Chapter 5

Marco did not come home.

At dawn, his message appeared.

Camille hurt her leg while moving. I stayed with her. Don’t make this into another fight. We’ll meet at the registry tomorrow.

I did not reply.

By noon, the butler delivered the cake.

Blueberry cheesecake, beautifully boxed, still cold from the bakery.

I stood at the dining table and looked at it until my vision blurred.

When we were twelve, I ate blueberry tart at a school party and stopped breathing before dessert ended. Marco had cried in the hospital hallway while my uncle signed treatment papers. After that, he refused to let anyone bring blueberries near me.

For years, he remembered.

Now, he had forgotten the one flavor that could hurt me.

Or worse, he had remembered only that Camille loved it.

I closed the box.

That was when Anastacia messaged me.

I convinced Marco to attend the registry tomorrow. I know it may not be what you want anymore. But if you need help leaving afterward, tell me. I owe you that much.

I read it twice.

Then I typed back:

Thank you. But I won’t marry him. Please take care of yourself.

Soon after, I heard the butler in the hallway.

His voice was hushed, urgent.

“Yes, the registry is only temporary. Sir Marco wants Miss Shania calm first. Tonight’s proposal for Miss Camille must stay secret… Yes, the ring is in the car.”

I almost wished it hurt more.

Instead, all I felt was the strange relief of reaching the bottom. There was no farther to fall.

The driver my uncle sent arrived by the east gate at three.

I changed into a plain coat, checked my passport, and left the blueberry cake on the table with my old engagement ring beside it.

At the front hall, Daniel appeared with a gift bag in his hand.

“Shania?” he asked, confused. “Where are you going? Marco said today was your registry day.”

“It is his special day,” I said. “Not mine.”

He looked at the suitcase. “What does that mean?”

“I’m marrying someone else.”

His eyes widened. “Does Marco know?”

“No.”

“Should I call him?”

I looked toward the road beyond the gate. “No need. He’s busy preparing for Camille.”

Daniel’s face changed slightly, as if he had begun to understand too late.

I stepped into the car.

As it rolled down the driveway, a black sports car turned through the gate.

Marco.

He did not notice me at first. He was speaking into his phone, one hand on the wheel, the other holding a small velvet box. The lid had shifted open enough for me to see the flash of a diamond ring.

Not mine.

The car passed slowly beside ours.

For half a second, Marco looked up.

Our eyes met through the glass.

His brows drew together, as if he could not understand why I was sitting in a car with luggage beside me.

Then the road curved, and his face disappeared.

My phone rang almost immediately.

Marco.

I watched his name light up the screen.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Then I removed the SIM card, snapped it in half, and dropped the broken pieces into the ashtray.

The driver glanced at me through the mirror. “Airport, Miss?”

I looked out at the shrinking gates of the house I had once thought would become my home.

“Yes,” I said. “Airport.”

Behind me, Marco would find the cake.

He would find the ring.

He would find the empty closets, the returned gifts, and the house already listed for sale.

But he would not find me.

For twenty years, I had waited for him to choose me.

Today, I chose myself.