Chapter 4

I went home.

Well—his home.

A sleek modern villa Dalton bought after his promotion, filled with designer furniture, minimalist art, and cold, empty spaces. Of course, my name was never on the deed. I was just the live-in girlfriend. The placeholder. The stand-in.

I walked through the rooms in silence, memories clawing at me from every corner.

I remembered the day we made it official. Back in high school, when I was his “little ears.” My job was to write down everything the teachers said, word for word, so he wouldn't fall behind. I’d walk him to class, carry his books, grab his lunch—basically, I was his personal assistant before we even knew what that meant.

That day during gym class, I’d gone to buy him a soda. When I came back, I saw him surrounded by a group of smug-looking kids, all laughing at him.

Dalton stood in the middle of them, arms crossed, expression flat—cold, detached.

“He really is deaf,” one of them sneered. “Can’t even hear us call him names. Hilarious, right?”

I didn’t hesitate.

I marched right up, cracked the soda bottle over that kid’s head, and watched his blood splatter across my face like some twisted badge of honor. It startled Dalton. Shocked him, really.

His friends tackled me to the ground. I was outnumbered and overpowered. But then—Dalton stepped in.

He shielded me with his own body when someone raised a brick. He got hit and went to the hospital.

When he got out, he dragged me to the track field without saying a word. I thought he was finally done with me. That he’d fire me as his note-taker, bodyguard, whatever I’d become.

I’d written I’m sorry on a scrap of notebook paper, heart pounding, but what came out of my mouth was, “Actually... I really like you.”

He froze.

Then out of nowhere, he hugged me.

“I like you too.”

Somewhere along the way, his hearing recovered. And I became his girlfriend.

For almost a decade, I stood by him—from the illegitimate outcast of the Wrenley family to the polished CEO of Wrenley Enterprises. Through it all, I was there.

He bought this villa after his first big win in the boardroom. Designed it himself. Every corner held traces of him. Of us.

I packed my suitcase.

And I left.

It wasn’t until I walked out the door that I realized the truth.

I’d never been his partner. I’d been his full-time nanny, secretary, emotional crutch. Now that the real girlfriend was back in town, my services were no longer required.

Fine. Game over.

I dialed a number I hadn't touched in years. A crisp international voice answered.

“I’ll do it,” I said. “I accept the inheritance.”

That night, I returned to the only place that had ever felt like mine—a cramped, rundown little house on Happiness Street. My mom left it to me after she passed. I used to come here every time we fought, and without fail, Dalton would show up hours later, apologizing with flowers or takeout.

But this time, he didn’t come.

Days passed. Nothing.

Until the night before our tenth anniversary.

My phone buzzed.

Dalton: Booked us a table. Tomorrow night. Let’s talk.

He sent the name of a fancy restaurant. The same one where we went the night we first got together.

For the first time in weeks, I smiled.

I showed up right on time.

Waited.

Waited some more.

Just as I reached for my phone to check the time, the sky outside the restaurant lit up.

Fireworks exploded in a burst of bright reds, brilliant golds, shimmering silver.

Then came the grand finale.

Words sparkled in the air above the city:

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MARIAH SUTTON.

My heart stopped.

Down below, I heard his voice—loud, proud, rehearsed.

“Mariah, will you marry me?”

I turned to the window just in time to see her nod and accept the ring, the diamond catching every ray of light. The crowd erupted in cheers.

And I just stood there. Numb.

I thought I had no tears left after those thirty days in the ICU.

But I was wrong.

I wiped my eyes, squared my shoulders, and walked downstairs

They were standing at the entrance, right where I’d have to pass them.

Mariah was clinging to his arm, pale but radiant, in a designer dress that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe. I looked like an afterthought in jeans and an old coat.

“Sister,” she said sweetly, voice trembling just enough to tug at the heartstrings. “Dalton and I love each other. Please… don’t come between us.”

People turned to look. I could feel their judgment like knives.

Dalton’s voice was calm. Too calm.

“I’ve made up my mind. Mariah is the right person for me.”

He didn’t even remember today was our ten-year anniversary.

Something inside me snapped.

I smiled—cold, razor sharp.

“Well then,” I said. “Congratulations to both of you. A perfect match made in hell.”

Mariah gasped, clutching her chest. “You—!”

She collapsed.

People rushed to help her.

Dalton glared at me, his eyes wild. “You’ve gone too far! Who do you think you are, huh? Some pathetic little designer trying to marry up? Wake up and take a good look at yourself!”

The venom in his voice didn’t even sting anymore. I’d gone numb.

“Got it,” I said with a smirk. “Today marks ten years. Let’s end it here. Let’s never see each other again.”

He looked like he’d been slapped.

I turned my back and walked away, blocking every number associated with either of them as I went.

Days later, I stood on a private airstrip mile outside the city, a light breeze whipping through my hair.

My phone kept buzzing.

Unknown number.

I sighed and picked up.

His voice came through, panicked and broken. “Tavia... where are you? I can’t find you. Just say you’re sorry to Mariah and we’ll move past this, okay? Don’t do this.”

I smiled faintly.

“You won’t find me, Dalton. Not this time.”

His voice cracked. “I can’t... I can’t find you.”

I tossed the phone into a nearby trash bin without a second thought.

Then I turned and boarded the private jet waiting for me, my father’s jet.

This time, I wasn’t running away.

I was rising.