Chapter 3
"What the hell are you doing? Are you trying to force me to the altar? You think this will make me cave?"
"It just makes you look childish and desperate," he snapped, running a hand through his hair. "I’m in the middle of a funding round, Kalinda. A critical one. This is the worst possible timing for one of your tantrums.”
“Are you really that eager to be married off?"
Elias’s voice hit me like crushed ice. The shock on his face had instantly morphed into a sneer.
In the past, that tone would have broken me. I would have backpedaled, apologized for adding to his stress, and promised to wait.
His time always belonged to his investors. To his board meetings. To Mia's endless "work emergencies."
What belonged to me was always just a rigid command: Wait.
"Yes," I said, my voice barely above a whisper, but steady. "Everyone I know is moving forward. I want to, too."
Elias stared at me. He shook his head slowly, and walked right past me. He didn't say another word. The bedroom door slammed shut.
I walked into the spare room and quietly closed the door behind me.
There was a small nightstand shoved in the corner. I pulled open the top drawer. Inside, sitting right where I had hidden it, was a thick, hardcover book: The Ultimate Bridal Prep Guide.
I bought it six months ago. I had been so excited. I brought it home, laid it on the kitchen island, and waited for him to notice. When he finally came home, he glanced at it, frowned, and said, Not right now, Kalinda. You know I'm swamped.
I took the book out of the drawer and dropped it straight into the trash can.
My phone vibrated in my pocket.
It was a text from Sophia.
[I am still furious. I can't believe you actually let him give my bouquet to that little snake. She looked so smug I wanted to throw my champagne at her.]
A second text popped up immediately.
[Look, if you want to call off our one-month bet, just say the word. You don't have to force yourself into anything just to prove a point to that jerk.]
My fingers hovered over the keyboard.
I typed back. [No, Sophia, When have I ever broken a promise to you?]
The next morning, I woke up to the sound of zippers.
I walked out of the spare room to find Elias standing by the front door, zipping up a black leather duffel bag.
"I need absolute silence for the Series C prep," he said. "I'm moving into the Midtown corporate apartment for a while. I can't deal with this toxic energy right now."
He was freezing me out, expecting me to crack first, just like I always did.
"Okay," I said.
He paused, clearly waiting for me to beg him to stay. When I didn't, he grabbed the bag, walked out, and let the door click shut.
Ten minutes later, my phone pinged.
[Let me know when you've figured it out and dropped this whole act. I'll come back then.]
I swiped the notification away. I didn't reply.
Instead, I opened my contacts and called my real estate agent.
"Hi, Sarah. It's Kalinda. I need to list the Brooklyn loft. Yes, immediately. I want it on the market by tomorrow morning."
We had split the down payment on this place fifty-fifty. It was supposed to be our forever home. Now, it was just real estate. I spent the next three hours packing my personal belongings into boxes.
While clearing out the console table by the door, I found a sleek black folder shoved under a stack of mail. I opened it. It was the master copy of the Series C pitch deck.
I stared at the glossy pages. I should have just thrown it away. But some old, ingrained habit of cleaning up his messes kicked in. I decided to drop it off. One last delivery.
An hour later, I was standing in the carpeted hallway of the Midtown luxury high-rise.
I walked up to unit 4B.
The door wasn't clicked shut all the way, leaving a tiny crack open. Voices spilled out into the quiet hallway. Loud voices. The clinking of beer bottles. Elias’s co-founders were there.
And then, cutting through the deep male voices, I heard it.
A soft, breathy giggle. Mia.
"Elias, stop," she whined. "Everyone in the office is talking about the bouquet. They keep asking if we’re… you know. You have to say something, or I’ll be too embarrassed to come to work on Monday."
Somebody whistled. I recognized the voice—Mark, Elias’s lead developer.
"Come on, Mia," Mark teased loudly. "Do you really want him to clear it up, or do you just want him to make it official?"
A chorus of "Oooohs" and laughter erupted from the guys.
"Shut up, Mark! You guys are horrible," Mia said, giggling again.
I stood frozen in the hallway.
Then, Elias spoke.
"Alright, leave her alone," he said. His tone wasn't sharp. It wasn't annoyed. It was lazy, amused, and completely indulgent. "It’s just office gossip. It’ll blow over in a week."
Two years ago, I brought Elias lunch at the old office. Mark had walked into the breakroom and caught Elias with his arm around my waist. We had laughed about it.
But that afternoon, Elias sent a harsh, company-wide email. Maintain professional boundaries. Keep personal matters out of the office completely.
I had felt so guilty for distracting him.
He didn't hate office gossip. He didn't hate mixing business with pleasure. He just hated that the person attached to him was me. A woman who couldn't bring him a fresh round of angel investment.
I slowly lowered my hand. I gripped the black folder so tight my knuckles turned white.
Inside the apartment, the laughter died down a bit. The clinking of bottles resumed.
"Hey, speaking of rumors," Mark's voice rang out again, suddenly much more serious. "Is Kalinda actually getting married? I just checked my spam folder and saw an e-vite. September 9th. What the hell is going on, man?"
