When My Fiancé And Best Friend Betrayed Me

Paula's POV

My fiancé, Nathan, always said that decisions shouldn't be based on closeness, but on urgency.

At a car crash scene, he rushed my best friend, Roxanne, to the hospital first because her cuts looked deeper. When my mother was dying of cancer, he gave her hard-won experimental medication to Roxanne’s mother instead, claiming her condition was more critical.

Time after time, I convinced myself he was just being fair. He was just being rational.

On Roxanne’s twenty-ninth birthday, she cried that her secret boyfriend had stood her up. I stayed behind to drink with her. Knowing Nathan was on his way to pick me up, I hid behind the sofa, planning to jump out and surprise him.

But when he pushed the door open and didn’t see me, he didn't look for me. He walked straight to Roxanne, pulled her into his arms, and kissed her fiercely.

In the dimly lit VIP booth, Roxanne downed her shot of vodka and nudged my shoulder.

"Where's that mystery man of yours?" I asked, wiping a spill from the table. "It's your twenty-ninth birthday."

"Don't start," Roxanne groaned, slurring her words as she leaned heavily on my shoulder. "The asshole said he had an emergency and stood me up. Men are trash, Paula... except your Nathan. You have to stay with me tonight. Let's get wasted."

Nathan was my fiancé, the vice president of a major biotech company. In our seven years together, he lived by a cold, unwavering code: Prioritize urgency over intimacy.

Four years ago, Roxanne and I were in a car accident. Because her leg had a slightly deeper laceration than mine, Nathan arrived and immediately carried her into the ER, leaving me to limp in behind them.

That same year, my mother, Catherine, was diagnosed with late-stage pancreatic cancer. Nathan took the single slot we had for his company's trial drug and gave it to Roxanne’s mother, Linda. He held me, explaining with calm, gentle logic: "Paula, Catherine can still handle standard chemotherapy. Linda’s body is too weak. She can't wait."

My mother died in agony later that year.

Yet, I chose to believe he was just being noble. I chose to believe in his absolute integrity.

My phone buzzed. It was a text from Nathan: Paula, don't let Roxanne drink too much. It's dangerous. I'm coming to get you.

I smiled, sliding my phone into my pocket. I winked at Roxanne. "Nathan's almost here. I'm going to hide behind the couch to scare him. Don't ruin it."

Roxanne waved a hand half-heartedly and buried her face in a cushion.

I crouched into the shadow behind the sofa, holding my breath, giddy with anticipation.

A few minutes later, the door clicked open. Nathan walked in, his tie loosened, his eyes scanning the room frantically. "Paula? Paula, where are you?"

"She... she was just here..." Roxanne mumbled, rolling over on the sofa.

I inhaled, preparing to spring out, but stopped dead in my tracks.

Nathan didn't look around any further. He strode to the sofa, grabbed Roxanne by the waist, pulled her up, and kissed her hungrily.

The kiss was desperate, practiced, and dripping with raw possession.

My mind went entirely blank. The blood in my veins turned to ice.

"Mmh... Nathan!" Roxanne gasped, playfully pushing his chest. "I thought you said you were too busy to spend my birthday with me? But the second Paula calls, you run right over."

She looked around the dark room, panicked. "Let go of me! What if Paula sees us?"

Nathan’s grip on her waist only tightened.

"She’s not here," his voice was low and heavy with a desire I had never heard before. "Come home with me. Tomorrow I'll just tell her you were way more wasted, so I had to handle you first. She won't ask questions."

Roxanne smiled, melting into his chest. "You're so bad, Nathan..."

He scooped her up in his arms and carried her out of the booth.

The room fell into a suffocating silence.

I slumped onto the floor, my back sliding down the cold leather of the sofa. It felt like a grave.

Roxanne’s elusive, overly busy boyfriend was my fiancé.

Suddenly, every ignored detail, every brushed-off red flag, clicked into place.

Once, I found a berry-red lipstick in Nathan's glove box. It was Roxanne's signature shade. He had smiled and handed it to me: "I bought it for you, but I guess I got the wrong color?"

I actually apologized for doubting him.

Another time, I went to Nathan's office to surprise him and saw Roxanne walking out of his private executive lounge. They both laughed and said they ran into each other downstairs and grabbed a quick coffee.

They had been mocking my trust, using my blind faith as their shield.

I sat in the dark booth until dawn.

When I finally unlocked the door to our apartment, Nathan and Roxanne were already sitting at the dining table, fresh coffee steaming between them. They sat far apart, acting as if nothing had happened.

Hearing the door, they both looked up.

A flash of panic crossed Nathan’s face before his executive mask slid back on. He hurried over, his voice laced with rehearsed concern. "Paula! Roxanne was completely out of it last night. You were sober, so I had to prioritize getting her home safely."

Roxanne lowered her eyes. "Paula, I'm so sorry. It's my fault for drinking too much and dragging Nathan into it. You're not mad, are you?"

I pulled out a chair and sat down. "How's your boyfriend? Did you two make up?"

She smiled, her gaze drifting past me to land on Nathan. "We did. He’s working hard for our future, so I shouldn't throw tantrums over a birthday. Ambition is a good thing in a man, right?"

"Of course," I looked directly at Nathan. "What do you think?"

He lifted his coffee cup, eyes fixed on the dark liquid, silent.

Roxanne sighed, her voice dripping with mock self-pity while her eyes flashed with triumph. "Sometimes I really envy you, Paula. My boyfriend couldn't even make time for my birthday. You're so lucky to have a man as caring and attentive as Nathan."

Nathan's response was almost instinctive, his voice softening with a tenderness he couldn't hide. "Don't put yourself down, Roxanne. You're wonderful, and you deserve to be treated right."

He wasn't an impartial, rational man. He just reserved his bias for someone else.

My seven years of devotion, my endless understanding, my mother's sacrificed life—all of it was a joke.

I looked at the two of them, swallowed the bile rising in my throat, and stood up.

"I need to go to work."

I offered a faint, empty smile, didn't look at either of them again, and walked out the door.