My Fiancé and Best Friend, Both Betrayed Me

After returning from a three-month business trip, I rushed to meet my fiancé and resolve our dispute over my best friend, Elena.

Elena’s ex-husband left her penniless and broken. I offered her my apartment, helped her "find herself" and accompanied her through nights of tequila-soaked sobbing.

My fiance, Julian, hated it. Or so he said.

"She’s a leech, Clara," he’d snap, watching her try on my designer coats. "She doesn't even know how to make toast without calling for help. Are you her best friend or her maid? People like her don't want to heal; they just want a free ride."

She's lost everything, Julian," I argued."Without her, I wouldn't have survived my mother’s death. Please, just be patient for me."

I let myself in quietly. The house was still, the air smelling of expensive candles and something else—something sweet and floral that wasn't mine.

I walked toward the master suite, expecting to find Julian asleep. Instead, the door was ajar.

The wine bottle I had brought to surprise Julian slipped from my hand, leaving me paralyzed for a moment.

Elena was draped across my silk sheets. Julian was hovering over her, expertly shucking oysters—my favorite—and feeding them to her with a look of doting, soft-eyed tenderness he hadn't shown me in months.

"You're so much better at this than she is," Julian purred.

"Because she’s cold, Julian," Elena whispered, brushing a stray hair from his forehead. "She’s all business. She doesn't know how to satisfy men in bed."

I stood in the doorway, my whole self trembling, not in cold but in pure rage and disgust.

"I hope the oysters are fresh," I said, my voice cutting through the room like a blade.

They both froze. Elena didn't reach for a blanket to cover herself. She reached for Julian’s arm, shrinking back as if I were the predator in my own bedroom.

"Clara..." Julian stood up, his face hardening almost instantly into a mask of cold defense.

"It’s not what it looks like. I had a panic attack. I was afraid to be alone." Elena defended, still hiding behind Julian.

"A panic attack that required you to be in my bed, eating my food, with my fiancé’s hands on you?" I asked, my heart hammering against my ribs so hard it hurt.

"Don't start with the drama," Julian spat, his guilt turning into a familiar, icy aggression.

"You’ve been gone for three months, obsessed with your career. You left me alone with Elena in the house. What do you expect?”

He stepped in front of her, shielding her from my gaze. "Stop blaming her for anything. She didn't do anything.”

He turned to look at Elena, his eyes softened quickly. “I like her. It’s my fault, not hers.”

‘I like her,’

These words kept echoing in my head like a harsh reminder of how unreliable a man’s heart could be.

Three years ago, when media people were after me, trying to figure out what connection I had with the