But I caught Carol at table five watching me, like she was waiting for me to break.

I didn’ t. I couldn’t. Not there. Not in front of them.

I found myself staring instead, at the way Delilah leaned close when she spoke to him, at the way Gideon didn’t pull away. Were they together now? Had they already been?

Did he kiss her the way he used to kiss me?

Now I sit on the couch after work, lights low, cold creeping in through the windows. I can’t stop replaying it, Gideon acting like we’d never shared a life, a bed, a dream. It wasn’t silence; it was erasure.

Strangers. That’s what we are now. No, worse than strangers. Strangers can ask for a pen, or at least murmur “Sorry, sir,” when they bump shoulders. Not Gideon and me. We avoid.

Strangers are people you can still talk to.

And somehow, that’s what hurts most.

I wipe my eyes, unsure if they’re even wet anymore. Everything blurs. All that remains is the hollow pit in my stomach, the weight of desperation pressing down like stone.

And desperate people do desperate things.

The room is cluttered, cold, crowded with memories of him. Outside, the streetlamp below my apartment flickers, casting a wavering glow across the wall opposite the couch. I watch it, the light shifting like a ghost.

I feel it before I see him.

The air thickens—electric, bracing for a lightning strike. The hairs on my arms rise. My heart stutters once, then again, harder.

I’ve always had a visceral reaction when Gideon was near. We used to call it our “supernatural power,” half-joking.

But he isn’t here. So I ignore my body’s insistence that he is.

The couch creaks beneath me as I straighten. The streetlamp outside flickers again, casting erratic flashes across the wall. Strobes of warning. I sit motionless, holding my breath, watching the light dance.

Then —

The door slams open, the crash reverberating through the apartment.

I don’t need to turn. The air already told me. My bones already knew. I wasn’t wrong after all.

Gideon.

His cologne hits me first—sharp, familiar—dragging me back to a thousand moments I wish I could erase. His presence swallows the room, heavy and suffocating, like a storm about to break.

His voice slices the silence. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

I freeze. My breath catches—shallow, jagged. I want to speak, to stop him, but nothing comes.

“Answer me!” he snarls. “Did you think I was too stupid to see the truth? To figure out what was happening behind my back?”

His boots pound the floor like thunder. Each step rattles something loose inside me.

“You think I didn’t notice the way you two looked at each other?” he spits. “You and Calvin.”

There’s nothing left to say. He’s already chosen what to believe. Still, I refuse to let him cast me as the villain. “There’s something you don’t know, but it’s not what you think.”

“You slept with him,” he says, low and venomous.

“No.”

“How long, Lara? How long were you lying to me?”

His words land like a slap, but I barely feel them. I’m already numb. “I never cheated on you.”

“Was it just one night?” he presses. “Or has this been going on for months?”

“Listen to me, Gideon! I never cheated on you!”

But he won’t list en. He doesn’t want the truth, he wants someone to blame.

“You and Calvin,” he sneers, ignoring me. “Why Calvin? Is it the money? I’ve heard the rumors.” The same rumors that branded me a gold-digger. The same rumors he never defended me against.

I fling my arms wide. “Shut up and listen, Gideon!”

He doesn’t. Of course not. Instead, his voice sharpens. “I wasn’t good enough for you, huh? You needed money. You needed drama. You needed to be a gold-digging whore.”

“No!” The word tears out of me, raw and broken. “Gideon, it’s not like that.”

“Stop!” he roars, stepping closer, eyes blazing. “You lied to me. I thought you were the woman I was going to marry.”

The pain behind his words crushes something inside me. I want to cry, to scream, to beg him to see me—but I don’t. I swallow it down.

“You were the one who said ‘forever,’” he says, voice shaking. “How stupid was I to believe you meant it?”

The words slice deep, but something shifts. I stop clinging. I stop hoping. He doesn’t believe me. Worse, he refuses to hear me. I’m defending myself, but all he hears are Delilah’s lies. Haven’t I been defending myself for months? Lara versus Delilah—and Gideon has chosen her every single time.

As Maya Angelou said: “When someone shows you who they are, believe them.”

Well, I believe now. Took me a hundred times, but I believe.

He turns away, shoulders rigid. And for the first time, I don’t reach for him.

“You’re nothing but a liar,” he says, cold as stone. “I’m done with you.”

The final blow. I should feel rage. Or sorrow. Or regret. But all I feel is emptiness. I knew this was coming—I just didn’t expect it to be so quiet.

And because he’s no longer the man I once thought he was, he adds, “Delilah. She was always there, wasn’t she? Trying to save me from you. Warning me.”

His words splinter something inside me, but I hold it together. Delilah has won. She always wanted him. Now she has him.

“She’s everything you’re not,” he says. “Everything I’ve ever needed. And you? You’re nothing.”

I should scream. I should fight. But I don’t. I’m done.

“I should’ve been with her,” he mutters. “I wasted my time with you.”

The words don’t break me anymore.

“I regret meeting you. Kissing you. Proposing to you. Loving you.” Every word lands cold, deliberate. “Our wedding was supposed to be the best day of my life, and funny enough, it still was. Because leaving you was the best outcome possible.”

I don’t respond. His voice is just noise now. I let it fade.

He turns to leave.

And I let him. He needed his monologue. Now it’s my turn. The difference is, I’ll mean every word. I follow him into the hallway and call out.

“Gideon,” I say, steady and calm. He turns, glaring. “Thank you.”

His cruel gaze doesn’t waver, but a bitter laugh escapes. “For freeing you up to be with your boy toy?”

“No. For leaving me at the altar,” I answer. “You showed me what a mistake that would’ve been.”

A flicker of doubt crosses his face. I close my eyes, inhale, and let it go.

“And wh en you realize what you’ve lost,” I add, “stay the hell away from me. I never want to see you again.”

I slam the door behind him. The silence is mine now.

It’s over.

And this time, it’s on him.

Wanting the biggest reminder of Gideon gone from my life, I stomp to the bedroom closet and yank my wedding dress from its hanger. The fabric gleams with taunting purity—its pristine white a cruel echo of broken promises. Anger surges through me, hot and unrelenting.

I fling the dress onto the bed and storm into the bathroom, wrenching open a drawer for a tube of toothpaste. Back in the bedroom, with a fierce grip, I smear the paste across the fabric like war paint—its icy coolness clashing with my simmering rage.

Not satisfied, I march to the kitchen and rip open the fridge, seizing bottles of ketchup and BBQ sauce.

Returning, I unleash them with vengeful abandon, splattering the delicate fabric.

My hands move furiously, each smear, each stain, a testament to my fury.

By the time I’m finished, the dress is no longer a symbol of love but a canvas of betrayal.

Memories flood back, each one a dagger.

Wedding dress shopping. Delilah's voice slicing through my excitement: “ That’s all you can afford? I guess Gideon’s not marrying you for your money. ” Her laughter rings sharp and cruel. Later, when I confront him, he stays silent.

The night before the wedding. His bachelor party. He never comes home. He spends it with Delilah.

The wedding day. I am alone in the bridal suite, the dress pristine and mocking. The doors to the aisle open, revealing only emptiness where Gideon should have been. The realization hits like a freight train: he isn’t coming.

Months of warning him about Delilah replay in my mind. Months of being brushed off, ignored, dismissed.

I’m angry. Frustrated. Worn down. But most of all, I’m done.