Chapter 7: The Cruelest Betrayal

I’ll never forget that day.

The memories are sharp as the smell of burnt onions, the ache in my hands from chopping vegetables for hours. The hope in my chest, so bright it almost hurt.

The first time I cooked, my hands covered in cuts, surrounded by ruined ingredients, I made a whole table of food—eighteen dishes, just because Marcus said he wanted to eat my cooking for his birthday.

I wore my best apron, flour smudged on my cheek, humming nervously as I set the table. The clock ticked past seven, and I lit a candle, just in case. It felt like the start of something.

But when the doorbell rang, I didn’t get praise or thanks. Instead, I got laughter.

The sound hit before the sight—raucous, unkind, echoing off the walls. My chest tightened. I peeked around the corner, spatula in hand, confused.

Unbelievable laughter.

My heart dropped, the world spinning. It was the kind of laughter you never forget—the kind that makes you wish the floor would open up and swallow you whole.

A whole group of people laughed at me without mercy. Caleb clutched his stomach, nearly falling over. Derek grinned wickedly, whistling and filming my stunned, apron-clad confusion on his phone.

Even my favorite playlist, still playing from the kitchen speaker, felt like it was mocking me—lyrics sharp and taunting.

And Marcus.

He leaned against the doorway, smiling faintly, watching like a winner enjoying his prize.

I searched his face for regret, a hint he’d stop it—but there was nothing but cold amusement.

“Who would’ve thought our proud, untamable Natalie Sanders could be so domestic? Hahaha...”

Derek’s voice rang out. The laughter was sharp as broken glass. I tasted salt, not sure if it was from the ruined soup or my own tears.

“Good thing our bet was only for a month. Otherwise, Marcus, she’d probably be willing to have your kid, hahaha.”

The words landed like punches, each one chipping away at what was left of my dignity. My hands shook, still clutching the spatula, as I tried not to cry.

“Ha, awesome. Next time, it’s my turn to play, right?”

The world spun. My vision blurred. I wanted to scream, to throw the whole ruined dinner in their faces.

When Derek said that, he paused, looked back at me, then shrugged and turned away, lips curled in a smile. “She heard it, huh? Then next time, let’s try something new.”

He pocketed his phone, already bored. My breath came in shallow, ragged bursts, the ache in my chest deeper than ever before. That night, I learned: you can survive anything—except the people you trust most turning you into a punchline.