Chapter 1

My godfather fiancé, Daniel, had a habit of breaking up with me.

Every time we fought and he threw out those words, I'd be the one to crawl back and smooth things over.

Until this time—when I found a round-trip ticket to New York on his phone.

The person living there was his ex-wife.

I demanded an explanation. He just looked at me with that impatient expression of his.

"She's in a bad mood. I'm going there on business anyway, so I'll check in on her while I'm at it."

"If you can't even give me that much trust, then let's just break up."

I stared at the ticket, then back at Daniel.

And suddenly, it was like every ounce of energy had been drained from my body.

"Fine. Let's break up."

I was tired. Truly tired. I didn't want to coax him back anymore.

…

Daniel paused.

He clearly hadn't expected me to agree.

He glanced up, studying me with that careless look of his, then lowered his gaze again.

His pen moved in a crisp stroke across the document—his signature, clean and final.

"Suit yourself," he said coldly.

He didn't take what I said seriously. Not even a little.

He still thought I'd be like before. That all he had to do was spare me one look, and I'd come running back, begging him to take me again.

I set his phone on the desk and walked out of the study.

Standing at the door, I closed my eyes. My chest ached so badly I could barely breathe.

I should have known. He didn't care about me. I was always last on his list.

Daniel didn't come to bed that night. I knew he was waiting for me to go to him first, to apologize.

But this time, it wasn't my fault. I wasn't going to give in.

The next morning, I came downstairs with my suitcase. Daniel was on the phone.

"Sure, I'll come see you the day after tomorrow."

He turned and saw me, muttered something quick to the other end, and hung up.

I knew who it was. His ex-wife. He was afraid I'd overhear and start another fight.

Daniel's gaze dropped to the suitcase, then lifted to my face.

"Where are you going?"

"Moving out," I said.

"Moving out?" A mocking edge crept into his voice. "When are you coming back?"

He didn't believe I'd actually go through with it.

I heard the displeasure in his tone. I ignored it.

"I'm not coming back," I said flatly.

Daniel stared at me, all impatience.

"Evelyn, if you keep this up, don't blame me for actually breaking up with you."

"It's just a quick stop on the way. I'm not going to do anything. Is it really worth getting this upset over?"

I lifted my head and looked at him for a long time.

"Yes."

It wasn't just one ticket. It was a ticket every month since the divorce.

His booking app was packed with round-trip flights to New York.

Every single one of them—to see his ex-wife. Jessica.

I wasn't angry anymore. But I didn't want to keep living like this.

I didn't want there to always be a third person between us.

Daniel frowned. "When did you become so sensitive about every little thing?"

Was I sensitive?

Maybe.

"Yes, Daniel. I am this sensitive about every little thing."

I looked at him, my voice steady and firm. "So I'm agreeing to the breakup."

Last night, Daniel hadn't taken my agreement seriously.

He thought I couldn't bear to leave him—after all, that's how it had been for all three years.

I was always the one who reached out first.

Always the one who apologized first.

He'd grown used to me giving way, used to me bending over backward to please him.

Even my friends said I wasn't worth it—that I was blinded by Daniel, insisting on being with him against all reason.

In this relationship, I'd made myself so small I'd lost who I was.

Daniel's expression darkened.

He let out a cold laugh. "If you want to split, fine. We're done."

I laughed back just as coldly. "You're the one who brought up breaking up. I'm just giving you what you wanted."

I moved out. Daniel never reached out. He never did—he'd never once been the one to come to me first.

A few days later, he came back from New York, and once again, I was the one who went to him.

Daniel wasn't the least bit surprised. He was completely certain I'd come back. That I'd come to apologize.

Just like every time before.

Three years together. He was used to it.

He stood in the doorway, waiting for me to speak first. Waiting for me to beg him not to leave.

Instead, I slipped the ring off my finger and held it out to him.

"Here. This is yours."