Page 7 of Mistletoe and Mayday

I straighten my posture. “No need. The situation explains itself quite well.”

The man—I refuse to look directly at his face—backs toward the bathroom. The sound of his bare feet on the carpet has my jaw locking.

“You weren’t supposed to be here.” Rebecca’s voice is small. “You’re never here.”

A laugh escapes me, sharp and foreign. “Clearly, I should have announced my romantic surprise proposal. How inconsiderate of me.”

The ring box hits the dresser with a hollow thud. Rebecca flinches at the sound, or maybe at the word “proposal.” Her eyes go wide, mascara creating dark trails down her cheeks.

“Sebastian, please?—”

“How long?” My voice sounds foreign. Ice runs through my veins, turning each breath sharp and crystalline.

Rebecca’s mouth opens and closes. No perfect excuses now. No carefully crafted lies. Just the truth, naked and ugly as the man lurks frozen by the bathroom door.

“Sebastian, you’re never here. I was lonely?—”

My fist connects with the wall. The pain barely registers. “How. Long?”

The Christmas lights outside keep blinking their cheerful patterns across the room. Red. Green. Red. Green. A twisted parody of holiday spirit painting shadows across their sin.

“Three months.” Her voice breaks. “It started when you canceled our anniversary trip for that Dubai meeting.”

The Dubai meeting. Where I finalized the deal that would let me propose with a clear conscience. Where I secured our future. Our perfect, planned future that now lies shattered on the cheap hotel carpet.

My teeth grind together. The muscles in my jaw protest. “Three months of lies. Three months of ‘Miss you’ texts and ‘Working late’ excuses.”

“You’re hurting me—” Rebecca whimpers.

I haven’t moved. Haven’t touched her. But she shrinks back like I’m the monster here. Like I’m the one who destroyed four years of trust with hotel room sheets and stolen moments.

“I was going to propose.” The words taste like ash. “Tonight. Christmas Eve. Had it all planned. But you couldn’t even wait until after the holidays to fuck someone else.”

The man finally speaks. “Listen, man?—”

My laugh cuts through the air like broken glass. “If you value your teeth, you won’t finish that sentence.”

The fury builds higher, a tidal wave of rage threatening to sweep away every careful lesson in control. Every polished word. Every perfect plan.

“Sebastian.” Rebecca reaches for me. The sheet slips. “We can fix this.”

Fix this. Like it’s a business deal gone wrong. Like it’s a minor inconvenience to be smoothed over with enough money and the right connections.

The rage turns arctic. Deadly calm settles over me like fresh snow.

The velvet of the blue box catches the light, mocking me with its presence. The princess-cut diamond that has united dynasties for decades. I pick it up, holding it between my fingers.

Rebecca’s eyes fix on that damning little box. Her perfectly manicured hand flies to her mouth. “Oh God, Sebastian...”

Now she cries. Of course, she cries.

Rebecca always did have impeccable timing with her tears. Like when she cried at my mother’s charity gala, earning sympathy from all the right people. Or when she teared upduring that board meeting, making my rivals look like monsters for questioning her environmental proposals.

Perfect crystalline drops rolling down her perfect face. Even her mascara runs in elegant streaks, like some tragic heroine in a romantic drama.

“Don’t.” The word comes out sharp enough to cut. “Don’t you dare cry like you’re the victim here.”

She clutches the sheet tighter. “I never meant?—”