Chapter 3

Caleb's POV

When I got home, I booked my flight and packed only what I needed. Then, I took down all 36 clocks in the apartment, one by one. I even threw away all the clothes and accessories Tyra had insisted I wear.

Those things had always felt like shackles, forcing me to play the perfect boyfriend she wanted me to be. I wouldn't need any of them anymore.

I zipped up my suitcase and let out a long breath.

I was just about to call Tyra and end things when my phone rang.

"Is this Ms. Stone from Apartment 501, Building 3, Southgate Gardens? Your hangover soup delivery is here, but security won't let me in. You'll have to come down and get it yourself."

My heart sank. A wave of suspicion came over me.

That was the home Tyra and I had bought seven years ago for our future married life. Because of her perfectionism, we weren't allowed to move in until we had a successful wedding.

Hence, all these years, we had lived in a rented apartment instead, both of us agreeing not to cross that line.

When I drove over, I found the door slightly ajar. A man's drunken voice came from inside, "It's all because you kept docking my buddy's points! You drove Caleb away! We didn't even get a chance to take a picture together!"

The arguing and shouting continued.

Tyra laughed and scolded him, "You're such a drunk. Fine. It's all my fault. I won't dock him any points for forgetting the group photo session."

She indulgently caught his flailing foot and gently rubbed it. The gentleness in her eyes was overflowing.

It turned out she knew how to take care of someone, after all.

When I got drunk, all it took was leaning against her for her to throw me out of our apartment. She told me not to make a scene and to sober up outside before coming back in.

It was 14°F that night. I had been so cold that I practically swore off alcohol ever since.

Now, Tyra had willingly crossed that boundary. She brought a drunk Jeremiah into the home we had bought for our married life. She let him do whatever he wanted, leaving the whole room a mess.

I pushed the door open.

Tyra looked over, panic flashing across her eyes. When she saw the takeout bag in my hand, her brows immediately furrowed in irritation.

"Rule number three of the Perfect Boyfriend Handbook—respect each other's privacy before marriage. You looked through my delivery order, so that's minus ten points."

There was no explanation, just blame.

The absurdity of it all washed over me, and suddenly, I felt exhausted. When two people weren't on the same wavelength, every conversation just turned into static noise.

"Tyra, let's just end—"

Before I could finish, Jeremiah suddenly stumbled toward me. "Do not dock Caleb's points!"

He shoved past Tyra and grabbed my hand tightly. "Caleb, you didn't take a photo with me today. Are you mad at me? I didn't mean to steal your wedding. I'll give you the ring back. Can we make up?"

He took off the wedding ring, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't put it back onto my finger. The smell of alcohol hit me in waves. Irritated, I tried to pull my hand free.

Then, a sharp pain suddenly shot through my fingertip.

Tyra shoved me away and immediately grabbed Jeremiah's hand, shielding his finger. The look she gave me was as if I were some unforgivable sinner. "What the hell is wrong with you, Caleb Fisher?"

My groan caught in my throat, leaving me choking on the pain. She kicked the bloodstained ring far away, then helped Jeremiah onto the couch and pulled out the first-aid kit.

The blood on Jeremiah's finger had come from mine. It would've wiped clean in seconds, yet Tyra wrapped his finger in five thick layers of gauze.

Then, as if remembering something, she hoisted half of his weight onto herself and rushed him out the door. "I'm taking him to get a tetanus shot! Go home and think about what you did! The wedding is postponed indefinitely until he forgives you!"

With that, she hurried away, the wind kicking up dust and carrying my whisper away with it.

"But Tyra, I'm the one who got hurt."