Chapter 2

So this was how obvious the difference was between loving someone and not loving them.

Instead of going back to the office, I went straight home.

Back then, I had been eagerly imagining the life we would build together and kept asking Zane to come look at houses with me. He had simply handed me a bank card and told me to take care of it myself.

Our wedding portrait still hung on the wall. I had lost count of how many times I'd asked Zane to take the photos with me. In the end, he had the studio manager find someone with a similar build to stand in for him, then had his own face edited onto the pictures afterward.

By the time I finished packing, my head was spinning. I was probably running a fever again.

My phone lit up with Zane's name.

"I'm coming back to pick something up. Are you home?"

I stared at the message for a while, then drifted off to sleep in a feverish haze.

I didn't know how much time had passed before the sound of a key turning in the lock woke me. A warm amber light came on, making me squint.

Zane stepped inside, bringing a trace of the cold air in with him, a briefcase in one hand. His gaze swept over the nearly empty living room before settling on the wedding portrait I had propped against the wall, and his brows drew together almost imperceptibly.

Out of habit, I started to get up, but my legs suddenly gave way, and I nearly fell. Zane instinctively caught my arm, only to pull his hand back the instant his fingers touched me, as though the contact had burned him.

I dropped back onto the couch.

"You look awful."

His tone was flat, more like a routine question than genuine concern.

I avoided his eyes, my voice painfully hoarse. "I'm fine. Just a slight fever."

"Why are you packing?"

I looked at him. "Zane, let's cancel the wedding."

He clearly hadn't expected that. After several seconds of silence, he said, "Is this because of Yvette? There's nothing between us. We were just in the same program."

Then, as if that explained everything, he added, "She's different from you. She went abroad on her own when she was fourteen. She has goals and a career she cares about. She doesn't spend all day obsessing over relationships."

Zane ignored my reaction and went into the study. A moment later, he came back carrying one of his old sketchbooks.

Only when he was about to leave did he glance at me again.

"Yvette needs this sketchbook urgently, so I'm taking it to her. If you're sick, go to the hospital. Don't try to tough it out."

I watched him walk away, my throat tightening as though it had been stuffed with wet cotton, heavy and painfully clogged.

The next day, I took time off work and called a real estate agent to come look at the house.

"Ms. Stone, this place is in a great location, the layout is good, and the renovations are still new. If you list it at this price, you're going to lose a lot of money. Are you sure you need to sell it this quickly?"

"I'm sure."

I signed the listing agreement without hesitation.

"The sooner, the better."

Once the house was on the market, I packed two suitcases and checked into a budget hotel near the architecture firm.

The room was tiny, with nothing more than a bed, a desk, and a bathroom. The window faced a busy street, and the sound of traffic never seemed to stop.

And yet somehow, I felt more at ease here than I ever had in the home I'd spent so much time making ours. At least there was no trace of Zane here, and none of the fantasies I had spent years clinging to.

After that, I called the hotel where the wedding reception had been booked.

"I'd like to cancel my wedding reception."

"Ms. Stone, the wedding is only ten days away. If you cancel now, the deposit is nonrefundable. Are you sure you want to cancel?"

"I'm sure."

After hanging up, I curled up on the narrow hotel bed. My fever still hadn't broken, and as I drifted in and out of a haze, all the memories I had deliberately forced down came rushing back at once.