Chapter 2 — Shattered Foundations

Charlotte

The apartment was too quiet, the kind of silence that clung to every surface and made the smallest noises feel deafening. The refrigerator’s hum cut through the stillness, grating against my thoughts like nails on glass. When the wine bottle clinked against the rim of my glass, it sounded like a gunshot. Even my breathing seemed too loud, jagged and uneven, a rhythm I couldn’t control.

I sat cross-legged on the floor, my back pressed against the cold leather of the couch, staring at the wedding dress crumpled in an accusatory heap in the corner. Its pristine ivory mocked me, the lace and pearls catching the dim, amber light of the single lamp I’d left on. The fabric that once symbolized a future of order and certainty now seemed to sneer at me with its useless perfection.

Months of planning had gone into that dress. Every detail—the fabric, the neckline, the delicate floral lace stitched into the bodice—had been chosen with surgical precision, each decision a reflection of the life I thought I was building. Perfect. Controlled. Impeccable.

And now? It was nothing more than a relic of my humiliation, a monument to everything I’d tried to control and failed.

I swirled the wine in my glass, watching the dark red liquid stain the crystal as it slid around the edges. It reminded me of spilled blood, of something irrevocable. Two glasses down, and the tightness in my chest hadn’t eased. If anything, it had grown heavier, dragging me down into a bottomless ache.

My phone buzzed on the coffee table, its glow cutting through the dimness. Emily’s name lit up the screen.

For a moment, I considered ignoring it. The last thing I wanted was to hear her voice, kindness wrapped in concern, reminding me I wasn’t alone. I wanted to be alone. I needed to sit with this, let it fester and blister until it burned itself out. But the phone buzzed again, insistent, and I sighed, reaching for it.

“Spare me the pep talk,” I said as soon as I answered.

“Good thing I didn’t prepare one.” Emily’s voice was bright, but I could hear the strain beneath it, a note of forced levity.

“That’s a relief.”

There was a pause, followed by a soft laugh. “You sound like a painting left out in the rain—smudged and dripping, but still holding together. What’s left for me to say?”

I took a long sip of my wine, the bitterness biting at the back of my throat. “Tell me I’m a fool. Tell me I should’ve seen it coming. Tell me—”

“That you’re allowed to feel however you need to feel right now?” she interrupted gently.

I closed my eyes, leaning my head back against the couch. The cool leather pressed against my skin, a small mercy in the stifling heat of my anger. “I don’t need permission to feel, Em.”

“Fine.” Her tone sharpened, cutting through the quiet like a blade. “Then here’s the truth: Daniel Hayes is a coward. A spineless, gutless excuse for a man who didn’t deserve you in the first place. And whatever reasons he thinks he had for leaving you at that altar, they’re not good enough.”

“You’re right,” I said, staring up at the ceiling. “They’re not.”

The silence that followed was heavy, stretching and fraying at the edges. I could feel the weight of her waiting for me to fill it.

“Have you eaten?” Emily asked finally.

“No.”

“Of course not. Because why would you do something as basic as feed yourself when you’re busy wallowing in existential despair?”

I smirked despite myself. “And here I thought you weren’t giving a pep talk.”

“That wasn’t a pep talk. That was a scolding. Now, get up. I’m bringing takeout.”

“I don’t want company.”

“Tough.”

The call ended before I could argue, leaving me staring at the blank screen. I set the phone down and finished the rest of my wine in a single swallow.

By the time Emily arrived, the dress had become the nucleus of my resentment. I hadn’t touched it since I’d flung it into the corner hours ago, but my eyes kept flicking back to it, my jaw tightening every time. It loomed larger and larger, an alabaster stain against the polished hardwood floor.

Emily let herself in with the spare key I’d given her years ago. She carried a paper bag that smelled of garlic and spices, her red curls bouncing as she kicked the door shut behind her.

“You look like you’ve been hit by a train,” she said cheerfully, setting the food down on the kitchen counter.

“Thank you for the validation.”

She ignored my sarcasm, shrugging off her oversized sweater to reveal a tank top splattered with paint. The sharp scent of turpentine clung to her, cutting through the sterile wine-and-wood polish atmosphere of my apartment. “I was in the middle of painting when you decided to have a crisis, so you owe me.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll send you a thank-you card,” I muttered as she began unpacking containers of pasta and breadsticks.

Her gaze flicked to the dress in the corner, her expression softening. “Have you thought about what you’re going to do with it?”

“Burn it,” I said flatly.

“That’s dramatic, even for you.”

I glared at her, but the corners of her mouth twitched. She was trying not to smile, and it was infuriating.

“Emily, I’m serious.”

“So am I.” She grabbed a fork and handed it to me. “Eat first. We’ll plot arson later.”

I took the fork reluctantly, stabbing at the container of spaghetti she pushed into my hands. The rich, savory flavors did little to soothe the gnawing in my chest.

“I can’t just let this go,” I said finally, setting the container down.

Emily leaned against the counter, crossing her arms. “I didn’t think you would. But what’s your plan here, Charlie? To stew in your apartment forever? To wallow in anger until Daniel somehow feels bad enough to apologize?”

I clenched my jaw, staring down at my hands. “He doesn’t get to walk away from this unscathed. He doesn’t get to humiliate me in front of everyone and then just… go on with his life like nothing happened.”

Emily tilted her head, studying me. “And what do you want to happen? For him to feel as miserable as you do right now? Or for him to understand what he’s lost?”

“Both.”

She shook her head, her curls bouncing. “Revenge is messy, Charlie. It never goes the way you want it to. And even if it does, it doesn’t fix what’s broken.”

I stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. “You don’t get it, Emily. You don’t know what it’s like to have your entire life fall apart in front of hundreds of people. To have everything you’ve worked for—everything you’ve sacrificed for—reduced to a spectacle.”

Her eyes softened, but her voice remained firm. “No, I don’t. But I do know you. And I know that this anger isn’t going to fix what you’re feeling.”

I turned away from her, walking to the window. The city stretched out below, its lights glittering against the encroaching darkness. Distant sirens wailed, a faint reminder of the chaos beyond this bubble of silence. The autumn wind rattled the glass, a whisper of change I wasn’t ready for. Somewhere out there, Daniel was living his life, untouched by the wreckage he’d left behind.

“I need to do something,” I said quietly.

Emily didn’t respond immediately, but I heard her footsteps behind me. She placed a hand on my shoulder, her touch grounding.

“Then let’s figure out what that something is,” she said softly.

I turned to look at her, my vision blurring with unshed tears. The dress in the corner seemed to loom even larger, its presence a challenge.

I didn’t know where this path would lead, but I knew one thing for certain: I wasn’t going to let Daniel Hayes get away with this.

Not without a fight.