Chapter 1I took some PTO to be the maid of honor for my bestie.
As soon as I landed, she had the latest iPhone, some Chanel, and a $5,210 "thank you" check waiting for me.
"Consider it a welcome gift. Even though I'm getting hitched, you're still my number one!"
I was so touched I could've cried. Next morning, I was up at the crack of dawn, slid into my bridesmaid dress, and rushed to see her.
Skylar was in the middle of her makeup. She turned around with a huge grin and waved me over, but the second I got close, her face went stone-cold.
"Get the hell out of my wedding, you bitch! NOW!"
I froze.
What the HELL just happened?
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"Skylar, is this some twisted joke? It's your wedding day—stop acting, you're actually freaking me out."
I tried to laugh it off, reaching out to touch her arm, hoping some physical contact would snap her out of this "prank" that was feeling way too real.
But Skylar jerked back. "I'm not joking. Get out, or I'll have security drag you out."
My hand stayed frozen in mid-air. My mind was a complete blank as I scrambled to figure out where I'd messed up.
But even as she picked up her phone to call security, I didn't have a damn clue.
I could barely breathe. "Is it something I did? Is there some local tradition I missed? I'll apologize for whatever it is—just don't be mad."
Skylar was marrying into a family out of state. It made sense that there might be some weird local customs I didn't know about.
Clinging to that like a lifeline, I looked at her with total sincerity.
"Just talk to me."
Skylar glared at me with pure venom. "There are no customs. The fact that I'm not spelling it out is me being nice to you. Security! Get her out of here! I never want to see your face again!"
Just yesterday, we were lying in bed reminiscing about high school. She was so worried about me being jet-lagged that she'd booked me a suite just to rest. We'd only been apart for three hours—how the hell did she flip the switch like this?
The guards closed in. I shook my head, looking at Skylar pleadingly. "I don't know what I did, and you won't tell me. I'm sorry, okay? But today is the biggest day of your life. Don't kick me out. I'm the only bridesmaid you've got. What are you going to do without me?"
The second the words left my mouth, Skylar lunged and started ripping at my dress. "Take it off!"
She shoved the makeup artist toward me. "Any girl can do this job, I don't need you. Wren, get the hell out. I don't have time for this—my makeup isn't even done! You're ruining my wedding! You bitch!"
I clutched the fabric tight so I didn't end up standing there naked.
Being called a "bitch" felt like a punch to the gut that drained every ounce of my energy.
I looked at her helplessly. I took out the custom silk fan I'd stayed up for nights to hand-craft and set it on the table.
"Happy wedding. I'll leave the dress at the front desk."
Skylar grabbed the fan immediately. Thinking there was still a chance, I hurried to say, "I spent forever on that. I actually got blisters from the hot glue. It's exactly your style."
The next second, she slammed the fan onto the floor right in front of me, shattering it into pieces.
She pointed at the door. "Get. Out."
I went back to my room, stripped off the dress, and sent her a text.
"I'm staying at the hotel. If you need me, I'm here."
Red exclamation mark. The message didn't go through, Skylar had blocked me.
I slumped onto the bed. Complete and utter defeat.
I didn't have a single damn clue why.
Chapter 2
Instead of an answer, I got kicked out of the building. Skylar had security toss me onto the street.
Clutching my suitcase, I stood in the biting wind, staring at their giant "Happy Couple" portraits.
I called the groom. I had to know. If this friendship was dead, I wanted an autopsy.
He picked up. The guy who was always a perfect gentleman suddenly started barking threats. "You've got the balls to call me? Skylar is so unlucky to have a 'bitch' like you as a friend! Get lost before I make you!"
That hit me. I thought I finally smelled the rat.
Holding the gifts from yesterday, I dodged the guards and snuck back to Skylar's room.
I spoke to her despite the look of pure disgust on her face. "Is this about the gifts? You think I'm just after the money? I'm giving it all back. I just want my best friend back."
Yesterday, I thought the stuff was too flashy and tried to say no, but she insisted, saying we weren't "real friends" if I didn't take them.
Maybe the whole thing was just a twisted test.
Skylar looked at the gifts, then at me, like we were both straight out of a dumpster.
"This shit means nothing to me," she sneered. "One last time: get lost or I'm calling the cops. My fiancé has power, he has money, and he's obsessed with me. You'll be rotting in a cell."
I watched her actually dial 911.
I bailed before the operator picked up.
I left the gifts behind.
I hadn't even reached the lobby when the gifts were thrown out after me like trash.
"Garbage gifts for a garbage person. Take the shit you touched and get lost."
I picked them up. Look, I'm not an idiot—I'm not throwing away thousands of dollars. Between the unpaid leave and the flights, I'd spent a fortune to be here.
I booked the first flight home.
I figured if I left early, and she realized she actually needed me, I could still make it back.
I texted my boyfriend about the disaster.
I sent him the photo from the day before—me in the dress, laughing and messing around with Skylar.
"Look at the dress! It's not thirsty, it's not flashy. I put my hair in a bun so I wouldn't steal her thunder. I wore modest jewelry—classy, not trashy. I even wore flats so I'd be shorter than her. I thought of everything! Why is she doing this?!"
He sent a "hug" emoji.
"If your conscience is clear, then the problem is her, not you. Stop beating yourself up. Just come home. I'll take you to dinner tonight and we'll just forget this whole mess."
I sighed.
A pathetic part of me was still waiting for a text from Skylar.
But even as the final boarding call echoed through the airport, she never reached out.
I started the long trip home.
I walked back to my apartment like a hollow shell.
My boyfriend was supposed to pick me up, but he bailed for a last-minute business trip.
Our dinner plans were pushed back indefinitely.
My college roommate and current housemate, Rowan, saw how miserable I looked. "What happened? Was the wedding that bad?"
I told her the whole story.
Her eyes went wide. "How could she do that?"
I didn't know either. I just gave a long, heavy sigh. "I'm exhausted. I'm going to sleep. You should get some rest too."
Rowan nodded.
When I woke up the next morning, there was breakfast on the table with a note: "Cheer up! Off to work!"
That actually made me feel a little better.
We started renting together when we were broke graduates. Even after I started making good money, we stayed roommates. Real ones stick together.
I finished every bite, sent her a photo of the empty plate, and headed to the office.
Chapter 3
My manager had only cleared me for a forty-eight-hour leave. He said I was too much of a heavy hitter to be gone any longer. If I didn't clock in today, HR would start slashing my paycheck.
I stepped into the conference room and saw the Chairperson. She almost never showed her face at the office.
I gave her a professional nod and a smile, and she offered one right back.
But the second my ass hit the chair.
Her face twisted into a mask of pure rage. She slammed her palms onto the mahogany table and lunged to her feet, pointing a trembling finger at me.
"You! Get the hell out of my building. You're fired!"
I was floored.
The deja vu was so violent I couldn't even process it. "Why?" I stammered. "Is the project tanking?"
She shook her head. "The project is flawless."
"Is it because I took time off?"
"Your PTO was approved by the VP. Everything was by the book."
"Then why fire me? I haven't missed a single beat!"
"Wren, I'm the CEO. If I say you're done, you're done. Go to HR, grab your severance, and get your shadow out of my office in five minutes."
The Chairperson slumped back into her seat, huffing with a level of rage I'd never seen.
She was usually the "office mom"—the kind of woman who treated every employee like her own family.
She was the queen of second chances for minor slip-ups, but here I was, having done absolutely nothing wrong.
And the kicker? I was the top producer in the entire firm.
She'd been talking about sending me to London for international training.
She'd promised me a C-suite promotion and a massive raise once this project wrapped.
But now, she looked at me with nothing but pure disgust.
I felt like I was cursed.
"Give me a reason!" I demanded. "I've done everything right! Why are you doing this?!"
The VP started rubbing her back and glared at me. "Just walk away, Wren. If you stress her into a stroke, your severance won't even cover the legal fees."
His words snapped me back to reality.
She was high society, I couldn't afford the fallout if she collapsed.
I walked out of the conference room.
I caught the whispers at the water cooler: "I knew she was getting the axe."
Like a shark smelling blood, I lunged toward them. "You! Tell me right now! Why was I fired?!"
My coworker didn't even blink. "Because you're a bitch."
Bitch. That word again.
Skylar called me that yesterday.
And her husband.
What the hell had I actually done?!
I stared at my reflection in the glass.
Dress pants, loafers, a blazer. I looked every bit the professional. No heavy makeup, no revealing clothes.
I asked them, desperate, "Why? Why is everyone calling me that? What is the reason?!"
She backed away like I was contagious, her lip curling in a sneer.
She waved over the guards. "Hurry up and toss her out."
Once again, I was dragged out like trash.
