Chapter 1

Lana’s POV

The hot tea in my hand was cold even before I realized it. It did burn but it only soothes the pain that clawed in my chest

The clock ticked louder than usual. Or at least it felt that way.

The small gold hands made their way slowly across the dining room wall clock, cutting through the tension that lay between Derek and me like a third presence.

He was scrolling through his phone once more. His jaw tightened, that small crease growing between his brows — the one I used to believe made him seem successful and serious. Tonight, it only seemed to make him look bored.

"Did you see the wedding planner's email?" I asked quietly, running my finger along the edge of my teacup. "She wrote that the garden venue is available on the date we preferred. I thought—"

He sighed. A loud, irritated one. Not the tired kind of sigh, but the you're-already-getting-on-my-nerves kind.

"Lana," he growled, still not lifting his gaze.

"We've already talked about this. My mother likes the Hyatt ballroom. It's bigger, it's more refined. The garden thing is tacky."

The smile I'd been struggling to keep up was starting to lose its battle, and I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear to hide it. "I just thought..”

He finally raised his head, and his blue eyes, once so gentle I'd believed, swept over me like I was something on inspection. "You think too much about everything. That's your problem."

I gritted my teeth and attempted to produce a small laugh, one that did not actually belong to me. "You used to enjoy it when I overthought."

He leaned back in his chair, one foot over the other. "That was before it got tiresome." He retorted.

The words cut like a blow, but I smiled anyway, because that's what I do…smile, smooth things out, and pretend it didn’t sting.

I lifted the teacup, my hand trembling slightly, and mimed a sip. The tea had lost its flavor after getting cold.

"Have you given any thought to the color?" I tried again, my voice barely audible. "Maybe ivory and—"

"Lana," he cut me off, resting his phone this time. His lips curled into that smirk he does when he was going to say something painful but would word it as advice.

"Before you get so worked up about color combinations, maybe work on yourself first."

My chest stiffened. "Myself?”

He shrugged indolently. "You've… cut off a bit. Around the face, the hips, not much though," he added, hedging, as if to cushion it. "But the camera will notice. And you know my family stands for looks.".

For a second, I couldn't think. My smile froze in place, muscles cramping. I looked down at my lap, where my hands clenched in the fold of my dress. My engagement ring glinting…too shiny, too clunky.

"I've just been really stressed out and still…," I breathed. "Work, and the charity gala"

He laughed, a sharp, mocking sound. "That charity business again. You spend more time taking care of the homeless than figuring out your own life."

My head jerked up before I could stop it. "They need it, Derek. Not everyone has…” he cut me off.

His expression darkened. "Don't play with that, not everyone has nonsense. It doesn't suit you."

He placed his elbows on his knees and looked at me with hard eyes. "You're marrying into a family that engages in serious business, Lana. Money, reputation, we have it all. You can't look at some ingenue girl who spends her weekends volunteering at soup kitchens."

My hands turned cold. I clenched them firmly under the table to keep them from shaking.

"I just… I want to do something that matters," I stammered a little in a murmur.

He snorted again, flashing eyes. "You matter because of your dad. Don't you ever forget that. If you weren't Samuel Roth's daughter, you think anybody would give a damn what you're doing?"

The words hurt more than he knew, or maybe just as much as he meant them to.

Something inside me curled, then snapped, the kind that hides behind your ribcage and waits to bleed afterward.

I nodded slowly, pretending to agree. "You're right," I whispered. "Of course."

He settled back again, happy, his hand going to his phone. The blue light danced across his face as I lay in the chandelier's light, my reflection trembling for an instant in the glass table.

Silence fell again, more tense than before.

I watched him punch some words, a message, maybe and watched how his mouth smoothed out when he smiled into the screen. A smile of another sort. A smile he had not given me in weeks.

I dried out inside. I stared at my teacup again, now marked with a faint lipstick smudge, and my thoughts wandered somewhere between hurting and numbness.

“Do you ever think," I burst out, surprising myself, "if we've… changed?"

He didn't even look up. "Everyone changes."

"Not everyone stops listening."

That made him look up fast, a flicker. "What are you saying?"

I swallowed. My hands clutched the edge of my dress again. "You just… don't really talk to me anymore. Not like you used to."

His laugh was unamused. "Because you always make everything personal. God, Lana, can't you ever just relax for once? You're always so… fragile."

Fragile.

The word wrapped tight around my chest, tighter than a snare of wire. My lips parted, but nothing came out. I felt the burn behind my eyes, the sting at the corners, but I blinked hard and forced it under. I wouldn't cry. Not this time.

He was already standing, gathering his phone and keys. “I’m meeting the guys for drinks. Don’t wait up.”

“Derek”

He stopped at the door, hand on the knob, not turning around.

“Yes?”

The word was sharp and impatient.

I looked at his back, the perfect posture, the rumpled white shirt, the lingering scent of his cologne in the air. I longed to say I miss you. I longed to say why are you doing this?

But my mouth would not move. My heart was slamming so hard I'm sure he could hear it.

I smiled instead, though he wasn't even facing me. "Drive safely," I said to him.

He didn't answer. The door shut behind him very loudly.

I sat for a few minutes, staring at the vacant area where he had stood. The tea was milky gray. The ring on my finger sparkled in the light, almost taunting me with its perfection.

My reflection in the mirror looked like a stranger's; eyes sunken, lips trembling, shoulders hunched forward like I was trying to fold into myself.

I took my phone and opened our engagement photo. He grinned in it, arm around me, both of us beaming. But now, looking at it, I saw how his smile didn't reach his eyes. How mine looked too desperate, too hopeful.

I set the phone face down.

Something inside me shifted again. Not a break. Not yet. Just a crack, deep enough for light to start seeping in.

And for the first time, I wondered if loving him ever mattered.