Chapter Three

Eloise's POV

Emmett went quiet for a moment, slow to respond.

A strange stillness settled over the line. I could picture him exactly — eyes drifting toward Genevieve, phone still pressed to his ear, caught between two places at once.

"Go ahead," I said, my voice flat.

"Give me a second," he said slowly, his voice dropping low. "I'll be right back."

I heard him get up. The soft shift of fabric. Genevieve saying something in that honeyed murmur of hers. And then — the sound of kissing. The wet press of lips. His muffled groan. The mattress dipping under weight, and the muffled little cry she let out when he pulled her under him.

I hung up, a cold smile on my face.

I didn't reach out after that, but word about him and Genevieve had a way of finding me anyway.but word about him and Genevieve had a way of finding me anyway.

Apparently they'd had it out in front of a whole room of people. Emmett slammed the table, raised his hand, and told her to get out, clear as anything, loud enough that the color drained from Genevieve's face.

Noah was the one who told me. Of everyone in that circle, he was one of the few who had ever treated me like a real person — and had paid for it with Emmett's cold shoulder. His message was short, ending with a single line: "They were fighting because of you."

I read it and let out a quiet laugh.

There was a time when I tracked Emmett's every move. Mapped my schedule around his. Watched for the smallest crack in whatever he had with Genevieve so I could slip through it as fast as possible and remind him — see, I'm the one who loves you most.

And what did it matter.

Genevieve would cry. She'd send some half-apologetic text the next morning. Emmett would go quiet for a while, and then he'd be the one to speak first. It was always the same. It would always be the same.

I was just a fixture in their long-running game. A prop they could pick up and put down whenever it suited them. I had known this for a long time. I'd just taken too long to accept it.

After that, Emmett started calling more. Every day, more than the last.

I either let it go to voicemail or sent back a quick "busy."

He didn't stop. That part surprised me, honestly — the Emmett Grayson I knew had never had to try this hard with me.

Then the day before I left here, he texted.

Six o'clock tonight. The French place where we had our first date. Don't make me wait.

A second message followed: Today is our anniversary. You're not seriously going to say no, are you, Eloise.

I stared at that line for a long time.

He had never spoken to me like that before. No command. No entitlement. Just something careful and unfamiliar underneath the words — like he was genuinely unsure whether I'd answer.

I thought: fine. Go. Say what needs to be said to his face. At least it would be a proper ending.

So I got dressed and went.

I ordered water and took a seat by the window, watching the streetlights come on one by one. The waiter came by twice to ask if I was ready to order. Both times I shook my head. The clock in the waiting area ticked past six. Past six-thirty. Past seven.

My phone lit up. Emmett.

"I'm sorry, Eloise."

His voice was quiet, laced with guilt and something he couldn't quite keep out of it — a barely-there panic. In the background, just faint enough to catch, was the soft sound of Genevieve laughing.

"Genevieve's having chest pains. Trouble breathing. I took her to the hospital—" A pause. "Go home for now. There'll be a hundred more anniversaries. She's leaving tomorrow — once she's gone, I'm all yours, whatever you want. Okay?"

I didn't say anything.

I hung up, and before I could even set my phone down, a notification lit up the screen — Genevieve had just posted something on social media.

A close-up of a restaurant table. Candlelight, warm and golden. A crystal glass of red wine. Half a rose laid along the edge of a plate. And in the left corner of the frame, a man's hand — holding hers, fingers laced together, ring finger bare.

Except it wasn't bare. Emmett's wedding ring had been moved to his pinky.

Our wedding ring.

I sat at the table. The glass of water in front of me was still full. I hadn't touched it.

It was only then that I noticed — I'd put on the dress he always liked. I had actually thought we might sit down together one last time. Have one decent meal.

I finished my water, left a tip, then headed straight to the airport where I sat in the departures terminal all night waiting for morning.

When I got to the check-in line, a new message from Emmett came through.

We're getting remarried today.

I read it once. Then I deleted his contact.

The line moved slowly. I stood in it with my carry-on at my side, eyes drifting somewhere near the baggage carousel without really seeing it. My screen lit up again — he was calling. I stared at the number for two seconds, hit decline, and blocked it.

The gate was just starting to board when my phone buzzed one more time.

Harper.

I picked up — and it was Emmett's voice on the other end, tight with something close to panic.

"Eloise. Where are you?"