Chapter 3

A few seconds later, he turned around. The cold midnight light washed over his face, and the practised warmth he usually wore finally began to peel away.

"Claire, stop this now."

He pressed his fingers against his temple — a habit he had whenever he found something bothersome. "Marriage takes planning, Claire. It isn't something you announce because you're sulking. You, of all people, should understand how this industry works."

"October 28th." I ignored his lecture and calmly restated the date. "The venue is booked, and the final fitting for the wedding dress is done."

A cold, mocking laugh escaped him, the kind of elitist cruelty he excelled at. "Is this Stella talking? That impulsive bride who thinks the whole world should run on her wedding-week emotions? Claire, you need to wake up. We've been together for eight years..."

"Ryan," I interrupted, my voice ringing clear in the dead silence of the hallway, "the invitations are already at the printer."

I saw a muscle in his face twitch — a telltale sign that he was losing his grip on his emotions.

"Claire, do you really think this 'ultimatum' is going to work? It only makes you look impossibly childish!"

He took a step closer, his voice carrying an undeniable weight of pressure. "I am at the most critical stage of my career. The financing plans over the next two months will decide the future of the firm. This 'whim' of yours is nothing but a distraction. Are you really that desperate?"

Desperate. The word hit me like a jagged stone.

In the past, this judgmental tone would have sent me into a panic. I would have rushed to explain that I wasn't being unreasonable, reflecting on whether I truly had disrupted his "big plan", before retreating step by step into the safe zone he had defined for me.

But now, as I looked at his face, tight with anger, I felt nothing but a professional sense of calm.

His attention had always been rationed. It was reserved for the major investment partners, the financial reports that determined stock prices, and, of course, for his "capable" administrative assistant, Emily.

The late-night check-ins, the thoughtful birthday surprises, even that private spa weekend in the Cotswolds last week disguised as a business trip... what he gave me was always whatever was left over at the end of his day.

I met his arrogant gaze and gave a faint, tranquil smile.

"Yes," I nodded slightly. "My profession has allowed me to witness so much happiness. Everyone is getting married, and I want to be a bride too."