Chapter 2

The moment the door closed, Clara's triumphant taunt drifted through the crack: "Aren't you going to chase after that little pet you keep?"

Ronan let out a contemptuous scoff. "She's just looking for attention. If I stoop to her level and chase after her, how would that reflect on you?"

"She has nothing in this city but me. She's a lot easier to handle than a princess like you."

My once-fervent heart was torn to shreds. His words were like salt in a wound, each one cutting deeper than the last.

...

The wind on the street was cold. The wine on my gown had turned into a frigid, sticky patch against my skin.

I hailed a cab and huddled in the back seat, my mind uncontrollably drifting back six years.

Six years ago, on the steps of this very private club, Ronan told me that I was the only one for him in this life.

It had actually taken him considerable effort to win me over.

I was barely eighteen then, trying to escape my broken home and survive on my own in a strange city.

I was extremely insecure and wary of any man who got too close.

He pursued me, and I rejected him five times.

The sixth time was different. I had just moved into a cheap apartment in the south part of the city.

The neighborhood had a notoriously bad reputation for crime. A few local thugs started targeting me, blocking me on the stairwell to demand money, then my phone. Soon, they started leering at me.

That's when Ronan appeared.

The thugs pulled knives. He took a knife for me, getting a long gash that ran from his elbow to his wrist. Blood dripped from his fingertips to the ground.

Later, in the emergency room, as a nurse tended to his wound, he looked at me with red-rimmed eyes.

"Can you just stop being so stubborn and let someone protect you?"

"Like me, for instance?"

I admit, my heart completely melted.

In that moment, I thought I had finally found a harbor where I could anchor my drifting life.

He asked me to be his girlfriend that very night, simple and direct, just the way I liked it.

After I nodded, this notoriously ruthless man swept me into his arms, so excited he nearly dropped us both.

But back then, because I was in his arms, I wasn't afraid at all.

The moon was full that night. His promise of love and companionship gave me all the courage I needed and became the sum of all my hopes.

But now... I laughed at my own foolishness.

The car stopped in front of my apartment building. The warmth of the memory collided with the cold of reality, and I began to tremble.

I went upstairs, opened my laptop, and clicked on the resignation letter draft I'd left untouched for days.

The cursor hovered over "Send." I took a deep breath and clicked.

Cutting ties with the past, it turned out, was as simple as a few keystrokes.

You see, Ronan? I'm not so easy to handle after all.

But from now on, you won't have to bother.

My flight out was scheduled for next week, which didn't leave me much time.

Back at the apartment, I took a quick shower, washing away the stench of red wine, and began to pack.

I never had much to begin with, and everything I owned fit into two suitcases.

At two in the morning, just as I zipped up the last bag and was about to head to a hotel, the front door swung open.

Ronan walked in, half-carrying a dead-drunk Clara. She was draped over his shoulder, muttering about wanting fruit.

"Ronan, I want one of those fruit platters, the kind cut into little rabbit shapes."

Ronan helped her onto the sofa, then turned to me, his tone matter-of-fact.

"Aurora, go cut one for her."

I froze.

He had forgotten.

When we had just gotten together, he came home from a party and was violently ill in the bathroom.

Worried, I got up in the middle of the night to peel an apple for him, and the blade sliced a shallow cut across my finger.

He rushed out of the bathroom and saw what happened. The color drained from his face, his drunkenness vanishing instantly.

He pressed on the cut to stop the bleeding, his voice trembling as he apologized over and over. The next day, he locked every knife, peeler, and pair of scissors in the kitchen inside a safe.

He had kissed my fingertips and sworn that from then on, he would be the one to cut fruit in our home, that I was never to touch a knife again.

For all these years, I really hadn't touched a knife. Even now, next to my dinner plate, there was a custom-made sterling silver butter knife he had ordered just for me.

The most laughable part was the small wooden plaque he had made himself, still hanging on the kitchen door. It read:

"Kitchen Off-Limits to Aurora."

I ripped the plaque off the door and threw it in the trash.

And now, he was asking me to go cut a fruit platter for another woman.

Vows are the most ridiculous things in this world.

"If you want some, cut it yourself," I said, my face a blank mask. I snapped my suitcase shut, pulled up the handle, and headed for the door.

"I'm leaving."

Only then did he notice the two suitcases. His face darkened, and in a few strides, he blocked the doorway.

"Alright, Aurora, that's enough. You have made your point. Are you really packing? I already told you, it was just a game."

He reached out to grab my wrist, his grip tight, and pressed me against the door.

His breath, smelling of alcohol, fell on my ear, carrying with it the familiar, possessive control he was so used to exerting over me.

"Aurora, don't play these childish games." He was convinced I was still throwing a fit about what happened tonight.

"I know you want to settle down. I do too. Next year. We'll get married next year for sure, alright?"

I stared at him, and in his eyes, which still expected me to soften, I saw the reflection of my last six years.

I raised my hand and slapped him across the face.

"Ronan, haven't I made myself clear? We're broken up, and I will never, ever marry you!"