Chapter 4

The elevator doors chimed and slid open.

Edward and Elowen were standing right there.

Edward's eyes dropped to the suitcase. The lines around his mouth tightened into a deep, exhausted frown.

"Where exactly do you think you're going at this hour?"

Elowen shrank slightly behind his shoulder, bringing a hand up to her mouth in exaggerated shock.

"Sorren—are you moving out?"

She tugged at Edward's sleeve. "Is it because I asked for the chowder? Edward, this is my fault, I never should have said anything. Please, tell her to stay..."

Edward patted her knuckles where they clutched his jacket, a silent promise that he had it handled. Then he took a step forward, deliberately blocking my path to the elevator.

"Sorren, are you really not tired of this routine?"

"You get mad, you pack a bag, you wait for me to beg, and then you quietly unpack. Do you think this is cute?"

I just looked at him.

In three years, I had packed this suitcase exactly twice.

The first time was when he "lost track of time" on my twenty-eighth birthday because he had driven Elowen across state lines for a music festival she was desperate to see.

The second time was when he quietly drained our joint savings account—the down payment for our future house—to serve as seed money for Elowen's boutique PR start-up.

Both times, he had cornered me at the door.

First with silence, then with a heavy sigh, and finally by wrapping his arms around me, telling me to stop being crazy. He would hold me until my anger burned down into exhaustion, and the next day, he would act like nothing had ever been broken.

He thought tonight was the same. He thought this was just a negotiation tactic.

"Put the suitcase back," he said, his tone softening a fraction when I didn't argue.

"I know I was out of line tonight with the game. But Elowen's having a hard time. Look—I just Venmo'd you five grand. Go buy that designer bag you were looking at last month."

He reached out to take the suitcase handle from my grip.

"Tomorrow is my day off. I'll take you down to the jeweler and buy you a real diamond. But right now, Elowen's stomach is cramping up and everything decent is closed. Go inside, start the soup, and we'll call it even."

I stepped to the side, letting his hand grasp empty air.

Edward missed the handle. His arm dropped, and his face instantly darkened, the patronizing warmth evaporating into hard angles.

"I'm throwing you a lifeline here, Sorren. Don't push your luck."

I listened to the threat in his voice and waited for the familiar spike of anxiety, the desperate urge to fix things.

But there was nothing. Just a clean, echoing quiet. It was terrifyingly simple, realizing you were finally done loving someone.

"Thanks for the last three years, Edward. But I'm checking out."

My voice was light, swept clean of any anger. "You can keep your money. I don't want the ring, and I'm never making that soup again. If her stomach hurts, you can finally learn how to cook."

Edward froze. His eyes flicked, genuine confusion fracturing his confidence.

"What does that mean?" he demanded. "You want to break up? Think very carefully, Sorren. You walk onto that elevator, and you don't get to come back. We are done."

Looking at the absolute certainty on his face—the blind arrogance that assumed I couldn't survive without him—I actually smiled.

I bypassed him entirely, rolled my suitcase into the empty elevator car, and pressed the button.