Chapter 2

I stepped back and shut the bedroom door, twisting the deadbolt with a decisive click that left Jasper standing alone in the hallway.

When I woke up the next morning, the penthouse was quiet.

Sitting on the kitchen island next to a shot of espresso was a sticky note, written in his hurried, slanted scrawl:

[Unit got called out for a rescue op. Left you breakfast. Love you.]

I drank the coffee in silence.

Then, I pulled my trunks from the closet, packed every single thing I owned, and called my family's driver.

I was just wheeling the last suitcase toward the private elevator when the doors parted.

Jasper stepped out, freezing mid-stride as his eyes dropped to the luggage.

Instantly, his brow furrowed into a dark, frustrated line.

"Lira, I already apologized. Why are you still throwing a tantrum?"

I loved him. I really did.

During our sophomore year of college, a geology field trip in the Sierras had turned into a nightmare when a flash flood triggered a massive mudslide, followed by a localized wildfire.

Jasper, a rookie volunteer at the time, had charged into the burning debris single-handedly to pull me out. He shielded my body with his own, sustaining severe thermal lung burns that kept him in the ICU and rehab for a grueling year.

He gave me my life back. That profound debt of gratitude was the anchor that kept me beside him, teaching me to swallow my pride and tolerate his pathological blind spot for Elara.

But a life debt wasn't a marriage.

I looked at him, my voice barely above a whisper. "I'm not throwing a tantrum, Jasper. I'm just done."

Panic finally fractured his composed, authoritative bravado.

He lunged forward, gripping the handle of my suitcase to stop me from moving.

"You are not leaving. We're about to get married, Lira. Stop being unreasonable."

Outside, heavy rain began to lash against the floor-to-ceiling windows. I was a nostalgic person, but right now, my clarity was blinding.

I pulled out my phone, unlocked the screen to the text Elara had sent me the night before, and held it up to his face.

"Do you honestly still believe her feelings for you are just sisterly?"

Jasper stared at the screen, his jaw tightening.

"Whatever game she's playing, it doesn't matter. You're not walking out on us."

He looked up, his dark eyes pleading. "Lira, you're the one I love. I'm completely sure of that."

A bitter smile tugged at my lips.

He had used that exact phrase like a band-aid so many times.

He had said "I love you" while handing me a single flower, right after I saw his social media post gifting Elara ninety-nine imported red avalanche roses.

He had kissed my forehead and said "I love you" after I stayed up all night simmering a complex short-rib stew to bring to his rescue unit—only to turn around and carefully spoon-feed the best cuts to Elara because she was "feeling weak."

He had held me and said "I love you" when I surprised him with a custom-built vintage Cessna model to celebrate his promotion—before handing it over to Elara the very next day because she whined that it would look cute on her desk.

He doled out his words of love to me, but he gave every tangible piece of his devotion to her.

As if to prove my point, his phone shattered the tense silence of the foyer.

It was a custom audio alert Elara had recorded on his phone years ago, an inside joke he had always refused to delete: "Your favorite girl is calling! Pick up!"

I used to hate it. Whenever I complained, he would just roll his eyes with a fond, indulgent smile.

"She's just a kid, babe. Let her have her fun."

Elara was twenty-five. She was a full year older than me. If she was just a kid, what did that make me?

Now, Jasper cursed under his breath and answered the call, putting it on speaker in a desperate bid for transparency.

"Jasp," Elara's syrupy, perfectly pitched voice flooded the room.

"Is Lira still mad? Bring her to The Belvedere for lunch. I want to apologize to her in person."

Jasper hung up without answering her. He looked at me, running a hand through his damp hair.

"Lira, listen to me. Elara is getting married to a tech executive next year. She's finally realizing her attachment to me isn't romantic," he promised, his voice urgent.

"Just come to lunch with us. Let her apologize."

When I didn't reach for my bags, his usually commanding tone dropped into a soft, desperate plea.

"Just one meal. If you still want to walk away after that... I'll let you go."