Chapter 3

I sent Declan a text ending our engagement.

At two in the morning, I was still packing my bags.

Over the years, I had built this house piece by piece into a real home. My attachments to it ran deep.

Just as I was debating whether to take a small keepsake, a message from Declan finally came through.

He completely ignored my breakup text.

“Viv, did you make it home?

“I’m not coming back tonight. Don’t wait up, go to sleep early, and make sure you lock the door.”

I didn’t reply.

If he truly cared about my safety, seven full hours had passed since we went our separate ways. Seven hours... What had he been doing all that time?

The answer was painfully obvious.

Two hours ago, Brielle had posted an update on social media.

“My prince promised he’ll protect me forever.”

The photo showed two hands intertwined. In the background, the rumpled hotel bed sheets made it clear what had just taken place.

A familiar suffocating feeling rushed over me, far worse than when Declan had choked me earlier.

I always felt that posting intimate moments on social media lacked class. But she did it specifically for me to see—to flaunt that Declan had abandoned me and chosen her.

There were times in the past when I doubted whether Declan truly loved me. He never said the words out loud, and he understood very little about me.

Until one New Year’s Eve, when I had severe abdominal pain. It was a holiday night, and barely anyone was out on the streets. Unable to flag down a cab, he carried me on his back for miles, sprinting all the way to the emergency room.

When I woke up, Declan was sitting by my bedside, his eyes bloodshot from staying up all night.

The moment he saw me open my eyes, tears fell down his face as he gripped my hand tightly. “Vivian, please don’t ever leave me.”

The nurse nearby teased softly, “You have no idea how worried your fiancé was. He cried the entire night.”

That was the moment I felt certain he loved me.

When he was poisoned in the ER, I had my doubts. But now, I didn’t believe a word of it anymore.

Brielle got what she wanted.

In the comment section, her and Declan’s mutual friends showered them with congratulations.

Sabrina was especially vocal.

“Now that his true love is back, that trash, Vivian, better know her place and back off,” she said.

She was right about one thing: I was leaving.

So I hit the “Like” button on the post and left a comment of my own: “Wishing you both a lifetime of happiness together. Stay together forever, and may you have eight kids.”

The moment I left the comment, Declan’s messages flooded in like a storm.

I didn’t read a single one. Then came call after call.

Irritated by the noise, I muted my phone and tossed it aside. I didn’t even notice that my phone eventually died from the relentless influx of incoming calls.

Half an hour later, I finished zipping up my suitcase.

Just as I stood up to leave, Declan walked through the front door.

He glanced at my suitcase, his brows drawing into a tight frown. “Vivian, how long are you going to keep throwing this tantrum?”

A classic line straight out of a cheater’s playbook.

“Trash belongs with trash. You two deserve each other.”

I pulled off my engagement ring, tossed it straight into the trash can, gripped my suitcase handle, and walked toward the door.

Behind me, he spat through gritted teeth, “Vivian, mark my words—you’ll regret walking away from me!”