Chapter 3

Dalton's POV

The moment Ethan saw the coldness in my eyes, he faltered. Then, his face twisted with anger. "Are you seriously glaring at me?"

His eyes darted toward Claire. A second later, his expression changed, and he suddenly covered his nose.

"God, Dalton! What's that smell?"

Claire pulled over almost immediately and turned around.

Ethan was already gagging dramatically, and the sight of him was enough to make her look at me with disgust.

"Dalton, when was the last time you showered?" she snapped. "You couldn't even clean yourself up before getting in the car? Look what you're doing to Ethan!"

Before I could say a word, she got out, yanked open my door, and dragged me onto the roadside.

Then, she turned her attention back to Ethan. "Are you okay?"

Ethan gave her a pitiful look, and Claire's expression hardened. "If you can't stand having him in here, he can walk. It's only a few hours. He has two perfectly good legs."

I hit the ground hard, my knees taking most of the impact.

Pain shot through me so violently that cold sweat broke across my forehead. The half-healed scrapes on my knees split open again.

Gritting my teeth, I planted both hands on the ground and tried to push myself up.

My arms gave out. I collapsed again.

Claire never even noticed. Her back remained turned to me, her entire attention fixed on Ethan. Once she was satisfied that he was fine, she climbed back behind the wheel without looking my way again.

The limousine pulled away, leaving me alone on the side of the road.

I lay there for a moment before reaching for a fallen branch nearby. Using it as a makeshift cane, I struggled to my feet.

Every step sent another bolt of pain through my legs. Still, I clenched my jaw and limped toward the Whitmore estate.

I told myself to just endure it a little longer. I only needed to make it to Mom's grave. After that, none of this would matter anymore.

By the time I reached the Whitmore residence, night had already fallen. I tried to go in through the front entrance, only to be stopped by a butler I'd never seen before.

"You expect me to believe you're a Whitmore? That's a good one." He looked me up and down with open contempt.

His lips curled as he took in my filthy clothes and battered appearance. "Look at you. You think someone like you belongs in this house? Get out!"

I listened to his insults without so much as flinching. After the things I'd heard over the past three years, his words barely registered.

I was about to tell him who I was when a voice came from behind me. It was a voice that somehow felt both strange and painfully familiar.

"He isn't lying. He's a Whitmore."

I froze.

Slowly, almost afraid to believe what I'd heard, I turned around.

And there she was. Grace Bennett, my first love and the woman I'd loved for three years and spent another three desperately trying to win over.

Once, she'd casually mentioned that she loved homemade pasta. I'd barely known how to boil water at the time, but I'd spent weeks teaching myself to cook until I could make pasta the way she liked.

For her, I'd even tried to change who I was.

I'd swallowed my temper, learned to be patient, and known to soften my words instead of saying whatever came to mind. All because I wanted to become the kind of man she could love.

I'd foolishly believed that if I tried hard enough and waited long enough, eventually she would feel something for me too.

Then, Claire had me restrained and sent away. Desperate, I'd begged Grace for help.

Her answer had been painfully simple.

"That's between you and your family."

And when she learned that I'd refused to give Ethan my spot at Westbridge University, she'd looked at me with nothing but disappointment.

She'd called me selfish and petty. Then, she'd told me Ethan was twice the man I was.

That was the day whatever hope I'd still been clinging to finally died.

Grace looked exactly as I remembered her—calm, composed, and almost indifferent to everything around her. But when she looked at me, there was no warmth in her eyes.

"What are you doing back here?"

I swallowed the bitterness rising in my throat and kept my voice even. "My mom's death anniversary is in three days. I came back to visit her grave."

That was the one thought that had kept me going.

No matter how badly Claire and Ethan humiliated me, I would endure it. I had to. Before my time ran out, I wanted to see Mom one last time.

"Grace? What are you doing out here?" Ethan's cheerful voice came from behind me.

A moment later, he walked over with a bright smile and slipped naturally to Grace's side, hooking his arm through hers as though he'd done it a thousand times before.

Grace looked up at him, and the coldness I'd seen moments ago vanished, replaced by unmistakable tenderness.

Something tightened painfully in my chest.

Then, Ethan seemed to notice me for the first time.

"Oh, Dalton. What are you doing here?"

His nose wrinkled. "Wow. Somehow, you smell even worse than you did before."