Chapter 5 :

-ZOEY ASHFORD-

The hotel loomed like every other place my parents had ever chosen—polished, towering, and utterly indifferent to whoever stepped inside. I stood on the curb for a long moment before moving, one hand still gripping the steering wheel as if the car could anchor me, the other buried in my coat pocket where my nails dug into my palm.

I’d done this before. I’d walked into grand lobbies under their name, smiled at concierges who knew them better than I did, and pretended it didn’t bother me. But this felt different.

Three years since I’d last seen them. Four months since they hadn’t bothered to show up when my life fell apart. And now here I was, the one walking toward them.

My heels clicked against the marble floor of the lobby, echoing like they were announcing something I didn’t want to hear. I nodded at the receptionist when she directed me to the private lounge upstairs, where “Mr. and Mrs. Ashford” were waiting.

Mr. and Mrs. Ashford. That was what everyone called them. Not Mom and Dad. Not even Mother and Father. Just… the name that came with their wealth, the one they carried more comfortably than they’d ever carried me.

I pressed the elevator button and stared at my reflection in the polished doors. My makeup was intact. My hair looked fine. But I still felt like that sixteen-year-old girl again—the one who tried too hard, who hoped too much, who waited for parents that never came home in time for birthdays.

When the elevator chimed, I almost didn’t step in. I almost turned around, drove back to Wes, back to the little kitchen where flour still dusted the counter and laughter still hung in the air.

But I stepped in. Because I had to.

The lounge was exactly what I expected: sleek furniture, an overly courteous staff hovering at a distance, and two people who looked more like they belonged in a magazine than in anyone’s childhood memories.

My mother was seated, legs crossed perfectly, a glass of sparkling water untouched in front of her. My father stood by the window, scrolling on his phone, his tailored suit as sharp as his silence.

“Zoey,” my mother said first, her tone carrying that clipped warmth she used with acquaintances. “You came.”

I forced a small nod. “You asked me to.”

Her eyes flicked over me like she was assessing damage rather than looking at her daughter. “Sit.”

I did, mostly because my knees weren’t steady enough to keep me standing.

My father didn’t look up from his phone when he said, “We can’t stay long. Our flight is in three hours.”

Of course it was. They never stayed. Not for school recitals. Not for holidays. Not when I turned eighteen and blew out candles in an empty house.

I kept my voice even. “Why are you here, then?”

My mother exchanged a quick glance with him, then folded her hands neatly in her lap. “We heard… about the wedding.”

I waited.

“We thought,” she continued, “that perhaps you owe us an explanation. People are asking questions. It reflects on the family when an engagement of six years ends so abruptly.”

A laugh escaped me before I could stop it. “You want me to explain why I was left outside a courthouse? You want me to make it look better for you?”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. “We’re not saying it was your fault, Zoey—”

“Yes, you are.” My voice was sharper now. “That’s exactly what you’re saying.”

My father finally put his phone away, turning to face me. His expression was calm in the way that made me angrier than if he’d shouted. “Were you involved with someone else?”

I blinked. “What?”

“It’s a simple question,” he said. “Is this… man you were with today the reason you didn’t go through with it?”

My breath caught. Wes.

I shook my head, heat rising in my chest. “You think I called off a wedding for another man? You think I did that for fun? Do you even hear yourselves?”

“Zoey—” my mother started.

“No.” My hands curled into fists in my lap. “I’m not taking that. I’ll take blame for a lot of things, but not this one. I loved a man I had never met because you told me it was right. I wore his ring for six years because you said it mattered. I didn’t ask questions. I didn’t fight. I did it all for you.”

My voice cracked, but I didn’t stop. “And do you know what I got for it? I got left standing outside a courthouse in a dress I picked for him. I got a text from an unsaved number telling me I could keep the ring or throw it away—it wouldn’t matter. That’s what I got for being the daughter you raised.”

The silence that followed was sharp enough to hurt.

For the first time, my mother’s perfect posture faltered. My father’s eyes softened, just slightly, before he looked away.

I stood. “You wanted an explanation? There it is. Now I’m going back to my life—the one I built without you, because you were never there.”

My mother recovered first. She smoothed her skirt like she was brushing away my words. “Zoey, you’re still young. You don’t understand the weight of choices. That man you were supposed to marry—he came from a family we respect. It was an arrangement meant to protect your future.”

“My future?” I repeated, a bitter laugh catching in my throat. “You mean yours.”

“You’re being dramatic,” my father said flatly. “You’ve always been emotional, Zoey. We’re just trying to help you stay on the right path.”

“The right path?” I stepped back, shaking my head. “You don’t get to say that to me. Not anymore. You weren’t there for birthdays. You weren’t there when I graduated. You didn’t call when he didn’t show up. You forfeited the right to tell me what path I should be on.”

My mother’s lips tightened. “We’re your parents.”

“No,” I said quietly but firmly. “You’re people who share my last name. That’s not the same thing.”

For a heartbeat, no one moved.

Then I straightened, forcing my voice steady. “You’ve lost the privilege of dictating my life. I’ll see you around—if you decide to actually stay long enough to see me. For now, you should probably go. You don’t want to miss your flight.”

I didn’t wait for their reply. I turned and walked out, the weight in my chest shifting into something sharper, almost freeing.