Chapter Two

WINTER

"What exactly do I have?"

I whisper the question under my breath as I drag my suitcase back toward the house. My arms ache. My pride aches more.

Seven years. That’s how long I’ve been with Mike. Seven years of loving him, feeding him, funding his education, and believing that we were building something real.

Back then, he was scraping by on noodles and excuses. I was a scholarship student with a diabetic mother and a kid sister in high school. I worked three jobs just to keep the lights on at home. Still, I gave Mike everything—money, time, love—because I believed in us.

He had nothing. I made sure he had something.

I paid for his courses, helped him through his PhD. He got the dream job at Valcour International—my dream company, the place I wanted to work as a fashion designer. And when he bought a house, I moved in with him. When he proposed, I thought I’d won.

But the day I introduced him to my cousin Olivia at the supermarket was the day everything began to rot.

After that, Mike started bending over backward for her. Every excuse, every pity story....Olivia got the softest landing, and I was expected to keep stepping aside.

Yes, her parents died when she was a baby. But let’s not pretend she suffered. My uncles pampered her. Paid for her school. Bought her a house. Meanwhile, my mom—looked down on and discarded by the family—was stuck raising two kids alone with failing health.

My dad? He disappeared, found another woman, started a new family, and denied we ever existed. And with my mom’s hospital visits and our fridge always on the edge of empty, I started working at twelve. Nothing was handed to me. Not once.

But Mike never saw that. All he saw was Olivia, the tragic little orphan who apparently deserved everything I’d worked for.

Including my job opportunity.

When Valcour finally posted an opening for fashion designers, I nearly cried. I submitted my best designs; new, bold, mine. But Mike took them and handed them to Olivia. Said it was her dream, too. Said I already had three jobs. Said I should be compassionate.

When I refused, he threatened to end our relationship, claiming he couldn't spend the rest of his life with a woman that wasn't compassionate, and he understood Olivia's pain because he also became an orphan at a very young age..

So, I chose him. I gave up my shot. Told myself love was worth it. That I could try again. That jobs came and went, but a man who gives you a ring stays.

I was an idiot.

Even with his promotion, I still paid the bills. He said he was saving for our wedding. A big wedding. A fairy tale. So I smiled, did the groceries, and picked up extra shifts until I could barely feel my knees.

Meanwhile, Valcour got sold to some anonymous billionaire. Nobody knows who the new chairman is, only that he’ll be unveiled during this month-long retreat.

That was my plan. The real reason I wanted to go. I needed to be at that resort. I needed a shot to show the chairman my designs. Because if he sees them, I know I’ll get hired. No more juggling jobs. No more selling my dreams to survive.

But of course, Olivia got that spot. Again.

I’m wheeling my suitcase inside, wiping angry tears from my face, when I hear tires screech.

I turn.

A sleek black Range Rover barrels toward me like it has a personal vendetta. I leap back with my suitcase and two duffels just before it hits the curb.

"What the hell...."

The car door swings open like a slap to the face, and out steps Olivia, draped in gold, sunglasses on, lips curled into a smirk like she’s the damn sun.

I scoff. “So much for having nothing.”

“Did you just try to run me over in front of my house?” I ask.

She smiles sweetly. “Are you saying I can do it if you’re not in front of your house?”

I want to hit something.

She checks her watch like she’s got an audience waiting. “I don’t have much time. Just came to see your pathetic face, rub it in, and have a good laugh.”

I clench my jaw.

“Mike told me he wasn’t taking you,” she says, eyes gleaming. “He kept his word. Must be exhausting being the woman he hides in the background.”

I nod slowly. “Unfortunately, I’m not an orphan everyone feels sorry for. But go ahead, enjoy his charity while it lasts. One day, your true colors will show. And I’ll be there when he finally sees the monster wearing your perfume.”

She laughs. Loud, cruel, flawless.

“Oh, Winter. You think he’s being nice to me because he pities me? Look at me. I’m beautiful, I have a job people like you would kill for, and I’m not begging to be anyone’s wife. Why would he pity this?”

She does a full twirl like she’s modeling for the devil’s fashion line.

“Just so you know, I got promoted earlier this year,” she adds. “I’m qualified to attend the retreat. Mike didn’t leave you behind because of me. He left you because he’s sick of looking at your face.”

She leans in. “But don’t worry. I’ll keep him company. I’ll make sure he’s not lonely. We’re going to have so much fun without you.”

She blows me a kiss, then drives off like she’s starring in her own private music video.

I stand there, numb.

For a moment, I whisper, “No… Mike wouldn’t lie to me. He gave me a ring. He loves me.”

But I’m not stupid.

If she’s headed to the retreat, and she drove herself… then Mike lied. Again. I don’t want to believe it. But I can't stop myself.

I open I*******m, find Olivia’s page, and scroll. There it is...her smug little post from two months ago.

Promotion confirmed.

So it’s true. She didn’t sneak her way into the retreat as someone’s plus one. She earned her ticket, which means Mike’s excuse was garbage.

I close the app and look at my dusty Audi. The paint is chipped, the AC wheezes, and it might need a miracle to make it to the next state line, but it moves. And right now, so do I.

I know the name of the resort. I have a phone. I have G****e Maps. I don’t need a man’s permission or a printed invitation.

I have rage. And ambition. And a killer fashion portfolio in my box.

So what if the trip is four hours? So what if the car might die halfway there? So what if I get stopped at the gate?

I’ll make it work. I always do.

No more begging. No more stepping aside. And no more crying over men who feed me empty promises and drive off with the cousin I introduced them to.

I grab my suitcase, toss it in the back seat, throw the duffel bags on top, and slam the door shut like I’m closing the chapter on being soft.

As I slide behind the wheel and turn the key, the car coughs like it’s protesting, then roars to life.

“Let’s ride,” I whisper to myself. “Time to crash a retreat.”