The Love That Withered

When he heard my words, Claire Yardley's father, Preston Yardley, cast me a look filled with thinly veiled disdain and said casually, "Shayne, everything was going fine. Why are you calling off the engagement so suddenly?"

Her mother, Miriam Lambert, quickly picked up the conversation, her tone carrying a trace of feigned reproach. "The wedding is just days away. Have you thought about how it'll make us look?"

I lowered my gaze and gently placed the engagement token on the coffee table.

It was a malachite pendant carved with an ancestral dragon motif, its surface glowing softly under the lights.

The matching phoenix pendant was still in Claire's possession.

At last, it could be returned to the Yardley family, reuniting again as a pair.

"Mr. and Mrs. Yardley, please don't worry," I said calmly. "I'll tell everyone that this was my decision. It won't affect Yanko's reputation or the Yardley family's."

The moment I finished speaking, the smiles on their faces were impossible to hide.

Back then, if not for Claire's grandfather, Mr. Yardley's insistence on arranging this marriage, they would never have agreed to let Claire marry me.

In every respect, I was merely adequate. In their eyes, that meant I was not worthy of her.

Since I had taken the initiative to withdraw, they were more than happy to accept it. It saved them from having to play the villain themselves.

They did not even bother asking for a reason. The wedding was canceled swiftly and cleanly.

By the time I returned home, night had already fallen.

Claire still had not returned.

It was not until close to midnight that I finally saw her.

When she approached me, a faint scent of alcohol clung to her. It was a scent I did not like.

She had just returned from her trip with Marcus.

Still believing I knew nothing, she casually pressed a watch into my hand.

"I picked this up for you on my business trip," she said lightly. "Happy wedding. Do you like it?"

The watch looked brand new, but on the back of the dial were two thin scratches: a defect.

She smiled brightly, watching my eyes, waiting for my reaction.

If this were the past, I would have been delighted, carefully storing it away as something precious.

However, not long ago, I had already seen this watch on Marcus' social media post.

The caption had been a complaint.

[Only wore this trash watch for two days before noticing the scratches. What bad luck.]

The photo showed the dial clearly. And on the back were those same two scratches.

It was obvious.

This had never been meant for me.

I rubbed my thumb over the scratched surface, feeling the faint unevenness beneath my skin.

"Thank you," I heard myself say. "I like the design."

Satisfied, Claire reached out to adjust the strap for me.

Her familiar perfume drifted closer. It was the same woody scent that often lingered in Marcus' car.

Calmly, as I pulled my hand away, I said, "But next time, don't give me something someone else has already worn."

The smile on her face froze. A flash of shock crossed her eyes.

"What do you mean by that?"

My expression did not change.

"Wasn't I clear enough? You gave it to Marcus first. Then, you gave it to me. That's not appropriate."

Her patience snapped, irritation surfacing.

"I only gave it to him as a thank-you," she said sharply. "Do you really have to be this petty?"

I smiled, but it did not reach my eyes.

I replied, "Right. You thank him with something new and pass the defective one to me."

Her face darkened instantly.

"Why are you making a fuss about this? I can't exactly give him something worthless."

"So, it's fine to give the worthless one to me?" I asked quietly.

She faltered, then anger bled into her voice. "Shayne Taylor, do you really have to pick a fight with me right before our wedding?"