All Chapters of He Put a Ring on Me, Then Chose Her: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

I hadn't even made it out of the ballroom when Lydia hurried after me with a glass in her hand."Ms. Walker, please wait." Her voice was soft, but everyone nearby could hear. "My doctor told me not to drink tonight. Could you drink this one for me? Just this last time. Alexander says you can really hold your liquor. Please..."I stopped and looked at the clear liquor in the glass. The engagement party wasn't even over, and someone nearby was already chiming in with a laugh. "Irene used to be the best at handling Alexander's guests. She'll take care of it, no problem."Used to. Two words, tossed out so lightly. I used to remember every guest's dietary restrictions. I knew who had just recovered from an illness and which donor couldn't stand hearing about divorce. Now the new woman had arrived, and even the chore of drinking on her behalf was being dumped on me.Alexander was standing a few steps away. I looked at him, waiting for him to step in.He stepped between Lydia and the guests u

A week later, I attended the Hall Hotels charity gala one last time, as a hired restoration consultant.The gala was held every year in memory of Alexander's mother. For five years, I had checked the clasps on the auction jewelry, updated dozens of guest lists, and memorized the dietary restrictions of the older donors. Last year, one elderly woman had a severe pollen allergy, and I was the one who swapped out the lilies on the head table at the last minute. Afterward, Alexander joked that the hotel probably couldn't run without me."Hardly," I'd told him. "There just wouldn't be anyone handing out tissues when the guests started sneezing."He'd wrapped an arm around me, laughing so hard his shoulders shook. And I'd been foolish enough to believe those little everyday moments belonged only to the two of us.But tonight, the moment I walked into the hall, I found my VIP pass had been swapped for an ordinary staff badge.Lydia stood in front of the donor wall wearing an organizer's badge

My first week in Brooklyn, I had to sleep with the hallway light on.The apartment was small, and its south-facing window looked straight onto a brick wall. Whenever my upstairs neighbor came home late, the dull thud of heels against the floor would jolt me awake. I'd immediately check the lock, then my phone.I knew, rationally, that Victor couldn't get near me. But knowing I was safe and feeling safe were two different things.Claire tried to get me to stay with her for a while. I politely said no and just asked her to keep me company while I changed both locks."Are you sure you don't want me to stay?" she asked from the doorway."You've got a shoot tomorrow." I turned the new key to test the lock. "I have to learn to sleep soundly in my own place sometime."She studied me for a moment, then let the matter drop. Instead, she sent me the measurements for our restoration workbench. "Nine tomorrow. We're checking out the studio. Don't be late."It was the most ordinary, comforting thin

I spotted the missing antique brooch in a photograph attached to a restoration inquiry from another business.A long-established consignment house in Manhattan had contacted me to ask whether a solder mark on the back of an emerald brooch could be repaired. The photograph was clear enough that when I zoomed in, my whole body went rigid.I would know that solder mark anywhere. The tiny ridge at the edge of the joint was the mark I had left with my own hands at my workbench five years ago. Back then, Alexander had refused to have it melted down and recast. He wanted the keepsake kept as close to the original as possible.I compared the photos again and again. Then I sent a routine business email asking the consignment house to hold off on any sale until the documentation could be verified, and to delay the repair too.They replied that the brooch hadn't been sold. The consignor had signed a declaration affirming their right to sell it, but the house couldn't disclose their identity for p

Three months later, when I saw Victor outside the courthouse, I still couldn't stop shaking.He wore an ill-fitting coat, and for once, his hair was neatly combed. From a distance, he looked like any other middle-aged man. No stranger would have guessed what he was capable of. Some might even have mistaken him for a father who'd been unfairly judged by his daughter.Claire handed me a bottle of water. "Take your time. Nadia says we don't go in until it's our turn. There's no rush.""I know." I unscrewed the cap, but my throat was so dry I could barely swallow the first sip.When I was young, I worked up the courage to call the police once. At 18, I sat in a police station with his bruises still on my face and told them everything, forcing out every word. When I got home, Victor slammed his hand on the table and yelled that I had no business airing the family's dirty laundry.Now I was 28. I had my own lawyer, a safe place to live, and enough money to cover my medical bills. But the mom