The Secret of the Cadenza

My fiancé, Ben, composed a piece for our ten-year love story.
He called it Ten Years, a concerto for piano and violin, his specialty. It was to be his most personal gift to me at our wedding.
I'll play the piano, of course, he'd said, his fingers gently clasping mine. As for the violin… Selene, I'll have to entrust it to you.
Selene, my best friend of twenty years, accepted with a radiant smile. Tears of joy welled in her eyes as she hugged me. "Elara, to play for your and Jules's wedding… it's the greatest honor of my life."
During one of our final rehearsals, with me as the vocalist, something shifted. As they reached the cadenza, the most brilliant and difficult part of the piece, I watched them. The way their eyes met, the seamless flow of their music—a deep, unnerving intuition washed over me.
The dialogue between the piano and violin was no mere melody; it was an aching, tender conversation, a lover's lament that transcended friendship. It was filled with the whispered confessions and struggles of two people deeply, hopelessly intertwined.
And in that moment, I finally understood.
The story this song told, this masterpiece named Ten Years, was never about his decade with me.
It was about his decade with her.

1
"Stop! Elara, you came in early."
Selene’s bow lifted from the strings, her brow furrowed in concentration. "Jules and I have worked on this tempo countless times. We have our own way with this part."
Ben, seated at the grand piano, said nothing. His silence was an agreement.
We tried again.
His long, elegant fingers struck the final chord, and Selene’s bow drew its last, lingering note in perfect sync.
"Perfect," she said, her eyes shining as she looked at him. "Jules, this cadenza… only we can really pull it off."
They exchanged a smile, a silent language forged in a decade of shared studies and practice rooms. A world I, his fiancée of ten years, could never seem to enter.
Ben turned to me, his tone gentle. "Elara, you were still a little behind the beat that time."
"Was I?" I stared at the sheet music. "Maybe it's because the interplay between the piano and violin is so dense here. I can't find an opening."
Selene walked over, draping a familiar arm over my shoulder, but her words were for Ben. "She doesn't have the formal training, Jules. Maybe ease up on the perfectionism for a minute, huh?"
"Jules." Her special name for him, a relic from their conservatory days that had never faded.
He shook his head with a resigned sigh, but his eyes held no trace of annoyance. Only… a soft spot. An indulgence reserved just for her.
She released me and moved to Ben's side, leaning over to look at his score. A lock of her long, dark hair brushed against his cheek. "Right here, Jules," she said, pointing. "This transition would be smoother if we tweaked it."
"You're always right," he murmured, his voice laced with an unmistakable affection.
I stood frozen, watching their shoulders touch as they sat together on the piano bench, my hands crumpling the sheet music I was holding.
It was always like this.
When we were picking out my wedding dress, Selene had run her hand over the mermaid gown I adored. "This one's beautiful," she'd told the designer, "but she won't be able to move in it. Let's switch the main gown to the satin one with the train." Ben had agreed without a second's thought.
At the menu tasting, she'd taken a small bite of the cake sample. "The chocolate is too bitter," she'd announced to the manager. "Jules doesn't like it. Change it to vanilla." She hadn't even glanced at me, the bride.
And now, even with the theme song for our wedding, I was the outsider, the one who needed correcting.
The wedding planner's assistant bustled in, beaming as she walked straight to Selene. "Ms. Selene, here is the final event schedule you confirmed. Also, the bridesmaid dresses have arrived. Would you like to try yours on now?"
The assistant's gaze flickered past me as if I were a piece of the furniture.
Selene took the papers, then waved me over with a bright smile. "Elara, come look! You're going to love the timeline I planned for you!"
I watched her and Ben standing side-by-side.
And I suddenly felt that this wedding, the day I had dreamed of for so long, was nothing but an elaborate stage play. And I had been cast in the wrong role.

2
I left early, using the excuse of not feeling well.
The moment I got home, Ben’s call came. "Elara, the on-site rehearsal has started." His voice was warm, but in the background, I could faintly hear Selene giving directions. "If you're not feeling well, don't worry about coming back. It's just a run-through. Selene can stand in for you."
I hung up and opened the group chat for the wedding, "Happily Ever After."
Just then, the assistant accidentally posted a video from the rehearsal.
She retracted it almost instantly.
But a few seconds was all it took.
There on the screen, Selene was wearing my wedding gown, standing opposite Ben. They were practicing the part of the ceremony reserved for the bride and groom: the embrace, the kiss, the intertwined arms as they drank champagne.
Her fingers were clenched tightly on his sleeve, her knuckles white. She was looking up at him, a soft, intimate smile playing on her lips.
And in his eyes, there was only her.
The image froze in my mind, a portrait of two people so perfectly matched it burned.

3
My hands trembled as I pulled out the leather-bound book where Ben kept his original compositions.
There it was. Ten Years. The song he wrote "for me."
In the blank space at the end of the final, brilliant cadenza, a single line was written in his sharp, slanted handwriting.
"My moonlight, why won't you stay for me?"
The words, pressed deep into the page with a desperate, restrained force, hit me like a physical blow.
Selene.
Her name meant moon goddess.
His moon.
Our entire relationship had started with her. She had dragged me to a party our sophomore year, pointed to the quiet, handsome boy playing piano in the corner, and whispered in my ear, "See him? That's the campus heartthrob. Total catch, and a good friend of mine. Want an introduction?"
She was the one who sent me his number.
I remembered it all so clearly. That summer, I brought Ben home to meet my "best friend" for the first time as my boyfriend. Selene had answered the door in slippers, her eyes widening for a split second when she saw our joined hands. Then she’d thrown an arm around Ben’s shoulder, laughing her carefree laugh. "Well, look at you, Jules! Stole my girl right out from under me!"
She’d playfully put him in a headlock. "You better treat her right, you hear me? Elara's my sister. You hurt her, and you'll answer to me first."
She planned our anniversary dates. She mediated our fights. She was our self-proclaimed "matchmaker" and "buddy," a constant, welcome presence in every corner of our relationship, its most steadfast champion.
Over the years, I'd watched her cycle through a string of boyfriends. Once, drunk and leaning on my shoulder, she’d slurred, "I envy you, Elara. You still believe in love. Someone like me, from my kind of family… I’m already broken. Watching you two be happy… it's like I get to be happy, too."
So she was always at my place, sharing my parents, my home, and "incidentally," every detail of my life with Ben.
But now, this single page of music, this desperate, heartfelt plea, ripped her carefully constructed lies to shreds.
The "matchmaker." The "buddy" who didn't believe in love.
She had been in the shadows all along, stealing my happiness in the one way I never thought to guard against.

4
A chilling cold spread through me. I started retracing every "rehearsal" they'd ever had.
I drove to the studio they frequented and, claiming I’d lost something, asked the manager to pull up the security footage from one specific afternoon.
The video showed them just after they'd finished playing. Ben's hands were still resting on the keys when Selene put down her violin and wrapped her arms around his shoulders from behind.
"Jules," her voice was a seductive murmur, "our song… it even made her cry."
Ben turned, capturing her wrists. "And you? Did it move you?"
"I don't dare to be moved." She pressed closer, their noses almost touching. "You know I don't believe in any of this."
"But I believe in you," Ben whispered, cupping her face in his hands. And then he kissed her.
It wasn't impulsive. It was a practiced, hungry kiss. His hand slid expertly under the hem of her shirt, his fingers tracing patterns on her waist. She answered him, her own fingers tangling in his hair.
"Enough…" Selene breathed, pushing him away gently, though her forehead remained pressed against his chest. "I don't believe in love. I don't do marriage. You know that."
"I know," Ben’s voice was hoarse with pain. "That's why I can only love you by loving her. For ten years, every single day, I've been searching for you in her."
Selene laughed softly against his chest. "And did you find me?"
"I did," he said, kissing the top of her head. "Every time she smiles, it's like you. The way she talks, it's like you. Even when she wears the clothes you recommend, or the perfume you like… it all makes me feel like I'm with you."
I leaned against the wall, my legs threatening to give out.
For ten years, I was nothing but a mirror. A pathetic substitute.
He was looking through me, at another woman.
And she was reveling in a stolen intimacy without ever having to bear an ounce of responsibility.
They were the two people I had chosen as my family, bound to me not by blood, but by a love I thought was real.
And they had used my body, my life, as a vessel for their own sordid, decade-long affair.

5
The images from the monitor, the cruel, whispered words, were a thousand needles piercing my heart.
I stumbled back to my apartment, a space once filled with happy memories of the three of us that now felt suffocating. I started tearing through the place like a madwoman, purging everything that belonged to Ben, as if erasing his presence could erase the searing pain.
While clearing out his old, rarely used tablet, a private, double-password-protected photo album popped up.
Some dark instinct guided my fingers. I typed in Selene's birthday.
Access granted.
If the security footage had exposed their present betrayal, this album ripped open their past, revealing a truth more twisted and vile than my darkest imaginings.
The first photo made my blood run cold.
It was an ultrasound image. Selene’s name was printed clearly at the top.
The date was from six months ago.
The same month Ben had supposedly been on a "study trip" abroad.
I scrolled down, my hands shaking.
A positive pregnancy test. The caption read: "Welcome, my little melody."
Then, an invoice for an abortion procedure. Scrawled across it in Ben’s handwriting were the words: "My little melody, I'm sorry. Daddy couldn't keep you."
There was even a screenshot of a text exchange between them.
Ben: Have the baby. I'll break up with her tomorrow. We'll get married.
Selene: No. You know my parents… I could never be a good mother. I don't need marriage, and I certainly don't want a child.
Ben: But it's my fault. I was careless…
Selene: Jules, I don't blame you. And I don't need you to take responsibility. Just stay with me like this, forever. That's enough… Elara is your responsibility.
The last few photos were of Selene, sitting by a hotel window in her pajamas, a melancholy silhouette against the city lights. In the reflection, Ben was holding her from behind, his expression etched with guilt and heartache.
His month-long "study trip" had been a recovery retreat for her.
I collapsed onto the floor, a wave of nausea churning in my stomach.
For the past six months, he had been meticulously planning our wedding while secretly grieving the loss of his child with another woman. He had been ready to throw me away in a heartbeat for that baby.
It was only Selene’s "no-marriage" stance that had allowed me to keep my position as his fiancée.
How utterly laughable.
The marriage I treasured, the future I cherished, was nothing more than the leftover scraps she couldn't be bothered to accept.

6
I don't know how long I sat on the floor, my limbs stiff, my tears dried up. When I finally looked up, the face staring back from the mirror was pale but unnervingly calm.
My phone vibrated on the table. "Ben" flashed on the screen.
I stared at the name for a long moment before answering.
"Elara," his voice was so gentle it felt like liquid velvet. "What are you doing? Miss me?"
My fingers tightened on the phone, knuckles turning white, but my voice was soft, warm. "Just getting my things ready for tomorrow. My mom says it's bad luck for us to see each other, so I have no choice but to miss you." I even managed a light laugh.
He chuckled back, his low, magnetic voice the same one that had once captivated me. "I miss you, too. So much I can't sleep. I can't wait for tomorrow." He paused, his voice dropping to a whisper. "My bride."
My bride.
Such beautiful words.
Now they tasted like poison-laced honey.
From his end of the line, I heard a tiny, almost imperceptible sound—a suppressed breath, as if someone nearby was holding theirs. It was followed by the faint rustle of fabric.
I feigned ignorance, my tone perfectly natural. "What about you? What are you up to? Sounds like you have company."
"Oh, just a few guys from the orchestra," he answered smoothly. "They insisted on taking me out for one last drink. Celebrating my last night of freedom."
"Don't worry," he added quickly. "I'll only have one. I'll be in perfect shape for tomorrow."
"Okay," I murmured. "Don't drink too much. Get some rest."
We exchanged a few more meaningless sweet nothings. He spoke of his "excitement" for the wedding. I played the part of the blissfully happy, trusting bride-to-be.
After we hung up, the silence in the room was absolute.
I sat motionless, the phone still in my hand. His tender words echoed in my ears, but all I could see was the image of him and Selene entwined in the dark studio, the reflection of his arms around her in that hotel window.
How much of his tenderness tonight was real? And how much was the residual warmth from another woman's arms, a performance fueled by guilt?
I knew he wasn't with his "friends."
That quiet breath, that rustle of cloth… they were the ghosts in the machine, the silent proof that someone else was with him. Someone he couldn't name, but someone he was with on the very eve of our wedding.
My heart felt hollowed out, beyond pain. All that was left was a cold, sharp resolve. The desire for revenge grew like a toxic vine, consuming my every thought.
Slowly, I lowered the phone.
In the mirror, a chilling smile touched my lips.
He couldn't wait for tomorrow?
Neither could I.

7
By the time I had methodically packed up my life and had a courier service remove every last trace of me from that apartment, the sky was beginning to lighten.
In the bridal suite, I calmly slipped into the wedding gown. I sat at the vanity, allowing the makeup artist to paint the face of a perfect, radiant bride.
The woman in the mirror was breathtakingly beautiful. And as cold as ice.
Selene placed the veil on my head herself.
In the reflection, she stood behind me, her eyes slightly red, her sincerity flawless. "You're so beautiful," she whispered, her fingers gently adjusting the delicate lace. "Watching you get ready to walk down the aisle to Jules… it suddenly makes me think… maybe marriage isn't so terrifying after all."
I met her gaze in the mirror, my heart feeling like it had been pierced by an icicle. This moment of feigned affection was more nauseating than all her lies.
I curved my lips into a perfect, matching smile. "Really? That's wonderful."
The ceremony began. The lights dimmed, and the opening notes of Ten Years drifted through the grand ballroom. Ben was at the piano on stage, Selene beside him with her violin. They were lost in their melody, their souls intertwined in the music.
It was my turn to sing.
I picked up the microphone, but the planned lyrics never left my lips.
As the music swelled, my voice, clear and cold, rang out through the speakers.
"This piece is beautiful. It's a gift Ben spent a year composing for our 'ten years of love'."
The guests smiled, listening intently.
"But it was only yesterday that I finally understood the other ten years hidden in its melody."
The piano faltered, a single discordant note hanging in the air. Ben looked up, his face instantly ashen. Selene’s bow skidded across the strings, producing a screech of feedback.
I went on, my gaze sweeping calmly over the two of them. "The cadenza was a private piece they wrote together in college. It doesn't belong at my wedding. It's far too… intimate."
A nervous murmur rippled through the crowd.
"This song, meant to celebrate my love, is filled with evidence of their affair in every single measure I could never quite fit into!"
I raised a remote and pointed it at the massive screen behind the stage.
And I pressed play.
The carefully curated evidence appeared, scanned, edited, and set to the haunting score of their precious Ten Years. The security footage from the studio played, with Ben's voice on a loop: "I can only love you by loving her…"
The more passionate the music, the more damning the images.
The ultrasound. The positive pregnancy test. The invoice for the procedure. The text messages. The photo of them in the hotel room.
The ballroom fell into a dead silence, followed by a collective gasp of horror.
"Stop it! Elara! Please, stop it!" Selene finally broke, dropping her violin and screaming.
Ben slammed his hands down on the piano keys, creating a deafening, chaotic crash of sound.
Amid the wreckage, I looked past Ben, my eyes locking onto Selene.
"This song he wrote for you. This wedding I dreamed of for a thousand nights like a fool…"
"I'm giving it all back to you."
I pulled the veil from my head and tossed it onto the stage, a final, discarded piece of a filthy decade.
"I wish you both a lifetime of happiness."

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