Chapter Five

When I walked into the firm, my heels clicked across the marble floor like a warning bell — steady, sharp, unyielding.

Every employee I passed straightened immediately, whispering my name like I was some untouchable goddess, but I felt anything but. Inside, I was just a woman whose world had collapsed in a single breath.

Still, my head stayed high. Always high.

The elevator doors slid open to the top floor, my office — my father’s legacy. The same office I once dreamed of sharing with him. Now, it felt cold, too quiet, like even the walls could sense my exhaustion.

I walked straight to my desk, tossed my bag down, and buried myself in the comfort of work. Paperwork, contracts, case files — anything that could drown out the memory of yesterday.

A soft knock came moments later. “Come in,” I said without looking up.

My assistant, Clara, poked her head through the door, nervousness flickering in her eyes. “Ma’am… Mr. Dave is waiting outside.”

My pen froze mid-sentence.

I inhaled slowly, forcing calm through my veins. “Send him in,” I said, my voice far steadier than I felt.

A moment later, the door creaked open. Dave stepped in — the same man who once promised me forever. The same man who kissed my forehead yesterday morning and told me he couldn’t wait to call me his wife.

He looked different — smaller somehow. The perfect suit that used to make my heart race now just looked like a disguise.

“Aurora—”

“Don’t,” I cut him off, standing to face him. “Don’t you dare say my name like you still have that right.”

He closed his eyes briefly, breathing out. “Please, just hear me out. We didn’t mean for it to happen. I swear to you—”

“Say what you came to say, Dave.”

His jaw clenched. “Aurora, I know there’s nothing I can say to make this right, but please, just… listen.”

“I’m listening,” I said flatly.

He ran his hand through his hair. “It wasn’t supposed to happen. Mina and I — it started two years ago. After your father died, you changed. You stopped coming home, stopped answering calls, you buried yourself in work. I tried to reach you, but you kept pushing me away. Mina was just—”

“My replacement?” I cut in.

He winced. “No. It wasn’t like that. We didn’t plan it, Aurora. We didn’t mean to hurt you. I swear. We wanted to tell you before the wedding, but there was never a right time. And then, a few weeks ago, I realized I still loved you — I thought if we just got married, everything would go back to how it used to be.”

His words swirled like poison in my chest. “You realized you loved me the week of our wedding?”

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

I laughed, a cold sound that barely resembled me. “So your solution was to marry me anyway and keep her in the shadows? You thought a wedding would erase your guilt?”

He took a step forward, his voice breaking. “I was confused. I thought I could fix it. Mina came to see me that morning — she wanted to tell you the truth, I was trying to stop her.”

“That’s what I heard,” I whispered. “You trying to stop her from telling me.”

He went silent.

“Dave,” I said softly, but my words were sharper than glass. “If you ever truly loved me, you would’ve chosen honesty, not comfort.”

He looked at me then — eyes wet, mouth trembling like he had something else to say. But I didn’t care anymore.

He took a step forward. “Aurora, please. We can fix this. I made a mistake—”

“You can leave,” I said.

When he didn’t move, I looked away, focused on the paperwork in front of me, the steady tapping of my pen, the only sound I could control.

He left quietly. And with him, the last piece of my old life walked out the door.

I threw myself into work for the rest of the day. Case files, client calls, deadlines — I drowned in all of it, desperate for something that didn’t hurt.

By the time I finally packed up, the city had gone dark. The firm was empty except for the security guards downstairs. I could feel the exhaustion pulling at me the drive home — the kind that isn’t just physical, but heavy and hollow.

When I got home, I didn’t turn on the lights. I just walked to my chair and sat down, staring at nothing. The silence was deafening.

And that’s when I realized — I couldn’t stay here. Not in this apartment filled with ghosts. Not in this city that had taken everything from me.

I picked up my phone and dialed Max.

He answered immediately. “Aurora? It’s late, are you okay?”

“No,” I said, voice steady but low. “I’m leaving.”

There was a pause. “Leaving? What do you mean leaving?”

“I can’t stay here, Max. Every corner reminds me of them. I want to start over — somewhere far.”

“Where do you want to go?” he asked, his voice softening.

“Chicago,” I said after a pause. “Buy me an apartment there. Somewhere quiet.”

He didn’t argue. He just sighed — that deep, helpless sigh that said he understood. “I’ll handle it.”

I closed my eyes glad he didn't ask questions, feeling the ache in my chest ease, just slightly. “Thank you,” I whispered. “And Max?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t tell anyone where I’m going.”

I started packing that same night.

Folding my life into boxes and suitcases was strangely therapeutic. I left out the things that didn’t deserve to come with me — the picture of me, Dave, and Mina at our graduation; the jewelry he’d bought me; the birthday gifts she’d wrapped with love.

Then there was my wedding dress — still lying where I’d placed it, untouched, mocking me in perfect white. I picked it gently and set it on the bed beside the picture frame.

For a long while, I just stood there, staring. It wasn’t sadness anymore. It was closure.

When I turned off the lights, the room fell into shadow, but for the first time since yesterday, I felt a flicker of something I hadn’t felt in years.

Freedom.

Tomorrow, I’d board a flight to Chicago. Tomorrow, I’d start over.

I left everything that wasn’t