Chapter 3

They leave. The rest of the room clears out fast, nobody making eye contact.

I stand alone in the penthouse. Champagne going flat. Cards scattered across the table.

I pick up my phone and call West Group's legal department.

"Draft the termination papers for my engagement to Sebastian Blake. I want them on my desk by morning."

My assistant doesn't sound the least bit surprised.

"Yes, Ms. West."

...

I wake up to my phone buzzing nonstop.

Twelve missed calls. Twenty-something texts. All from relatives, friends, vendors.

"Clara, is the wedding still on?"

"What happened? The florist is asking about the deposit—"

"Girl, are you okay??"

I'm halfway through typing replies when Sebastian finally calls.

"Clara, handle the cancellation, will you? Put everything on my tab."

His voice is flat. Distracted.

"Olivia's not feeling well. I need to stay with her. I can't deal with wedding stuff right now."

He hangs up before I can say a word.

I pull the phone away from my ear and stare at the screen.

That's when I see it.

A message from Olivia, sent at 2 AM.

It's a photo.

Sebastian is asleep on a couch, and Olivia is curled up against his chest. His arms are around her. Her hair is messy. His shirt collar is tugged open. There are marks on both of them that don't need explaining.

She's added a little heart emoji. Nothing else.

I block her number.

Then I start packing.

Three years I lived with Sebastian. Three years in the same apartment, and we never once shared a bed. He couldn't stand anyone in his space.

Funny how that rule didn't apply to Olivia.

My stuff fits in one suitcase. That's how little space I took up in his life.

As I'm zipping it shut, something clinks on the floor.

I look down.

It's Sebastian's engagement ring.

I designed it myself, had it made by the same jeweler who does pieces for West Group's private clients. The night I proposed, he teared up and said he'd never take it off.

Last night he slipped it off and tossed it on the nightstand. Didn't want Olivia to feel awkward, probably.

I pick it up.

Then I pull off my own ring and throw them both in the trash.

At the office, the termination papers are waiting. I sign every page without reading them. Then I open my phone and book a wedding appointment for tomorrow.

I post to Instagram to announce my upcoming wedding.

Ninety seconds later, Sebastian calls.

"What the hell is this?" He's furious. "I told you to cancel the wedding, not post it all over social media. Are you trying to humiliate Olivia?"

"This has nothing to do with Olivia."

"Like hell it doesn't! She saw your post and she's upset—"

"Sebastian." My voice is calm. Calm in a way that surprises even me. "I'm getting married. It doesn't involve you. You don't need to come."

He scoffs. "Married? To who? You're gonna walk down the aisle by yourself? You'll be a laughingstock."

Something sharp twists in my chest.

"Oh," I say quietly. "So you did know. You knew I was a laughingstock. All nine times."

The line goes dead.

A few seconds later, texts start flooding in. I delete them without reading.

That night, while I'm doing one last check of my things, I remember.

Mom's emerald bracelet.

It's still at Sebastian's place.

That bracelet has been in the West family for four generations. It belongs to the woman who leads the family, my grandmother wore it, my mother wore it, and it was meant for me to pass on to the next.

And I left it in the home of a man who threw our rings in a nightstand drawer.

I have to get it back.