Chapter 4

Tyrra woke up before the sun was fully up. The faint light of dawn was filtering through the heavy curtains of the hotel room.

She blinked a few times, disoriented, before the events of the previous night came back to her.

Lemar lay beside her, his arm around her waist, breathing deeply as he slept. She slowly lifted his arm, trying not to wake up, and slowly slid out of bed.

Her clothes were neatly folded on the dresser. She couldn’t remember how she’d managed to do it, but she smiled to herself.

She quickly grabbed them and got dressed in silence. Her chest was pounding as she walked to the door. She stopped when she saw the car keys on the table by the door and looked at Lemar. His face was still peaceful in the dim, dark morning light.

She considered leaving a thank-you note, but she thought that might be too personal. He simply took the key, took a deep breath, and quietly left the room.

The cold morning air hit him like a slap when he stepped out. He was startled to see his car in the valet lot, a little shabby but intact.

As he got into the car, he was stunned by the phone on the passenger seat. Its screen was glowing with missed notifications, and he felt the weight of the previous night all over again.

He picked up the phone and saw countless missed calls from his parents, as well as Flavier and Grace. His heart broke as he stared at the screen, but he didn’t answer any of the calls.

Each number represented a conversation he wasn’t ready to face, a judgment he didn’t want to go through right now. He passed the phone on the passenger seat, started the car, and drove home, the events of the previous day playing out in his mind.

His drive home was a blur. When she finally reached the house, it was still early and quiet, but the house was bustling with the morning rush.

The sight of the decorations, the flowers, and the tension in the air was like a punch to her gut. This was no longer her world. This was a fantasy made of lies.

She parked and prepared herself before getting out of the car. As she approached the door, it opened, and there was her father, his face covered in anger and worry.

"Tyrra!" her voice roared, heavy with anger and disbelief. "Where the hell have you been?"

The accusation hung in the air, like a physical blow. She stared at her father, seeing the anger in his face, and a cold emptiness settled in her stomach.

Before she could answer, Flavier and Grace appeared behind her. Flavier reached her, his face filled with worry. "Tyrra, thank goodness you’re alright. Where were you? We were so worried."

Tyrra stepped back, avoiding his grip, her expression cold and distant. She walked past them and into the house, where her stepmother was waiting in the hallway.

"You could have taken your calls. You got us all really worried. You should go shower," her stepmother said, her tone gentle but firm. "We need to get ready for the wedding."

"There is no wedding," Tyrra replied, loud and clear, for everyone to hear.

A deafening silence fell over the room. Flavier’s face turned pale, his mouth opening and closing, speechless. "What do you mean?" he finally asked, a mixture of bewilderment and anger.

"I mean exactly what I said," Tyrra replied, her voice unwavering. "I will not marry you, Flavier."

Her father's face flushed with anger, as if he had never seen it before. "What do you mean you're not getting married? How can you spend the night before your wedding God-knows-where, come back smelling like male cologne, and then tell us you won't marry him?"

Grace approached, her face filled with concern. "Tyrra, what's the problem? Are you cold?"

Tyrra turned to her sister, seeing what was hidden behind the mask of sympathy. The betrayal echoed in her memory, clear and cruel. How could she be blind? She stared at Grace, her expression blank, and she could feel the intense anger and betrayal.

'How could I not realize how calculating you are?' she thought, but remained silent.

"Go upstairs, get ready, and marry Flavier," her father shouted, furious. "Or you will no longer be part of this family."

Tyrra's chest ached at her father's words. Did they really value marriage more than her condition? She took a deep breath, feeling the cool breeze from the open window touch her face, and stood up straight. "I am not getting married. It was my choice to get married, and now I don't want to get married. You can do wha"Whatever you want, Dad."

Her father's face turned pale with anger. "If you don't marry Flavier now, you will leave this house and never come back. I don't want to see your face ever again."

Tyrra felt a weight in her chest, a mixture of sadness and shock, but she remained steadfast. "Fine. "I'm leaving," she said, knowing she needed time and space.

She needed distance from Flavier and Grace. She couldn't face their faces right now, and she didn't want them to know how much they had hurt her. Every step down the stairs felt like a muscle in her, every blink a reminder of betrayal.

The shock in the room was palpable as she turned and climbed the stairs. Her stepmother and Grace followed her, but before she could even enter her room, she closed the door in their faces and locked it. She felt the cold metal in her palm, a small victory in her control and her own space.

She picked up the suitcase and began packing. Her hands trembled, but she felt a strength inside her, a determination that would not budge. She picked up her passport and other valuables, every movement mechanical, trying to ignore the emotions that raged inside her. The smell of fresh flowers in the living room was sickening to her. nose, a reminder of the wedding he didn’t want to go through.

He took one last look at his room before going downstairs, pulling his suitcase behind him. The cold floor beneath his feet reminded him that he was moving away from the darkness, toward freedom.

Downstairs, his father’s anger continued to echo. His stepmother tried to calm him down, while Flavier and Grace whispered to each other, clearly confused and shocked by what he had done. The sound of their voices was like a faint echo in his mind; he ignored it. His focus was outside in the cool morning air, on the open road, and on the new beginning they couldn’t resist.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs, his father glared at him. “Do you really want to leave?”

Tyrra nodded, facing him with all her might. “Yes.”

Without another word, he walked past them all, out the door, and with each step, he felt the weight slowly returning to him. Longing, anger, and freedom simultaneously flowing through his heart towards the new, uncertain, but free future that awaits him.