Chapter 2

Four years.

I'd climbed seventeen floors with a burning fever.

I'd curled up on those concrete steps, doubled over from cramps, and climbed seventeen floors.

The card had failed more times than I could remember. I'd begged him, over and over, to fix the access issue for good.

Every single time, the same answer:

"I'll get you a new one. Stop being so dramatic."

Sophie reached for my arm.

"Claire, it's just a keycard. Don't fight with Ryan over me…"

I yanked away from her.

"Don't touch me. You make me sick."

Ryan's hand shot out and shoved me hard.

"Watch your mouth!"

My back slammed into the corner of the table. White-hot pain crawled up my spine.

The last bit of warmth in my chest went completely cold.

And Ryan? His first instinct was to check Sophie's wrist—the one I'd shaken off.

In that moment, something inside me died.

I went to the bedroom and packed my ID, my laptop, my things.

Four years of living together, and everything I owned fit into a single suitcase.

Ryan leaned against the doorframe, watching me with cold eyes.

"Threatening to leave again?"

"Claire, you're an adult. Can you stop being so childish?"

I zipped the suitcase shut.

"I'm not throwing a tantrum."

"I'm calling off the engagement."

He blinked. Then let out a cold laugh.

"Fine. Go."

"Let's see how long you last without me."

I wheeled my suitcase into the elevator without looking back.

He was probably certain I'd do what I always did—cry in the hallway and wait for him to come after me.

But this time, the elevator doors slid shut.

Seventeen floors down. No resident card required to leave.

I watched the numbers tick lower, and my eyes burned.

Getting into his home had been so hard.

Leaving him was this easy.

Once I checked into a hotel, Sophie's messages flooded in.

"Claire, I already gave the keycard back to Ryan."

"He's been under so much pressure at work lately. That's why he took it out on you. People always hurt the ones closest to them. Don't blame him."

"You two have seven years together. You've been engaged for two. He's really hurting right now. Can you please just come back and talk to him?"

I stared at that last line, and my blood ran cold.

Sophie and I had known each other since high school. Twelve years.

When she couldn't get a cab on a rainy night, I was the one who felt bad for her—who asked Ryan to drive across the city to pick her up.

When her boss gave her a hard time at work, I was the one who asked Ryan to step in.

I'd always believed they got along because they both cared about me.

Now I understood. I was the one who pushed them together with my own hands.

Close enough that my fiancé became her shoulder to lean on.

Close enough that the home I thought was mine became hers.

And I was the one left over.

I didn't reply. I blocked her.

Maybe it was all the emotional upheaval, but my stomach revolted that night. Everything I ate came right back up.

The next morning, I booked an appointment at a nearby medical center.

While I was waiting for my blood work results, I spotted Ryan outside the imaging center.

He was crouching beside Sophie, holding a bottle of water in one hand, draping his jacket over her shoulders with the other.

The look on his face—anxious, tender—was one I had never seen before.

I turned to leave.

Ryan saw me.

His tall frame blocked my path.

"Oh, so now you show up at a hospital?"

His eyes blazed with fury.

"Soph gave the keycard back and insisted on taking the stairs—just like you. She fell and nearly fractured a bone!"

"Are you happy now, Claire?"

Four years, I'd climbed those seventeen floors more times than I could count. He called me dramatic.

Now Sophie tripped once, and somehow that was my fault.

I swallowed the nausea rising in my throat.

"I didn't ask her to return the card. I didn't ask her to take the stairs."

"Move."

Ryan grabbed my wrist.

"You're coming with me to apologize."