Chapter 2

The next morning, I checked myself out of the hospital alone.

After Julian left the hospital last night to take Harper home, he never came back.

Back at the apartment, the living room was dead silent. The study door was left ajar, leaking warm yellow light and low, muffled laughter.

I looked through the crack in the door.

Harper was half-leaning against Julian's desk. The two of them were sitting extremely close.

"Right here," Julian pointed at the computer screen, his voice gentle. "When you talk about market expectations, slow your pace down a bit." He reached out with effortless familiarity, tucking a stray strand of hair behind Harper's ear.

Harper tilted her head up, gazing at him with undisguised adoration. "Julian, you're amazing. If you hadn't stayed up all night doing mock presentations with me for this promotion defense, I wouldn't have known what to do."

"Silly," Julian chuckled softly. "How could I not care about something so important to you?"

Standing outside the door watching this scene unfold, a wave of physical nausea churned in my stomach.

I couldn't stop the memory from last month from flooding my mind.

Back then, I was competing for the department director position. I had pulled three all-nighters for my presentation, my eyes bloodshot like a rabbit's. I had practically begged Julian, "Could you please look over this report for me? This opportunity means everything to me."

And how did Julian respond?

He was staring down at his video game. Without even batting an eye, he coldly pushed my laptop away: "Maeve, I'm off the clock. I'm not your work assistant, and I don't want to deal with anything work-related at home. People need boundaries. You can't just project your stress onto me."

It turned out his "boundaries" were exclusively designed to keep me out. But in front of Harper, those boundaries simply ceased to exist.

He could pull an all-nighter for Harper's defense, but he wouldn't spare even five minutes for my report.

Just then, my phone buzzed in my pocket.

It was a message from our mutual friend, Sarah.

A photo from that drive-thru last night popped up on the screen—Julian was in the driver's seat, leaning over intimately to wipe the corner of Harper's mouth in the passenger seat.

Below it were Sarah's frantic texts: [Maeve, what the hell is going on? Are you guys okay? Seriously... are you getting cheated on?]

I stared at the screen for a long time. Surprisingly, I felt absolutely no anger—only an endless, bone-deep exhaustion.

I looked down and typed my reply: [They look pretty good together.]

I had planned to just turn around and leave, but I accidentally caught Julian's attention. He turned his head and saw me standing in the doorway.

"Maeve? When did you get back?"

Julian walked over to the door. There was not a trace of panic in him, no guilt of being caught. He just explained in a mild tone, "I'm sorry, honey, I completely forgot to text you. Harper was just so nervous about her defense, we accidentally stayed up all night going through her materials. Are you feeling better?"

I looked at the progress bar above his head. Harper's name was still firmly rooted at the top spot. Everything just felt so obnoxiously matter-of-fact.

"I'm fine," I said, calmly meeting his eyes. "Julian, let's break up. The wedding is off."

Julian froze for a second, then pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

"Maeve, stop throwing a tantrum, okay? I know I was wrong for not coming back to the hospital last night, and I forgot to tell you beforehand. But Harper's promotion is really important; it's a critical turning point in her career. She's your best friend. Can't you just be a little understanding?"

"I'm not throwing a tantrum," I said, my tone completely flat. "I'm serious."

With that, I didn't spare him another glance. I walked straight into the master bedroom and shut the door behind me.

Ignoring Julian's stunned silence outside, I pulled out my suitcase and methodically began packing my things.

Once I was done, I opened my laptop to back up my personal files from our shared iCloud.

As I scrolled, a folder named [H & J's Summer Getaway] caught my eye.

Driven by intuition, I clicked on it. It was an album filled with hundreds of high-resolution photos.

I swiped through them, one by one.

In one photo, Harper was in the passenger seat of an RV wearing a slip dress, her feet carelessly propped up on the dashboard, laughing wildly. Julian, gripping the steering wheel, was turning to look at her, the sheer adoration in his eyes practically spilling out of the screen.

In another, they were by a beachside bonfire. Julian was hugging Harper from behind. The two of them were wrapped in the same blanket, while Harper leaned against his shoulder, gazing up at the distant starry sky.

Then there was one at a nighttime RV camp. The firelight danced as the two clinked their beer bottles, their eyes locked in an electrifying, unmistakable chemistry—exactly like a couple deeply in love.

I stared at these images, running entirely cold. Each photo felt like a resounding slap, viciously striking my face.

Half a year ago, I had excitedly planned our pre-wedding road trip. I had scoured through travel guides, compared over a dozen RV rental companies, and finally settled on this exact coastal route. Every landmark, every campsite had been bookmarked by me staying up late into the night.

Last month, Julian had suddenly told me his company was sending him to the West Coast on a week-long business trip, meaning he couldn't spend our anniversary with me. By sheer coincidence, Harper had taken her annual leave at the exact same time, claiming she was going back to her hometown to visit family.

It turned out there was no business trip, nor a family visit.

They used the itinerary I sacrificed my sleep to create, drove the RV I had always dreamed of, and went on my pre-wedding road trip behind my back.