I have the man, the success, and the penthouse overlooking San Francisco Bay. Three years ago, at my company’s biggest charity gala, she smiled in front of 200 people and said,
“Poor Sophia, 34, and still married to your work. Meanwhile, I’m planning a destination wedding with Ryan.
Guess some of us just know how to keep a man.”
I smiled back that night. A real smile. Because standing beside me, his hand resting protectively on the small of my back, was Alexander Chen.
The tech entrepreneur whose company had just been valued at $800 million. The man who’d beaten Ryan’s law firm in the biggest acquisition deal of the year. She recognized him the moment I called him over.
Her champagne glass trembled in her hand. Her smile vanished. Her entire face went pale.
But I should start at the beginning. Christina had been my best friend since freshman year at Berkeley. We’d survived late night study sessions, terrible boyfriends, and the brutal architecture program together.
She was the sister I’d never had. The person I called first with good news. The one who held my hand through my mother’s cancer treatments.
Twenty years of friendship built on what I thought was unshakable trust. When I met Ryan Mitchell three years ago at a legal conference for my firm, I thought I’d found everything. He was a senior partner at Morrison and Hayes, one of San Francisco’s most prestigious law firms.
Confident, articulate, ambitious. He wore custom suits and knew how to order wine. My father, before he passed, would have approved.
Christina lit up every time I mentioned Ryan’s name. She’d leaned forward, asking endless questions about our dates, our plans, our future. I thought she was just being supportive.
Excited for me. She’d always been unlucky in love, cycling through relationships that never quite worked out. I wanted her to see that good men existed.
That love was possible. Looking back now, I can see the signs I missed. The way she’d touch Ryan’s arm when she laughed at his jokes, her fingers lingering just a moment too long.
How she’d insist on sitting next to him at dinners, finding excuses to lean close. The time she showed up at my apartment in a new dress, asking if it looked good, right before she knew Ryan was coming over. I remember telling myself she just wanted to be included.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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