Phantom Vows: The Forgotten Fiancée

At this table packed with familiar faces, my exboyfriend raised his glass in my direction, his arm hooked securely around his childhood sweetheart. "Here's to a lifetime together." I raised my glass and downed the burning liquid in one gulp, drowning out the roaring laughter of the room.

Acid churned violently in my gut, and a cold sweat broke out across my back, gluing the fabric of my dress to my spine. His gaze swept over me, cold and hollow.

He looked at me like I was nothing but a stranger. A car crash. A pathetic, cliché amnesia trope.

Out of his entire life, my existence was the only thing his brain decided to completely scrub clean.

Genevieve raised her glass, her lips curving into a sharp, triumphant smirk. "Thanks for giving my Roman back to me." She deliberately pressed her body tightly against Roman's arm, her fingers painted with bright red nail polish showing off as they possessively stroked the collar of his shirt.

The people sitting around the table—people I once called friends—stared at me like I was a pathetic clown. "You acted like a toxic, stagefive clinger the whole time you were together.

You had this coming. Serves you right." I forced the corners of my mouth up into a rigid, mechanical smile. Let them laugh. This script was just getting started.

Chapter 1 "How about another round for the new girl and the ex?" Someone at the table who thrived on drama shot a mocking look in my direction.

The straight vodka I just downed was already doing backflips in my stomach. My eyes darted to Roman. The car crash had left a faded scar right above his brow bone.

He kept his arm wrapped tight around Genevieve. A slight frown creased his forehead. "Genevieve isn't feeling well enough to drink.

Sorry." The instigator hadn't planned on pressing Genevieve anyway.

He turned his attention back to me. "Looks like the ex has to step up and drink for the new girl, then." "Suit yourselves." Roman didn't let his gaze linger on me for even a second.

He guided Genevieve away toward the next table. "Out with the old, in with the new, huh?" Two shot glasses, filled to the brim with clear liquor, were shoved across the table until they hit my knuckles. "Drink up." Their stares pinned me down like a circus freak.

Derisive laughter bounced around the table, punctuated by the words "serves her right." The burning knot in my stomach twisted harder.

A layer of cold sweat broke out across my forehead, and the blood drained completely from my face. I left those two shots untouched.

I clutched my stomach and bolted out of the banquet hall. I emptied the contents of my stomach into a bathroom stall until my throat burned raw.

The violent heaving finally stopped, leaving me gasping for air.

The sharp click of high heels echoed off the bathroom tiles behind me. "Regret it yet?" Cleo stood over me, looking down her nose.

I shrank back into the corner of the stall, clutching my aching stomach. The cold sweat glued the damp strands of hair to my temples. I was a total mess.

Cleo stepped closer. "Thanks for making my brother go out and buy you a double cheeseburger on the exact same night he proposed.

Otherwise, I really would have had to call you my sisterinlaw." The muffled, upbeat bass from the banquet hall drifted through the heavy bathroom door.

I gritted my teeth against the cramping pain and forced the corners of my mouth to lift. "I'm sorry, Cleo…" Splash— She hurled the icefilled martini in her hand directly into my face.

The heavy ice cubes slammed painfully against my cheekbones. "What good is sorry?!" Cleo's chest heaved. "Can it erase all the hell my brother went through?!

Can it bring Ruth back from the dead?!" She balled her hands into fists, her eyes bloodshot and blazing with pure hatred. "You're a curse!

My brother should never have met you!" My nails dug so hard into my palms they almost drew blood. A hot tear slipped from the corner of my eye. Should never have met me.

But he proposed to me. The memory of that night played behind my eyelids, crystal clear. … "Cora," Roman said.

He was always so calm, so collected, but his hands visibly shook as he held out the bouquet of roses.

He looked down and let out a breathless laugh, the tips of his ears flushing red. "First time proposing.

I'm a little nervous." "Make me yours officially, okay?" I laughed through my tears, called him an idiot, and nodded. I watched his fingers slide the diamond ring onto my left hand.

He wiped the wet streaks from my cheeks with his thumb. "Don't cry now. I'll give you plenty to cry about tonight." We were each other's first loves. High school sweethearts.

Eight years of dating, and he had kept himself completely restrained. So that night, he didn't hold back at all. My throat went completely raw.

Every ounce of energy was drained from my body. He pressed soft, lingering kisses against my damp skin. "Be a good girl, Cora.

Just take it." It wasn't until the early hours of the morning that he scooped me up to carry me to the shower.

That was when my stomach let out a loud, entirely inappropriate rumble.

He chuckled, the sound vibrating against my chest. "What do you want to eat?" I playfully threw a pillow at his face. "A double cheeseburger." I didn't know which latenight drivethru he ended up going to.

I waited for hours. He never came back. The heavy rain that started the moment he walked out the door didn't let up. Instead of him walking through the door, my phone rang.

It was Cleo. "Cora, if my brother doesn't make it out of the ER, I will hate you for the rest of my life!" Roman was in a car crash. Chapter 2 The rain poured in sheets that night.

He swerved violently to dodge a jaywalking street sweeper. The tires lost all traction on the slick asphalt. The sweeper walked away without a scratch.

Roman's car flipped twice before a steel guardrail ripped right through the windshield, burying itself deep into his chest. Outside the ER doors, Cleo's eyes were bloodshot.

She grabbed the collar of my shirt, practically tearing the fabric. "Give him back to me!" I stood there, totally numb, letting her fists slam into my shoulders.

Her acrylic nails dragged across my cheek, leaving hot, stinging trails of blood. That night, the doctors handed me a critical condition notice.

I stared at the sterile white hospital walls, muttering the same desperate prayer over and over. Take anything you want, just let him live. He lived.

But the severe trauma to his brain completely wiped his memory. He remembered his childhood. He remembered his friends.

Out of his entire life, my existence was the only thing his brain decided to permanently delete. "You're my fiancée?" The look he gave me was entirely blank.

His jaw visibly tightened, his posture stiffening as if my presence made his skin crawl. I stood frozen beside his hospital bed.

My thumb obsessively spun the diamond ring he had placed on my finger just days prior. The neurologist told me to give it time. Time would bring the memories back.

I never got that time. Cleo was thoroughly convinced my latenight burger craving caused the crash. She wanted me out of the picture immediately.

So, she orchestrated a daily visitation schedule for his childhood friend, Genevieve. Genevieve was soft, nurturing, the picture of polished perfection.

She brought organic homecooked meals and artisanal pastries. She would sit by his bed for hours, reading the Wall Street Journal aloud or discussing classical architecture.

Day by day, I watched the shift. I watched Roman's eyes transition from polite detachment to a warm, lingering gaze whenever Genevieve walked into the room.

But when he looked at me? Absolute dead space. Like looking at a stranger in a waiting room. Cleo crossed her arms, a triumphant smirk on her face. "See?

Genevieve is the one he needs. Not some toxic trainwreck who treats him like a personal errand boy." I tried bringing up the past.

I tried talking about our old apartment, our inside jokes, desperate to spark something in his eyes. But every single time, his brow furrowed.

He would physically lean away from me. "I'm sorry," he cut me off one afternoon, his tone clipped. "I don't remember any of that.

And honestly… I don't feel anything for you." The words felt like a steel pipe to my windpipe. I couldn't drag oxygen into my lungs.

Cleo leaned in, whispering in my ear. "I didn't tell him you caused the crash. Consider that my final act of mercy. Take a hint and leave.

He's never going to want you again." Shortly after, Roman announced his engagement to Genevieve.

Thanks to Cleo's relentless gossiping, I was reduced to a running joke in our social circles. … The memory dissolved. Cleo was already gone from the bathroom.

The violent twisting in my stomach had dulled to an exhausting ache, but the hotel's industrial AC blasted against my soaked dress, turning my skin to ice.

I wrapped my arms tightly around myself and pushed through the heavy restroom door.

Roman stood right in the middle of the hallway, his arm wrapped protectively around Genevieve's waist. "Are you alright?" Genevieve took a step toward me, her brow furrowed in a mask of perfect concern. "I heard people saying you were sick…" Roman gripped her forearm, pulling her flush against his chest. "You're pregnant.

Don't get near her." He stepped firmly in front of Genevieve, shielding her body with his own. He stared at me like I was carrying a highly infectious disease.

The icy chill in the air bypassed my skin and sank straight into my marrow. Violent shivers racked my spine. He had seen me in much worse states than this.

Chapter 3 Summer break, sophomore year. I was on a volunteer trip building houses in rural Appalachia. I slipped on the uneven terrain and faceplanted straight into a mud pit.

When I dragged myself up, I was coated in thick, black sludge that smelled of rotting leaves. Roman found me and immediately reached out to pull me into his chest.

I held my mudcaked hands up, blocking him. "Don't. I'm filthy." He grabbed my wrists, yanking me forward until his arms were locked tightly around my waist.

He pressed his cheek against mine, deliberately smearing the mud across his own skin. He smiled down at me. "Filthy where?

You're perfect." Right now, I was a hundred times cleaner than that day in the mud, yet he looked at me like I was a thousand times more repulsive.

Watching Roman shield Genevieve with his body, a sharp, burning sensation crawled up the back of my throat. "I'm not contagious," I rasped. His brow furrowed deeper.

He didn't budge an inch from in front of Genevieve, his features twisted in undeniable disgust. He didn't even address me. He murmured to Genevieve, "Don't worry.

I'll have the concierge grab her a coat." "Don't bother." I swiped the back of my hand across my eyes and turned on my heel.

But the wet heat just kept sliding down my cheeks faster than I could wipe it away. I swore to myself right then. I would never eat another double cheeseburger.

Not for the rest of my life. Cleo lived in the apartment directly across the hall from mine.

I was carrying a trash bag down the corridor when the elevator doors chimed open, revealing Roman and Genevieve coming to visit her. I dropped my gaze to the carpet.

This wasn't the first ambush. Cleo invited them over constantly just to spite me, always making sure they were obnoxiously loud in the hallway.

She'd routinely knock on my door holding a plate of whatever organic garbage Genevieve had baked. "Genevieve and my brother brought these over.

Thought you might want some scraps." Cleo relentlessly dragged me front and center into their relationship, forcing me to watch Roman fall in love with someone else in realtime. … This time, I couldn't stomach it.

I ducked into the stairwell and took the long way down, opting for a walk around the block to avoid them.

Down the street, an unfamiliar guy was walking a massive, uncollared mastiff mix. The dog lunged at the end of its leash, snarling and snapping its jaws at every passing pedestrian.

I sped up, trying to breeze past. The leash snapped. The beast charged. 150 pounds of muscle and teeth slammed into my chest, pinning me to the concrete.

Out of nowhere, Genevieve appeared. She grabbed a thick fallen tree branch from the gutter, swinging it wildly to scare the dog off. It didn't flinch.

The dog pivoted, launching itself at Genevieve. She let out a sharp cry as the impact threw her hard onto the pavement.

Seconds later, dark crimson pooled against the light fabric between her thighs. The stark red flooded my vision. My hands instinctively clamped down over my own lower stomach.

The visceral phantom sensation of life draining away hit me like a physical blow. I curled in on myself, gasping for air. The world went totally white.

Roman and Cleo sprinted out from the building lobby. The dog bolted. A pair of hands shoved me violently into the dirt. Roman scooped Genevieve up into his arms.

His eyes locked onto mine, dead and absolute. "You better pray she doesn't lose this baby." The deep claw marks on my forearm bled out, stinging like fire.

I bit the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste copper, staring him down. "Roman. It was an accident." He didn't even blink.

He just turned and carried her away. … After three hours in urgent care, a tetanus shot, and bandages, I dragged myself into the office. My pulse wouldn't settle.

Coworkers kept dropping by my cubicle. "Congrats in advance, Manager Cora." Our department head transferred to the Seattle branch last month.

The VP had pulled me into his office twice, strongly hinting the promotion was mine. "Thanks," I muttered. My phone screen lit up. A text from Cleo. [Genevieve miscarried.

You're dead meat, Cora.] Chapter 4 I stared blankly at the text message on my screen for a long time. The icy knot in my stomach pulled tighter.

The scheduled department meeting rolled around, but Russell, our VP, was nowhere to be seen. Paige leaned over. "Russell is schmoozing a VIP client.

Cora, have you picked a spot for your promotion dinner yet?" "You guys pick," I said. Russell finally walked in ten minutes late and launched into his standard quarterly rundown.

But as the meeting dragged toward its end, he completely bypassed the vacant manager position. Several coworkers shot me sideways glances.

Paige couldn't hold back. "Russell, what about the department manager spot…" Russell cleared his throat and avoided my eyes. "It's staying vacant.

Corporate is sending an external hire down next month." The conference room flatlined. Dead silence. All the blood drained from my face.

I shoved my chair back and bolted out of the room. Roman was just walking out of the VIP reception suite. "Why." I dug my nails into my palms and blocked his path.

He looked at me with dead eyes. "Genevieve lost the baby." "I told you, that was an accident." "Your promotion stalling out is an accident, too." Since the crash, I had forced every ounce of my grief down.

I convinced myself over and over to take the high road, to quietly pack away the Roman I loved and keep him locked in my chest. But he wasn't going to let me.

He insisted on wearing my Roman's face while systematically butchering the memory of the man I loved.

I locked my jaw and glared up at him, refusing to blink. "My Roman wouldn't do this." His eyes suddenly darkened. He closed the distance between us in two strides.

His arms wrapped around my shoulders, pulling me in. "I remember everything." His familiar scent flooded my lungs. The dam broke.

My tears triggered instantly, spilling hot down my cheeks. "Rom—" He shoved me away violently. "That's what your Roman would do, right?" I stumbled back, staring at him in shock.

His expression was absolute ice. "You were just thinking that if I got my memory back, I wouldn't treat you like this, weren't you? I know all about our little history.

Apparently, the old me was obsessed with you. Filled notebook after notebook, documenting every single pathetic detail of your life." He grabbed my left hand.

His grip was brutal as he forcibly yanked the diamond ring off my finger—the ring he had put there. "But looking at you right now? I feel absolutely nothing.

Because of you, I was in a coma. Ruth died of a heart attack because the stress of my crash was too much for her. And now Genevieve lost our baby.

Because of you." A muscle jumped in his jaw. "How are you going to pay for all this blood, Cora?" Every word was a sledgehammer to the ribs.

I opened my mouth, but my throat was completely paralyzed. There was no defense left to give.

Roman let out a harsh scoff, intentionally slamming his shoulder into mine as he walked past. "I'll have those diaries sent over later.

I don't need that garbage." That evening, a courier dropped a heavy cardboard box at my front door. It was packed to the brim with leatherbound journals.

I pulled one out and flipped to a random page. [March 22] [Picked a terrible day for a hike. Cora's face got sunburned.] [My fault.] [I didn't plan it out right.

Gotta doublecheck the UV index next time.] [She likes boba tea. No extra sugar, regular ice.] [April 6] [She's on her period. Supposed to avoid spicy food and cold stuff.

She insisted on eating spicy hotpot and a pint of ice cream. I said no, and she started crying.] [I'm not caving. Let her cry.] […] [It's not that I don't want her to have it.

WebMD says it'll make her cramps worse.] […] [Why is she still crying.] […] Chapter 5 [All thunder and no rain. Not a single tear.

What a little liar.] […] [Took her out.] […] [She only took a few bites. Fine, she was actually being good.] [Going home.

Definitely not caving next time.] — […] A single tear hit the page. The black ink instantly bloomed outward.

I frantically scrubbed at the wet spot, but more drops kept falling, blurring the words. I snapped the journal shut, terrified of washing away the last remaining traces of Roman.

I stared at the ceiling until sunrise. My head throbbed, so I took the morning off. When I swiped my badge at the office that afternoon, the stares started.

From the receptionist down to my cubicle neighbors, everyone looked at me like I had a target on my back. Then, I saw Victoria walking out of Russell's office. Our eyes met.

Her lips pulled up into a slow, mocking smirk. My boots glued to the carpet. The faded burn scars on my upper arm instantly flared up, radiating phantom heat.

Highpitched, vicious laughter blasted through my skull. Russell waved me over. "Perfect timing. This is the new department manager, Victoria. Victoria, this is Cora.

She's a senior employee here. Extremely capable." Victoria stepped toward me.

The sharp click of her stilettos against the marble floor felt like she was stepping directly on my spine. "No introductions needed, Russell.

We go way back." She extended a manicured hand toward me. "Don't we, Cora?" That outstretched hand yanked me straight back into the high school girls' bathroom. We were classmates.

One afternoon, while I was on hall monitor duty, I reported Victoria directly to the principal for doing drugs in the restroom.

She got suspended, her parents were called in, and it went on her permanent record. She pinned the entire disaster solely on me.

During my next patrol shift, Victoria grabbed a handful of my hair and dragged me backward into the stalls. "You like snitching?" She shoved the sleeve of my tshirt up.

She jammed the lit end of her cigarette straight into my bicep. The smell of burning flesh hit my nose. I curled into a ball on the filthy tiles. I screamed until my lungs gave out.

She shoved a chemicalsoaked cleaning rag into my mouth, choking off the sound. "Didn't I tell you to keep your mouth shut?

You think a hall pass makes you invincible?" She pressed the glowing cherry into my skin over and over.

I thrashed wildly, tears streaming down my face, but her friends pinned my shoulders down. "Did I say you could move?" They kicked me hard in the spine.

When they got tired, they leaned back, puffing on their cigarettes and blowing thick smoke right into my face.

For the grand finale, she used my bruised arm as an ashtray, stubbing out the burning embers directly into my raw skin. My body convulsed on the ground.

My tears mixed with the grimy mop water pooling on the floor. Their shrill laughter echoed endlessly off the ceramic tiles. Roman stayed late after practice that day. He found me.

He saved me. That was how we met. Victoria transferred shortly after. Rumors swirled. Some kids said she bullied one too many freshmen and a petition got her kicked out.

Others swore they saw Roman's mother marching into the principal's office. The very next morning, Victoria was expelled.

Victoria was gone, but the trauma buried itself deep into my bones. Even now, the faded burn marks on my arm still throbbed.

Every time I saw a lit cigarette, the phantom stench of searing flesh suffocated me. Chapter 6 I dragged oxygen into my lungs in ragged, shallow gasps. My chest heaved.

My boots were bolted to the carpet, every muscle completely paralyzed. Victoria realized I wasn't going to take her hand.

She slowly lowered her arm, an amused smirk playing on her lips. "Do you know who personally recommended me for this position?" She let the words hang in the air for a second before dropping them. "Your exboyfriend.

Roman." The room tilted. The moment you expose your deepest, ugliest scars to someone, you hand them the exact weapon to destroy you.

All the blood drained from my face, leaving me cold and hollow.

I locked my jaw, forcing myself to look her dead in the eye. "Looking forward to your guidance, Victoria." "Oh, you'll get it," she purred.

Right before clockout, Russell marched up to my desk with Victoria trailing behind him. "Victoria is still getting settled, and she has a dinner meeting with one of our corporate partners tonight.

Cora, I want you to tag along. Show her the ropes.

And while you're at it, get Victor to sign the renewal contract." Victoria snatched the folder up, a predatory smirk stretching across her glossy lips.

Just as we pulled up to the private dining club, she leaned over. "You should be thanking me for telling Russell to bring you tonight.

Otherwise, how would you ever get the chance to see Roman again?" Roman was already seated at the head of the massive mahogany table.

When I walked in, his gaze swept over me for a fraction of a second before dismissing me completely. Dead air. I dug my nails deep into my palms. Breathe. Ignore him.

He's a stranger. Victoria intentionally maneuvered me into the empty chair directly beside Victor.

He knew exactly why I was there with the folder, and he was milking it for all it was worth. "We can talk business later, Cora. Let's drink first.

When the mood is right, my pen will sign whatever you want." He grabbed the bottle of vodka, filling my shot glass until it spilled over the rim.

I had already choked down four straight shots just to keep things professional. The alcohol was rapidly hitting my bloodstream. My temples pounded with a vicious, rhythmic throb.

Victoria was seated on my right. The second she sat down, she lit a cigarette. She chainsmoked relentlessly. The suffocating stench of cheap tobacco.

The sharp metallic click of her lighter. The glowing red cherry of the cigarette that never seemed to burn out. Every sensory detail was a trigger pulling me back.

The faded scar on my bicep ignited, radiating phantom heat. Mixed with the cheap vodka blurring my vision, a wave of violent nausea crawled up my throat.

Suddenly, a heavy, clammy hand clamped down on my bare thigh. It started sliding dangerously high under the hem of my skirt.

Victor leered at me, his eyes slick with a disgusting, predatory hunger. I aggressively slapped his hand away.

I didn't believe for a second that Victoria was actually trying to help me out of a bad spot. Victoria casually exhaled a plume of smoke and chimed in. "Careful, Victor.

I wouldn't touch that if I were you. After all, she's Roman's leftover exgirlfriend. Isn't that right, Roman?" The clammy hand on my thigh snapped back as if scorched.

The rowdy chatter around the table died instantly. Every single pair of eyes locked onto Roman.

Roman took a slow sip of his whiskey. "Ancient history has absolutely nothing to do with me." The suffocating tension in the room instantly evaporated