chapter 5

5.

I flooded my social media with frantic posts about not being able to reach Elijah, then called his father, Caleb Williams.

Returning to the apartment—the place I had once believed symbolized our happy future—I readied the camera.

The lens peeked just enough through a gap in my bag. Slowly, I twisted the doorknob and stepped inside.

Clothes were scattered across the living room, evidence of chaos and betrayal. My stomach churned.

I rushed toward the master bedroom. The door was slightly ajar. I pushed it open.

There they were—lost in each other on our new bed, moaning as if the world had ended and only their bodies existed.

Olivia shrieked.

Elijah scrambled for the blanket, yanking it over her naked form.

His eyes went wide, panicked. "Amelia?! How—how are you back?!"

My face was stone-cold. His, ghost-white.

Fumbling for his pants, he stammered, "Let me explain! We were so drunk—I thought Olivia was you…"

Slap!

The sound cracked through the air.

My hand trembled, but my voice burned with righteous fury.

"Olivia's a lesbian! She doesn't even like men! What you did is rape! I'm calling the police—to protect Olivia!"

Elijah stood frozen, utterly stunned.

In his mind, I should've been screaming, sobbing, throwing accusations—breaking down like a betrayed fiancée was supposed to.

Instead, I threatened to call the police… for Olivia.

"I didn't—I'm not—" Elijah stammered, eyes wide, panicked, completely lost.

Olivia, on the other hand, remained unnervingly calm. No shame. No guilt. Not even a flicker of remorse for being caught.

Annoyed at my interruption, she snapped, voice sharp and impatient.

"No need to report anything for me. We're all adults—let's just forget this ever happened."

She shot me a cold glance. "Besides, Amelia, this is really your fault. If you hadn't stormed off earlier, Elijah and I wouldn't have drunk so much. And if we hadn't been wasted, I wouldn't have used him as a toy."

Her eyes narrowed, studying me as if she could see straight through my act.

"Don't worry, Amelia—I won't make Elijah take responsibility. In college, bros help each other out all the time," she continued airily. "Don't overreact like some prude."

Bros? Help each other out?

The words rang in my head—grotesque, absurd, a mockery of decency.

Credit where it was due: Olivia could dress up something vile in the cleanest, most casual language imaginable—and then blame me for their depravity.

In that moment, every ounce of rage, heartbreak, and humiliation inside me hardened into pure contempt… edged with bitter amusement.

I almost couldn't keep up the act anymore.

"But…" I said, forcing my face into a mask of concern. "Olivia, you're a girl—what if you accidentally get pregnant? If you do, I'll make Elijah marry you."

"No!" Olivia's expression darkened instantly. She shot Elijah a cutting look—he didn't dare meet her eyes—and her voice went glacial.

"I'll take the morningafter pill. There's no way I'm getting pregnant."

I nodded slowly, keeping my tone neutral, as if that settled everything.

Seeing that, Elijah exhaled—like a man who'd just escaped execution.

He scrambled to pull on his clothes, then dropped to his knees before me, eyes glistening with fake remorse.

"Amelia… thank you. Thank you for still believing in me!"

Believing?

The word made my stomach twist.

Did he truly think I still trusted him—after everything I'd seen?

A cold laugh escaped my lips before I could stop it.

"I don't believe you. Not for a second."

I started clapping—slow, deliberate, the sound slicing through the silence.

"You two are unbelievable. You should join the entertainment industry—really. The world deserves to see this Oscarworthy performance."

Shameless. Absolutely shameless.

They finally understood—too late—that I'd been playing them all along.

My hidden phone had captured everything: every flicker of panic, guilt, and fury crossing their faces.

"Amelia, there's nothing between us! Nothing real!" Elijah snapped, his last thread of control breaking.

"Besides," he added desperately, "Olivia's leaving the country right after our wedding—there won't be anything going on!"

I stared at him—cold, steady, unmoved.

"Whether you've done something or not doesn't matter anymore," I said, voice cold and steady. "I'm not marrying you. Period. And I won't cover for you. I'll post everything—the truth, the video, your lies—to every relative, every friend. Try to smear me all you want, but don't think for a second I'll let you paint me as the villain."