The Thirteenth Lie: Panties in His Backseat

I found the thirteenth piece of evidence of Reid's affair today.

Black lace panties, shoved deep between his car seats.

The first time, it was designer lipstick in his glove box. "Oh, that's mine," my friend Mia shrugged. "Must've fallen out when Reid gave me a ride."

The sixth time, a hotel key card in his console. "I borrowed his car for a business trip," my brother Owen explained calmly. "Stop being so paranoid, Nadia."

Thirteen times. Thirteen perfect excuses.

When I confront Reid with the panties, he just makes a phone call.

On speaker, Mia and Owen claim the underwear is theirs—some late-night hookup in my fiancé's back seat. "You're being ridiculous, Nadia," they snap in unison. "You're getting married. Start acting like it. Trust him."

I watch Reid's face, that innocent mask he wears so well.

Then I smile.

Because I bought those panties myself. I planted them there.

And now I finally know who's been his accomplice all along.

Nadia's POV

The second the call ended, something in my chest cracked open.

I turned my head, looked at Reid coldly. "The wedding's off. The venue, the caterers, the guests—you clean up your own mess."

"What the hell did you just say?!"

The car jerked to a violent stop, slamming me against the seatbelt. Reid's fist crashed into the steering wheel as he whipped around to glare at me.

"Nadia, what the FUCK is your problem? That was your own brother Owen! And Mia—you've known her for over a DECADE! They literally just explained everything on the phone! You don't even trust THEM now?"

"Trust them?" I let out a harsh laugh. "Thirteen times, Reid. Every single time I find evidence, those two magically show up to claim it. You don't think that's a little TOO convenient?"

He froze for a split second. Something flickered across his face before rage swallowed it whole.

"Jesus Christ, here we go again! Always with this shit! I've been busting my ass for this wedding while you obsess over garbage trying to frame me!" His voice kept rising. "You know what? You need to see a goddamn therapist!"

"You know what? Since you put it that way," I said with a cold smile, "guess we don't need this wedding after all."

"You—" He sucked in a sharp breath. "I'm DONE. Get the hell out. NOW."

He climbed out, stormed around to yank open the passenger door, and dragged me out onto the curb.

"Go be crazy somewhere else."

The door slammed shut. The engine roared. His taillights grew smaller and smaller in the darkness until they vanished around the corner.

The night air bit into my skin. My right hand still throbbed from the injury, fingers weakly clutching those panties.

I'd felt something was off a year ago. Lipstick, perfume, hotel key cards, earrings... one thing after another. Every time I got suspicious, Reid, Owen, and Mia would produce some airtight explanation and smooth things over.

I couldn't wrap my head around why the three people I trusted most would lie to me.

As I stood there shivering, my phone screen suddenly lit up.

Unknown number. A text message:

Want to know who Reid really loves? Come to this address. I've got a surprise for you.

I stared at the familiar address. My stomach dropped.

Half an hour later, I stood outside a Victorian-style mansion.

The yard was strung with pink and blue balloons. Warm light spilled through the floor-to-ceiling windows. A banner read Welcome Our Baby.

I pushed open the door and walked in.

Laughter, champagne glasses clinking, a baby's gurgling giggles—it all hit me like a wall of heat. Everyone crowded around the center of the living room, surrounding a woman holding an infant.

My usually stern, ice-cold lawyer brother Owen was tenderly holding a glass of juice to her lips.

"Easy now, you're still breastfeeding." His voice had gone soft in a way I'd never heard before.

My best friend Mia—the same Mia who'd once torn into the media to defend me—was affectionately cooing over the baby.

"Oh my God, look at that little nose! It's exactly like yours!" Mia laughed, practically glowing. "Listen, I've got all the guests handled tonight, so you just relax and enjoy the party, okay?"

I stood in the shadows, watching my two closest people fawn all over that figure. Something cold settled in my chest.

The woman turned around with a laugh—golden hair, sweet smile.

Isla.

The rising model who'd sued me six months ago after the runway accident and dragged my name through the mud.

My ears rang.

Right then, Reid emerged from the crowd, smiling, casually sliding his arm around Isla's waist like it belonged there.

The room erupted. "Kiss! Kiss! Come on, you two!"

Reid's eyes went all soft as he leaned down and kissed Isla full on the mouth.

In that instant, all the strange, broken pieces exploded in my mind.

I remembered the show six months ago. My first solo collection. Isla was the opening model. During rehearsal, I'd told her over and over—stay OUT of the equipment area. But on show day, she'd walked right in anyway, and the lighting rig came crashing down.

Before I could even think about holding her accountable, she flipped the script and sued ME. Claimed I'd been negligent with safety and caused her injury.

Owen was my attorney. Supposedly working his ass off for me—except he kept fumbling in court. Mia seemed pissed on my behalf, jumped in to handle PR—then somehow made everything worse.

And the security footage from backstage. Reid said he'd handle it—his company did cybersecurity, this kind of thing was supposed to be easy. But then the cops told me the crucial footage was corrupted. Couldn't use it as evidence.

They'd ALL been helping Isla from the very beginning.

I stood there in the shadows, staring at this cozy little scene. My brother, my best friend, my fiancé—all circling another woman like she was royalty.

And me? Standing here like some kind of ghost they'd forgotten existed.

My nose stung. I blinked hard. No way I was crying here.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

I pulled it out. An email from an overseas design firm.

Congratulations! Milan Fashion Week - Lead Designer. Position starts in 7 days.

Milan. Seven days from now.

I took a deep breath, eyes moving from the screen back to the crowd. A bitter laugh escaped my throat.

Seven days. In seven days, I'd cut ties with these people for good.

I pocketed my phone and turned toward the door.

That's when a hand shot out and grabbed my wrist.

"Nadia? "