He Kept His Eyes Closed

A week before our wedding, on a restless Sunday afternoon, I set my phone up on the kitchen island and convinced my fiancé to film one of those viral relationship tests trending all over TikTok. "The Intimacy Boundary Challenge: Keep your eyes closed, and only open them if your partner crossing this line with someone of the opposite sex would break your heart." I hit record. The computerized voice began listing the prompts: "One: Exchanging phone numbers." "Two: Texting each other about their daily lives, every single day." "Three: Grabbing dinner together, just the two of them." …… "Ten: Waking up in the same bed." Ten scenarios. Ten lines crossed. My eyes fluttered open ten separate times. Ten times, my stomach seized with quiet, suffocating panic at the thought of him drifting away from me. Bryce never opened his eyes. Not once. He sat across from me in his crisp linen shirt, arms loosely folded, his expression a smooth, unbothered mask. He didn’t flinch. His eyelids didn’t even quiver when the voice read "number ten". My breath hitched in my chest. A thin, cold thread of humiliation wound itself around my ribs. Before I could censor myself, the words slipped out: "You really wouldn’t care? Not even a little?" Bryce’s eyes finally opened. When he looked at me, his gaze held that familiar, clinical cool—the look he gave spreadsheets when the numbers didn’t balance. He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I trust you, Claire. What does trust have to do with jealousy? Don’t make a scene out of nothing." I swallowed the lump in my throat, forcing the edges of my mouth upward into a fragile, hollow smile. Just as my thumb hovered over the red record button to end the clip, Callie breezed in. "Claire, you will not believe what just happened," she sang out, tossing her designer bag onto the counter, completely oblivious to the camera. "Some insanely hot guy at the lounge last night just tracked down my Instagram and slid into my DMs—" Before the sentence even fully cleared her lips, Bryce shot up from his stool so fast it scraped against the hardwood. He lunged forward, grabbing Callie’s wrist in a grip that looked almost painful, his knuckles whitening, his jaw clenched tight. "You do not reply to him," Bryce bit out, his voice laced with an intensity I hadn’t heard from him in years. "Don’t you dare." I froze. In the sudden, heavy stillness of the room, a taut wire inside my chest snapped clean in half. … Callie pulled her wrist free with an exaggerated pout, stepping behind my shoulder with a breathless little laugh. "Claire, look at him! Always playing the overprotective big brother," she teased, tilting her head. "What, Bryce? Scared I’ll find someone better-looking than you? Don’t be such a cheapskate with my love life!" The last trace of my smile dissolved entirely. I stared at the man standing between us. The detached, unflappable man from thirty seconds ago was gone. In his place stood someone raw, visibly agitated, veins standing out slightly along his temples. "It doesn’t matter why," Bryce snapped, ignoring her teasing, his brow furrowed in genuine displeasure. "You aren't giving him your number. You aren't texting him your day, and you aren't seeing him again. Period." Callie lifted her chin, crossing her arms defensively. "Why shouldn't I? You two get to play house and be all domestic and cozy, and I’m still out here single! I deserve some romance too!" Without a word of warning, Bryce reached out, snatched Callie’s unlocked phone right out of her manicured hands, and tapped the screen with ferocious precision. Block. Delete. Done. Only after he handed the phone back did he seem to remember I was standing there, watching every twitch of his jaw. A flicker of something defensive crossed his eyes, followed immediately by that practiced, patronizing veneer. "I’m just looking out for her, Claire," he said smoothly, the excuse rolling off his tongue like a rehearsed line. "Men like that are predators. She’s naive, and she’s your best friend. Somebody has to protect her." I curled my fingers into tight balls, my fingernails biting hard into the meat of my palms. A wave of profound, suffocating grief washed over me. Five years ago, I introduced Bryce to Callie. I had thought it was sweet at first—how protective he seemed, how seamlessly he integrated my best friend into his circle of care. But gradually, that care had warped into an obsession disguised as duty. He tracked her cycle, warning her away from iced coffees and spicy food when she was cramping. He vetted every man who ever tried to buy her a drink, dismissing them all as unworthy, untrustworthy, or beneath her. Because of him, Callie hadn't maintained a relationship longer than three weeks in half a decade. They met for coffee without telling me. They texted inside jokes I wasn't privy to. Whenever the gnawing unease in my gut prompted me to ask questions, Bryce would look at me with exasperated disappointment. "She’s your best friend, Claire. Can you please stop being so paranoid?" he’d scoff. "If we have a fight, she’s the one who’s going to talk sense into you. I have to stay on her good side, don't I? Right, Mother-in-Law?" And Callie would always laugh, nod along, and swear up and down that Bryce was strictly family to her. Yet today, faced with the hypothetical image of me lying in bed with another man, Bryce hadn’t blinked. But the thought of Callie messaging an attractive stranger at a bar had driven him to physical fury. Callie’s coquettish giggles pulled me back into the present. "Oh, stop it, you two!" she groaned playfully, bumping my shoulder. "Claire, your fiancé has the jealousy of a Victorian ghost. If people didn’t know better, they’d think I was his bride-to-be! Poor you, marrying this dictator. He’s probably going to ban you from ever looking at another man, haha!" Bryce cut a sharp glance toward me, his voice flattening into an unconvincing chill. "I’m not petty. I just know Callie doesn't have the street smarts to handle men like that." I didn't say a word. I couldn't bear to hear another syllable of this choreographed dance between them. I jerked my arm out of Callie’s reach, grabbed my coat, and walked out of the restaurant. "Claire? Where are you going?" Callie called after me. Her voice was instantly cut off by Bryce’s dismissive scoff. "Let her walk it off. It’s pre-wedding jitters. She turns every little thing into a federal case lately. Let her cool down. We still need to eat anyway—did you finalize that maid-of-honor dress yet, Callie? Do you want me to drive you to the fitting?" The restaurant doors clicked shut behind me, muffling their voices. Walking down the street toward the autumn chill, the cold finally sank into my bones. Neither of them had remembered. Today was my twenty-seventh birthday. That dinner was supposed to be my celebration. I walked for blocks, my thoughts tangled into a knot that no amount of logic could undo. Suddenly, my purse began buzzing incessantly. A relentless stream of notifications vibrated against my hip. I pulled out my phone, startled to see hundreds of alerts flooding in from the app. That draft from earlier had accidentally posted when my thumb slipped. In less than thirty minutes, it had racked up over a million views. Yet there were few likes; the comment section was exploding. The very top comment, pinned under thousands of replies, struck me like a physical blow: "OP, respectfully… put the wedding on hold. Your fiancé is in love with your best friend." That single comment had over a hundred thousand likes. My hands began to shake as I scrolled. The consensus was brutal, unanimous, and devastatingly perceptive. Then, my eyes caught a screenshot someone had dropped: "Wait, isn’t this her best friend’s account? She posted the exact same challenge—tested on your fiancé." My breath hitched. I clicked the screenshot. It was Callie’s handle. When I tapped into her profile from my main account, it loaded blank. She had blocked me. With trembling fingers, I switched over to my burner account. Callie’s video loaded instantly. In the video, Callie smiled radiantly into the lens. "Someone sent me this intimacy challenge, so let’s test it out. Close your eyes, mister. Only open them if you can't handle it, okay?" Beside her, leaning back with a soft, indulgent, tender smile curving his lips, was Bryce. Before Callie even read the first prompt, Bryce’s eyes snapped open. His brows drew together in instant, possessive agitation. "Wait," his deep voice came through the speaker, brimming with raw jealousy. "Who sent you this? A guy or a girl? When did you meet them?" My phone slipped from my numb fingers, hitting the concrete with a dull crack. Tears finally breached the dam, hot and stinging against my cheeks. In that quiet, brutal moment of clarity, the truth was laid bare: Bryce hadn't lost his capacity for possessiveness. He had simply transferred it all to her. And if that was true, there was nothing left for me here. That video had been up for less than half an hour and already had hundreds of thousands of likes. The early comments were dripping with secondhand romantic swoons: "He didn’t even wait for question one! That possessive energy, I’m obsessed!" "Wait, his jacket matches her dress perfectly—they went out of their way to coordinate couple outfits!" "Not just the clothes, check out the silver huggie earrings! They’re matching sets! Total power couple vibes!" I picked up my cracked phone and stared at the screen, letting out a dry, bitter laugh. For five years, I had bought matching couple outfits; Bryce had sneered, calling them childish and refusing to wear them. Even couple rings, he refused to put on, calling them pointless. Yet for Callie, he had willingly created the entire ambiance of lovers. I wiped my tears, ready to swipe away, when I noticed her comment section suddenly erupting. The swooning comments were rapidly buried. Thousands of people armed with screenshots from my video had stormed her page: "Isn’t this guy your best friend’s fiancé? How are you not disgusted with yourself?" "Home-wrecker behavior caught in 4K. What kind of best friend does this?" "Trash man. Cold and deadpan in his fiancée’s video, won't even look at her properly, but running over here to act all territorial? Are you out of your mind?" I switched back to my main profile. The view count had surged from one million to over ten million. Major drama channels were already reposting the two videos side by side. I flagged a cab home, climbing into the backseat just as my screen lit up with Bryce’s name. The moment I pressed accept, his voice tore through the speaker, sharp and furious: "Did you do that on purpose? Why the hell did you post that video without telling me? You said it was just for fun!" His breathing was ragged. "I told you, I don’t want my face plastered all over your social media! Do my words go in one ear and out the other?" I gripped my phone, tears long dried, leaving only cold hollow grief: "We’ve been together five years, Bryce. We were about to get married. I can't post you on my page, but you can star in Callie’s?" The line went dead silent. Moments later, his voice hardened again. "Callie was just having fun. She meant no harm. Why do you always take everything so seriously?" "If she meant no harm," I asked softly, "why did she block me?" The line clicked dead. Five years. He had hung up on me countless times, all to free up time to chat with Callie on the phone. Whenever I showed jealousy, he only found it exhausting: "We were literally talking about you. What are you making a scene for?" This time, I was done making scenes. Not long after, he rushed through the front door. The ice cream cake in his hand had long since melted into a collapsed, leaking puddle. Bryce threw it straight into the trash with an expression of pure disgust, then looked up at me, his voice icy: "Delete the video right now. Do you have any idea how viciously Callie is being attacked because of you?" I stared at the trash can, answering with something completely unrelated: "I never got to ask the tenth question of that test. If I married someone else, would you accept it?" Bryce paused, a cold sneer curving his lips. "Throwing another tantrum? Let me tell you: if you don’t delete that video, go ahead and marry someone else! I will never marry a woman this petty—" "Okay." I nodded softly and smiled. Right in front of his eyes, I deleted the video. His face finally eased. He stepped onto the balcony to make a call to soothe Callie. My phone buzzed in my palm. It was that overseas number again: "He’s treating you like this, and you’re still going to marry him?" "Claire, I’ve been waiting for you all these years. If you’re willing, I’ll marry you." I glanced toward the figure on the balcony. Bryce was smiling, an unfiltered, tender warmth softening his features—a look I hadn't received in five years. The last ember of love inside me burned out. I typed my reply: "I’m willing." "I’ll take tomorrow’s flight to find you." The reply was instantaneous: "I’ll pick you up. I’ll handle everything. With me here, you don’t have to fear a thing." I locked my phone just as Bryce stepped back inside. He opened the door again to bring in another bakery box, setting it on the coffee table and taking a seat beside me. "Happy birthday, Claire. Callie and I had this specially ordered for you. I didn't expect today to turn into such a mess. Let’s just put this behind us. I know you have pre-wedding anxiety and you’re acting out, but don't do it again, alright?" If this had happened yesterday, that rare tenderness would have reeled me back in. Now, I stared at the cake, finding it completely laughable. "I have a severe dairy allergy to fresh cream. That’s why we always order dairy-free ice cream cakes." Five years, and he had never remembered. Because Callie was the one who loved buttercream. Bryce froze, his jaw tightening awkwardly. "I forgot. I’ll make it up to you tomorrow. It’s late, let’s get some sleep. I’ll sleep in our room tonight—" "No need." I stood up and gently pushed his hand away. "Aren't you going to stay on the phone with Callie? She can't sleep without your voice calls when she’s upset. Go be with her." I turned to walk away, but his hand caught my wrist. Turning back, I met a complicated, unreadable look in his eyes. "What’s wrong with you?" I paused. That question—the care I had spent five years begging for—had finally arrived. Only, I no longer wanted it. I pulled my hand free. "Nothing. I’m just tired." The condo had terrible acoustic insulation. All night long, I could hear him whispering bedtime stories to Callie through the receiver. The next morning, the moment he walked out the door, I left too, picking up my travel visa. Then, I texted my wedding planner: "Thank you for everything, Megan. Keep the deposit. The wedding is canceled." Megan was a close friend who knew my situation intimately: "Canceled AGAIN?! Does he actually want to get married or not? Five times in five years! Every time, your best friend has an ache or a pain and he pushes it back. What is it this time?" I smiled and texted back: "This time, it’s because of me." "I’m going overseas to get married. Just not to him." Silence hung on the line for a moment before she replied with heartfelt warmth: "It’s Emmett, isn’t it? He finally waited long enough. Congratulations, Claire. Truly." I slipped my phone into my pocket and returned to the condo to grab my essentials. The moment I pushed the door open, a violent slap struck across my face, knocking me to the floor. "Claire Hollis! How could you do this to Callie?!" I lifted my eyes. Callie was rushing from behind him, tears streaming down her face as she threw herself between us. "Bryce, don’t hit her! Claire was just lashing out in the heat of the moment!" She turned to me, her voice trembling with manufactured mercy: "Claire, as long as you apologize to me, I won't hold this against you." She reached out to pull me up, but I recoiled from her touch, using the wall to stand on my own two feet. My left cheek was burning, a high ringing humming in my ear. Yet my mind was terrifyingly clear. "I have no idea what you’re talking about." Bryce’s expression darkened with disgust. "Still playing dumb? You deleted the video, but you kept a backup and sent it directly to the dean at Callie’s university, didn’t you?! The board is moving to terminate her tenure track! The clip was leaked across campus forums, and everyone is demanding her resignation! You don’t even have a career—you have no concept of how vital this job is to her! Do you realize the magnitude of what you’ve destroyed?!" I understood everything now, and let out a soft laugh. "You think I did that?" Callie stepped forward, clutching my hand earnestly. "Who else could it be, Claire? I know you’ve always envied my independence and resented that I worked, but you shouldn't have destroyed me like this! Bryce made everything clear to you yesterday, didn’t he? That challenge was just harmless fun. I never once thought about being a home-wrecker!" I brushed her hand away, my voice calm: "I envied you? Did you forget who tutored you through every single qualification exam to land that job? And Bryce… I stopped working because you begged me to stay home and support your venture." Bryce frowned, a flicker of hesitation crossing his eyes. In the next breath, Callie burst into fresh, dramatic tears: "Are you saying I owe my entire career to you? How could you degrade me like that! Claire, I truly treated you like a sister! If I actually wanted to get between you two, I would have told Bryce years ago that you had an abortion—" The room plunged into an immediate, suffocating silence. Callie gasped, shaking her head in feigned panic. "I didn't mean that… I was just speaking out of anger…" I stared at her unfamiliar, calculating face, finding it sickening. Yes. I had lost a pregnancy. While supporting Bryce through the grueling early days of his startup, I became unexpectedly pregnant and suffered a miscarriage from sheer physical exhaustion. I never told him because I didn't want him crushed under the guilt. After all, I had lost our child while drinking on his behalf during high-stakes investor dinners. Bryce took two rigid steps forward, shielding Callie behind his body. When he looked at me, there was no affection left—only cold venom: "You had an abortion? Claire, why did you hide that from me? Were you this manipulative all along? Expecting me to raise another man’s ghost, quietly plotting against Callie behind my back, and now getting her fired?!" His jaw clenched hard, his face filled with utter revulsion. I looked at him for a long, quiet moment, feeling as if I were looking at a complete stranger. The man who once loved me with his entire soul was now ready to doubt my entire character over an accusation, degrading my integrity and the memory of that lost child. I had no words left for him. I bent down, picked up my small travel bag, and turned toward the door. Bryce lunged forward, catching my arm in an iron grip. A desperate struggle flickered across his face, his voice dropping low: "Why didn't you tell me about the pregnancy? Explain it to me right now. If you clear this up, tomorrow’s wedding is still on." I peeled his fingers off my wrist one by one, meeting his gaze with a faint smile: "There’s no need." I stepped into the elevator. Bryce rushed forward, his hand catching the sliding doors: "What do you mean, "no need"? Make yourself clear!" From inside the apartment, Callie’s theatrical weeping rose in volume. Bryce flinched. His hand on the elevator door hesitated, his eyes locking onto mine one last time: "I’m giving you tonight. As long as you explain yourself, I’ll let all of this go." The metal doors slid shut, sealing Bryce away from my life forever. When I said "there’s no need", I meant I had no need for that wedding, and no need for his conditional forgiveness. Because I already had a future I wanted to run toward. Only, that future had no place for him. ... Back in the apartment, Bryce had just finished calming the sobbing Callie down when his phone began to vibrate violently. Assuming it was my call, he picked up instantly. On the other end came his executive assistant’s voice. A flash of disappointment crossed his face. Yet, as he listened to what the assistant had to report, his features froze in an instant: "What did you say?"