Chapter 4

Chapter 4

I picked myself up off the ground, a mess, and brushed the ash off my pajamas.

The firelight played over my face, but my voice was cold as ice. “It’s nothing. I opened it to take a look and there were bugs crawling in it. I think I saw a spider. So I burned it.”

Seeing me like that, he finally seemed to realize he’d gone too far.

He took a deep breath, and his voice softened. “Are you okay? I’m sorry, I panicked. That’s years of our memories—weren’t we going to show everyone at the wedding? How could you just burn it? If there were bugs, you could have waited for me to deal with it.”

I didn’t even want to look at him.

The man in front of me was nothing like the one who’d sworn to protect me for the rest of my life.

“You’ve been so busy at work lately. I didn’t want to bother you with something so small.”

He stood beside me, looking at the ashes with real regret.

It was so ironic. He was the one who’d thrown away eight years for another woman with his own two hands, and now here he was, playing the devoted boyfriend.

I turned to go back inside. He thought I was still sulking, grabbed my arm, and pulled me into his arms.

The sugary perfume on him—Fiona’s—made me sneeze several times in a row.

He didn’t let go. He just got more worried.

“Are you catching a cold? I’m sorry. I know I’ve been too busy lately and I’ve neglected you. Once things calm down in a couple of days, I’ll take you to take new pictures, okay?”

Once, hearing something like that, I would have melted immediately.

But I’d just barely made it out of the ER alive. I didn’t even want to say one more word to him.

He’d forgotten I was allergic so he could throw another woman a birthday party. I couldn’t lie to myself about a relationship like that anymore.

When he’d had enough of holding me, I firmly pried his arms off.

“You don’t need to apologize. If you really feel bad, throw me a make-up birthday party.”

Because of my allergy, I’d never really been able to enjoy my own birthday parties.

At such a simple request, a flicker of panic and unease crossed his eyes.

He nodded. He was about to say something when his phone rang.

He glanced at the caller ID and hurriedly explained, “Something urgent at work. I have to go deal with it. Don’t wait up tonight. I’ll do what I promised, I swear.”

The whole time he was talking, he was already backing away, impatient, and by the time he’d finished he was a good thirty feet off.

I knew that ringtone. It was the one he’d set just for Fiona. But I couldn’t be bothered to call him out on the lie.

The party planners showed up at the apartment early the next morning.

So did Fiona.

She said she’d designed the setup and had come to oversee it.

But after a full day of decorating, I realized it was just a cheap knockoff of her own birthday party.

That night, after the crew had left, she came up to me with a smug, challenging look. “Aria, everyone worked so hard all day. So? Is it good enough for you?”

I looked at the limited-edition necklace on her neck—the one that used to be mine—and laughed. “Secondhand.”

The words were barely out of my mouth when she glanced past me, grabbed a crystal ornament off the shelf, and smashed it on the floor.

The flying shards cut her ankle, and she burst into wounded sobs.

Before I could react, a sharp slap landed across my face.

Damon was standing in the doorway. I had no idea how long he’d been there.

He shoved me aside and jabbed a finger in my face. “Are you done? Fiona was nice enough to come help you set up your party, and you pull this crazy stunt?

“If it’s not good enough for you, decorate it yourself!”

He didn’t give me a chance to say a word. Once he’d let it all out, he scooped Fiona up and stormed out without looking back.

I sat on the sofa, looking at the wreckage, and stayed there all night in that cold, empty living room.

When the delivery guy brought the birthday cake, I unboxed it, put in a candle, closed my eyes, and made a wish: that I’d never have to see any of these people again for the rest of my life.

Because of my allergy, I didn’t take a single bite. I dumped the whole cake in the trash.

The countdown ran out, and my alarm went off like crazy.

I dragged my suitcase out of that apartment and didn’t look back.

On the way to the airport, I sent Damon one last message: This is where it ends. Don’t contact me again.

It didn’t even count as a breakup.

One sentence, and eight years of my life were over.

As I turned off my phone before boarding, his calls started flooding in like he’d lost his mind.