Chapter 2

I pressed a hand to my burning cheek, and tears spilled down my face.

Six months earlier, Chloe and I had entered the same international design competition.

We'd both made the finals.

Then the submitted projects turned out to be nearly identical.

Chloe immediately accused me of stealing her work.

She hadn't expected me to have recordings documenting my entire design process, from the first rough sketches to the finished presentation.

The evidence proved that I'd created the work myself.

Chloe was disqualified. Within hours, the story spread across social media.

Designers, influencers, and strangers who knew nothing about either of us weighed in.

Chloe's reputation collapsed.

She suffered a serious mental health crisis and left a note blaming me for everything that had happened to her.

She survived, but somehow, I became the villain.

No one seemed to care that I'd been the one whose work was stolen. No one cared that I'd spent months defending myself against accusations that should never have been made.

All they saw was a fragile girl who'd suffered and a supposedly heartless woman who'd ruined her life.

Julian looked at my tear-streaked face without the slightest trace of sympathy.

"Chloe made one mistake," he said. "She's already paid a terrible price. Why can't you just leave her alone?"

Leave her alone?

For six months, I'd been the one waking up from nightmares.

I'd been the one forced to swallow humiliation after humiliation.

I'd been the one turned into a joke for other people's entertainment.

And somehow, I was still the one being accused of cruelty.

I was so tired that I couldn't even find the energy to argue anymore.

Whatever warmth I'd once felt for Julian had finally burned out.

I raised my head and looked him in the eye.

"Julian, we're done."

He stared at me, caught off guard. Instinctively, he reached for my arm, as if he could pull me close and make everything go back to normal.

Ava grabbed his sleeve.

"Don't fall for it. She's just trying to compete with Chloe for attention."

Mason gave a dismissive snort.

"She's been pulling this stunt for months. Every time one of Julian's little exercises scares her, she threatens to break up with him. Give it two days. She'll be begging him to take her back."

Julian's uncertainty vanished.

"Harper, I hate being threatened with a breakup. If you pull this again, don't expect me to go through with the wedding."

For seven years, I'd been the one afraid of losing him. He'd mistaken that fear for a promise that I'd never leave.

I took out my phone, opened our marriage appointment confirmation, and canceled it in front of him.

Then I deleted the wedding venue reservation from my calendar.

"We don't need to wait for next time," I said. "There won't be a wedding. There won't be an us."

His expression hardened, but I was already walking away.

I didn't stop crying until I was out of sight.

Not because I'd changed my mind.

Because seven years of loving someone didn't disappear just because I finally understood who he was.

Julian hadn't always been this cruel.

When we'd first started dating, he'd gone out of his way to accommodate my fear of heights.

Whenever we rented an apartment, he'd choose a ground-floor unit, even if it was damp and poorly lit.

If a pedestrian bridge stood between us and our destination, he'd take a longer route to find an underpass.

If we came across a flight of stairs that was too steep, he'd carry me.

When someone called me dramatic, he'd shut them down without hesitation.

Then he'd cup my face in his hands and tell me, "Being afraid of heights isn't your fault, Harper. The world's the problem. Just hold on to me, and I'll make sure you never fall."

I'd believed every word.

Those promises had stayed with me through every difficult day. I'd carried them into our engagement, our wedding plans, and every conversation about the home we'd share.

Now I knew how little they meant.

The man who'd once refused to let me stand on a balcony alone had deliberately abandoned me a hundred feet above the ground.

All to make another woman laugh.

Apparently, love could change that easily.

It took me four hours to walk home from the outskirts of the city.

My heels had rubbed raw, and blood had seeped through my socks. By the time I reached my parents' apartment, I could barely keep myself upright.

The moment I opened the door, the smell of warm food greeted me.

My mother came out of the kitchen carrying a steaming bowl of chicken noodle soup.

"There's my girl! I made your favorite. Come sit down and eat."

My throat tightened.

For one foolish second, I thought I might finally be home somewhere I was wanted.

I sat at the table, picked up my fork, and took a large bite.

The heat hit my tongue immediately.

It was unbearably spicy.

I doubled over, coughing and choking, my eyes watering as I struggled to catch my breath.

A camera shutter clicked.

I looked up in disbelief.

My father was standing across the table, phone raised, laughing as he photographed my red face and streaming eyes.

"No wonder Chloe loves those videos. Look at you, Harper! You're hilarious."

Before I could respond, Chloe emerged from my bedroom.

She slipped her arm through my father's and smiled sweetly at him.

"Thanks, Dad. Send that picture to the family group chat. Everyone could use a laugh."

I stared at her, my throat still burning.

"Why is she here?"

My mother pressed her lips together.

"I asked her to move in. Her doctor says she needs people around her while she's recovering. Her parents aren't around, and we can take better care of her here."

I looked from my mother to my father, waiting for one of them to acknowledge how absurd this was.

Neither did.

Chloe was standing in my parents' home, calling my father Dad, while my family laughed at my humiliation.

I swallowed hard.

"If she's living here, where am I supposed to go?"