Paper Promises

1 Two minutes before our flight was scheduled to board, my fiancé’s "girl bro" tossed a newly printed boarding pass directly onto my lap. "So sorry, Rory," Hannah said, her grin entirely unbothered. "Looks like the romantic getaway just turned into a squad trip." Around us, the rest of his crew burst into obnoxious laughter. "I mean, we’re his best friends," Hannah continued, crossing her arms and looking down at me. "You’re not gonna cry just because we took a little bit of your quality time, are you? I know you’ve got that whole old-school, hopeless romantic fantasy about giving yourself to Brandon on your pre-wedding trip, but hey—you wouldn't let us ruin the big plan, right?" Brandon stood beside her, the corners of his mouth twitching with amusement. He gave Hannah a light, performative nudge. "Hey, take it easy on her. My girl’s sensitive. You tease her in front of everyone like this, and she’s gonna burst into tears." Hannah rolled her eyes. "Bro, I’m literally helping you train her. Romance doesn't pay the mortgage. You’re marrying her for real life. Come on, Rory, ditch the cheesy honeymoon vibe and come hang with the pack. It’ll help you actually fit in for once." I didn’t say a word. Beneath the cool plastic armrest of the terminal seat, my thumb tapped out a single message to my childhood friend. Flight leaves at three. If you can make it, we’re getting married instead. ... I have had an overactive tear reflex since I was a little girl. Whenever I’m overwhelmed, angry, or cornered, my eyes betray me before my voice does. Even when my mind is completely clear and ready to solve the problem, the stinging in my eyes is instant. Because of that, I kept my distance from dating for years, terrified of showing weakness. In our social circles, people labeled me an untouchable ice queen. Then Brandon came along. He looked me dead in the eye and said, "A real man’s job is to solve problems. Don't worry, Rory. I’ll fix whatever is hurting you before a single tear can hit your cheek." I believed him. And under his watch, I ended up crying more than I ever had in my life. The Delta Sky Priority agent approached, holding out Brandon’s reassigned seat ticket. I didn’t take it. I simply reached out, grabbed the handle of my Rimowa suitcase from Brandon’s grip, and pulled it back toward me. When I turned to walk back toward the main lounge, Brandon stepped into my path, blocking me. "Rory, come on. We’ll have our private trip later, okay? We can do it right after the wedding." He lowered his voice, trying for soothing, but there was an edge of irritation beneath it. "My crew went out of their way to plan this reunion with me. Give me some face here. Look at the bigger picture." I looked past his shoulder at the peanut gallery watching us—grinning, waiting for my usual quiet surrender. Then I looked back at Brandon. I raised my hand and slapped him across the face. The crack echoed sharply against the terminal glass. "You're the one who threw my dignity away first," I said. My voice was thick, that familiar, humiliating heaviness already clogging my throat. "What do you mean, they 'rarely get to hang out'? On our three-year anniversary, they were in our living room pounding IPAs until four in the morning. When I was running a hundred-and-two fever with the flu, you ditched me to go bass fishing with them and lied about it. Do you want me to list every single secret get-together you’ve had behind my back?" Brandon’s face went rigid. His eyebrows pulled tight. "You’ve been tracking me?" I cut my eyes toward Hannah and let out a cold, sharp laugh. "I didn't have to. Your 'best bro' makes sure to post you on her Instagram stories in real time, every single time. A whole pack of frat boys, and she’s the only girl in the middle. Please. Don't insult my intelligence." Hannah flapped her hands dismissively, though her smile tightened. "Oh, my bad. I guess I forgot to hide my stories from you. Everyone was posting, though." I scanned the rest of the guys. Every single one of them shifted uncomfortably and looked away. I brought my focus back to Brandon. "Do you even remember why we were taking this trip? In my family, taking an extended trip together before signing a marriage license is a tradition—it’s how you find out if you can actually survive each other under stress. You knew that. And you still couldn't cut the cord with them." Hannah shoved her way between us, glaring at me. "Alright, that’s enough. You slapped him, you threw your tantrum. What 'family tradition'? It’s just your ridiculous, high-maintenance fairy-tale obsession. We already bought the tickets. Can’t you drop the princess routine for once in your life and just accommodate everyone else?" Accommodate. Once, twice, every damn time. Brandon rubbed his reddened cheek, his patience visibly snapping. "Rory, seriously. Hannah’s giving you an out. Stop making a scene over nothing. Pushing our private trip back a few days is not a big deal." Not a big deal. I exhaled a slow, shuddering breath, feeling the final tether snap clean inside my chest. "Go ahead then," I said quietly. "Take the trip with them. And when you get back, you can just go ahead and marry your bros instead. Since I’m not a big deal anyway." I pulled my suitcase toward the secluded corner of the Sky Club. My phone vibrated relentlessly in my palm. Lucas: I’m already in an Uber on the freeway. Five minutes out. Lucas: You don't get to back out this time, Aurora. If you flake on me today, I don't care if your parents disown me—I’m keeping you by my side. Lucas was my first love, back before life got complicated. We fell apart years ago because I couldn't handle how fiercely, unapologetically possessive he was. Looking back now from the wreckage of Brandon’s complete lack of boundaries, pure, uncomplicated possessiveness sounded like heaven. The lounge attendant quietly printed me a solo ticket. Seeing that I hadn't left the airport entirely, Brandon’s friends assumed I had swallowed my pride as usual. They strolled over, surrounding my table. Nate leaned against the marble counter, a smug, lazy grin on his face. "Hey, sis, don't stay mad at us. We know you were just blowing off steam. By the way, we heard that luxury resort we’re heading to is owned by your dad’s hospitality group. Since we’re basically family now, why don't you call in a favor and bump all our suites to the penthouse level? Just a little perk for the boys, right?" Tyler, who spent his entire life trying to become an influencer, shoved his camera closer, eyes gleaming. "Yeah, I already told my followers I was doing a high-roller vlog this weekend. Don't let me down, Rory. You hook us up now, and we’ll make sure your wedding reception is legendary." Legendary. I knew exactly what they considered legendary. Brandon came from new money, and his circle was a collection of high school slackers riding his coattails. When we got engaged six months ago, his friends insisted on "planning" an unforgettable surprise party for us. They hired go-go dancers from a downtown dive bar to perform on stage in front of my conservative family. They replaced the catered French cuisine we had ordered with bags of dollar-store junk food and cheap gas station candy. Hannah had literally snatched the microphone from our master of ceremonies, laughing into the speakers: "Our girl Rory loves sentimental nonsense, right? We’re helping her reclaim her inner child! Aren't you guys so touched?" Both sets of parents sat in horrified silence. Only Brandon and his idiot pack stood up, whistling and clapping. "Man, you guys are geniuses! An engagement party nobody will ever forget!" The entire fiasco made the rounds across our social circles, turning me into the punchline of every country club brunch for two straight months. I had spent nights crying until my ribs ached from pure humiliation. "A tradition?" I looked up at Nate, my voice dead and level. "You people aren't worthy of the word." Brandon walked over, his brow furrowed as he slipped back into his condescending, coaxing tone. "Rory, that’s uncalled for. The guys were just trying to hype us up. Besides, romance doesn't put food on the table. A vacation is a vacation. If it really bugs you that much, I’ll tell them to do their own thing during the day and I’ll spend the evenings with you." The classic Brandon playbook: slap me with disrespect, toss me a crumb of comfort, make a promise, and immediately disappear to go play. If I dared question him later, he would put on his wounded, gaslighted face: "I did what I promised, didn't I? I stepped away for five minutes and you’re treating me like a prisoner. I’m a human being, Rory, not a lapdog you keep on a leash." And back then, I actually believed him. I would sit in my room, agonizing over whether I was too controlling, whether I was suffocating him. He was a person; he deserved his freedom. It took me until today to realize: he made the promises. Why was it my fault when he broke them? Because I stayed quiet, Brandon assumed I had surrendered. He turned around and headed toward the buffet area. A second later, the group chat I had been added to months ago began blowing up. Nate: Man, God bless Brandon. Rich, gorgeous fiancée who just lets her man run wild with the boys. Tyler: She used to act like an untouchable queen. Turns out all it took was Brandon knowing how to break her in. They had completely forgotten I was still in the group. Nate: Bro, spill the playbook. How’d you get her so docile? Before Brandon could reply with one of his usual smirking emojis, Hannah jumped in. Hannah: Don't ask him, ask the master. It’s simple: you treat her like a dog. Hannah: At first, you give her the princess treatment. Overwhelm her until she thinks you’re her entire universe. Then, the second she gets comfortable, you pull back. Run hot and cold. Keep her off-balance. A cold chill ran straight down my spine. It all made sense. In the beginning, Brandon was the dream boyfriend—attentive, anticipating every need, planning every date down to the second. The exact moment I lowered my walls and allowed myself to fall, the shift happened. Unanswered calls. Ignored texts. And whenever I confronted him, he never yelled. He just gave me that soft, patronizing pity. Hannah: High-society girls crack under soft pressure. When you mess up, never get angry. Stay gentle, act reasonable. No matter how mad she is, she’ll end up blaming herself. My chest tightened until drawing breath felt like inhaling crushed glass. The sheer, calculated malice of it made me sick. Tyler: Bro, Hannah, you’re literally Machiavelli. Nate: LMAO the little heiress is totally wrapped around his finger. Look at her just sitting there, having no clue she’s being trained like a golden retriever. Tyler: Ice queen turned pet. I’m dying. Good thing we got this side group so we can actually talk real. They thought they were posting in a private splinter chat. They had sent it to the main thread by mistake. A bitter, quiet smile pulled at my lips. A direct message popped up from Brandon. Brandon: My checking account’s running a little low this week, so let’s put the group’s tab on your Amex for now. Don't bring it up in front of the boys, though. Don't embarrass me. I didn't reply. Instead, I opened my banking app, pulled up my authorized users, and revoked every secondary card under my name. A moment later, Brandon walked back over, holding a plate with half-eaten dry-aged steak. He slid it onto my table like he was tossing scraps to a stray. "Hannah didn't finish hers. She figured you hadn't eaten and didn't want you to starve. You could learn a thing or two from the guys about not being wasteful." Weaponizing thriftiness—another classic Hannah lesson. She loved preaching about how hard farmworkers had it whenever I ordered an iced matcha latte, creating guilt out of thin air. My vision blurred with hot, involuntary tears. "Why couldn't you give her my leftovers instead?" Brandon pushed the plate closer, his eyes flashing with irritation. "Because ordering a whole new meal for you is a waste of money. You eat like a bird anyway. Half a plate is plenty for you. Besides, once you touch food, it’s got your germs on it. Why would I give that to Hannah?" He understood etiquette when it came to her. But when it came to me, I was supposed to be grateful for scraps. I bit the inside of my cheek, fighting the tears, but my voice broke. "If you love her leftovers so much, eat them yourself." Right then, my phone rang. "Rory! Rory, where are you?" My eight-year-old sister Harper’s sweet, frantic voice piped through the speaker. "Don't go on that trip with that mean guy! He’s bad, Rory. He always makes you sad!" The absolute clarity of a child’s intuition hit me right in the sternum. "Mom and Dad said you’re getting on the plane right now," Harper sniffled. "I don't want a brother-in-law who makes my big sister cry." The warmth that flooded my chest dissolved the rest of my restraint. A single tear slipped down my cheek. "I hear you, sweetie. I’m not going anywhere with him. I’m staying home." Harper was born when my parents were older, and she was my entire world. She loved everyone who was kind to me. The only person she had ever despised was Brandon. She had literally tried to tackle him once when he raised his voice at me. "Is that little brat giving you bad advice again?" Nate sneered from behind Brandon. The rest of the guys chuckled. "Seriously, man," Nate said, leaning in. "How did an ice queen end up with such an annoying little sister? If she was mine, I’d give her a good slap. You spare the rod, you spoil the kid. If you don't have the stomach to discipline her, Rory, let us do it. I personally love the sound of a spoiled brat getting put in her place." A chorus of ugly, snickering agreement followed. I didn't hesitate. I picked up the plate of cold steak and slammed it directly into Nate’s face. The greasy black pepper sauce splattered across his nose, dripping down his collar and ruining his designer shirt. The heavy ceramic plate hit the terrazzo floor, shattering into sharp pieces. Before he could process the shock, I drove the heel of my boot straight into his shin. Nate dropped to one knee with a sharp yelp. "You think you’re touching my sister?" I looked down at him, my voice freezing cold. "The only reason your family’s logistics company hasn't gone bankrupt is because my father keeps throwing you distribution contracts. Without the Montague family, you are nothing. Do you want me to call your dad right now and let you repeat that to his face?" Brandon grabbed my wrist, pulling me back with open hostility. "Rory, stop it! We’re all friends here. Pulling family status like a spoiled brat is way over the line!" Over the line. When his friends openly threatened to hit an eight-year-old girl, that was fine. But defending my family was "over the line." He thought he had me trapped because I loved him. He didn't realize that my phone call with my mother was still active in my back pocket. The intercom chimed overhead, announcing final boarding for their flight. The gate agents were already calling names. The guys grabbed their bags, scrambling to move. "Brandon," I said, my voice steady. "If you walk through that gate with them, don't ever come back." He scoffed. "I already invited you to come with us! We just expanded the trip. Stop ruining everyone’s good time." Hannah reached out, trying to loop her arm through mine in mock sympathy. "Rory, look, I’m sorry for what I said earlier, okay? Don't make things hard on Brandon. If you really want that special alone time with him, I’ll take the boys to the hotel bar later so you two can do your thing..." I swung my arm and struck her across the cheek. The slap cracked loud and clean. Brandon instantly shoved Hannah behind his back, his eyes blazing with fury. "Aurora Montague, you are completely out of your mind! Let’s go, guys. Leave her here to rot on her high horse. Let’s see how long she lasts." "She won't last three days," Tyler laughed as they backed away. "Hold out on her, Brandon. Teach her a lesson." Their crude, mocking laughter drifted down the corridor as they headed toward the jet bridge. I sat back down on the plush leather chair, my hands trembling slightly. A tall shadow fell over me, blocking the harsh terminal lights. "Who made my girl cry?" I looked up. The familiar, sharp jawline, the dark hair, and the intensity in those dark grey eyes took the air right out of my lungs. Lucas stood over me, out of breath, his coat slung over one shoulder. Down at the gate, the door was officially sealing shut. Brandon, already settled in his first-class seat, turned to Tyler. "Did she sneak onto the plane after all? Ask the flight attendant." The flight attendant checked her tablet and shook her head politely. "Seat 2B is vacant, sir. The passenger did not board." Brandon’s face darkened. "She actually stayed behind." The captain’s voice came over the speaker: "Cabin crew, prepare for departure. Please ensure all personal devices are switched to airplane mode." Back in the terminal, I looked up at Lucas, sniffing softly. "Honeymoon trip. Are you coming or not? It’s family tradition." Lucas didn't blink. "I’d follow you into a burning building." Before I could even reach for my phone, he pulled out his own and dialed my parents. "Mr. and Mrs. Montague? I’m taking Aurora on a trip for a few days. The second we land back in the city, I’ll be at your house to officially ask for her hand." My phone buzzed with an incoming call from Brandon. Brandon Cole calling... I swiped red and declined it. I reached out, grabbed Lucas’s broad, warm hand, laced my fingers firmly through his, and snapped a photo of our entwined hands. I posted it straight to my feed. Honeymoon departure. Right on schedule. On the taxiing aircraft, just before turning on airplane mode, Nate stared at his phone screen, his voice shaking. "B-Brandon... your fiancée just left for her honeymoon with someone else."