Chapter 1
Chapter 1
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“Mom, I agreed to the marriage.” In the bridal shop fitting room, Lydia Sullivan looked down at the white dress hem scattered on the floor, her eyes red.
On the other end of the line, Rachel let out a cold, sharp scoff. “So in your heart, I–your mother–matter less than that old house your father left you.
“I begged you so many times and you said no, but the minute I say we’re selling the house, you come running back?”
Lydia clenched her fists. “You married into the Hollander family. You have status, you have a son, and you have Effie, the stepdaughter who is more considerate than me. Why would you need me to care about you?”
Rachel lost her patience. “You have three days. If you don’t come back, forget about the house.”
“I need a week,” Lydia said. “If you touch my dad’s house, I swear the engagement with the Leonard family will fall on
Effie.”
Heavy, angry breathing came from the other end of the phone.
“You’re just like your dead father. All you do is piss me off. One week. I want to see you in Jettridge,” Rachel said, then hung up.
The busy tone echoed in Lydia’s ear. Her tears, which she’d been holding back, finally fell.
The dress fitting had already been pushed from the start of the month to the end. Michael Finnian had bailed on her over and over. Last night, he swore he’d come today. But he broke his promise again.
“Ms. Sullivan, sorry, but we’re about to close,” the staff outside called gently, with a hint of pity in her voice.
Lydia answered softly, took off the dress, folded it neatly, hung it back on the rack, and walked out.
The staff, clearly used to this, kept a professional smile. “Ms. Sullivan, would you like to set another fitting date?”
Lydia said, “No, thanks.”
With people watching her closely, Lydia grabbed her bag and hurried out. As soon as she sat in the car, a message from Michael popped up. [Something came up tonight.]
He didn’t say where he went or even ask if she was still at the bridal shop.
Lydia’s heart felt so cold it went numb.
Just as she exited WhatsApp, a new status update sound pinged.
Ciara: [I twisted my ankle, not my wrist.]
The picture below showed a carefully arranged fruit platter with colorful little forks. A long, slender hand held up a piece
of sweet melon to Ciara Merritt’s lips. She looked back at the person feeding her with a shy, happy smile.
Even though the person wasn’t in the photo, Lydia clearly saw the watch.
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It was the birthday gift she had picked out for Michael. On the back of the metal strap, she had engraved both their initials.
She scrolled up and saw Ciara’s updates came every few minutes, like check–ins.
Ciara: [It hurt so bad, thank God you carried me the whole time.]
Ciara: [You said I’d never shed a tear as long as you were there, but I cried from the pain. I’m sorry.]
Ciara: [I could’ve done it alone, but I just had to call you. I only feel safe curled up in your arms.]
Each message came with a carefully chosen photo–Michael carrying Ciara into the clinic, Michael anxiously talking to a doctor, Michael lying on the couch with her in his arms, and more.
The first time Lydia saw the photo of Ciara holding hands with Michael on WhatsApp, she was stunned.
At that time, she’d already been dating Michael for three years–and Ciara was her best friend.
Once, Lydia had saved Ciara from a group of thugs on her way home and introduced her to Michael. From then on, Ciara became part of a world that had once belonged to just Lydia and Michael.
Lydia trusted the bond she and Michael had built since they met at sixteen. Even when he started to take Ciara’s side more and more, she didn’t question it.
But that photo shattered her faith. She brought her phone straight to Michael, needing an explanation.
That was when she discovered that Michael couldn’t see Ciara’s post. Only then did she realize–Ciara had set the post to be visible to her alone.
From that day on, Lydia started to see another side of their triangle.
Michael took care of Ciara in every way, even buying her tampons during her period and making her coffee.
Ciara’s updates about her and Michael’s closeness had been going on for six months–and they had torn Lydia’s love for him apart piece by piece. By now, there was nothing left.
Letting the pain in her chest spread through her body, Lydia went home, ate, showered, and went to bed.
It had been eight years since she escaped to Raventon–and she had tangled with Michael just as long. What tied them together ran deep. With only a week left, there was still so much she needed to let go of.
That night, plagued by nightmares, Lydia slept restlessly. Just as she drifted through a heavy dream, she felt the bed suddenly dip beside her, jolting her awake.
A familiar scent surrounded her from behind. Michael pulled her into his arms, bringing with him the coolness of the night -and the scent of gardenias, the perfume Ciara wore.
“Lydia, I’m sorry,” he said. “How about we skip the dress fitting? Let’s go get the marriage license first.”
His gentle voice sounded just like it had when they first met, and when they used to comfort each other through hard times.
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But the boy who had once promised to always protect her, to build her the safest and most beautiful castle, had long disappeared in the flow of time.
Then Michael’s phone buzzed, breaking the silence.
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He quickly pulled his hand away from her waist and sat on the edge of the bed, voice low. “You’re crying? Don’t be scared. I’m on my way.”
The mattress shifted again. His steps were hurried, almost anxious.
Just as he opened the door, Lydia called out, “Michael.”
He froze and looked back. “Yeah?”
Lydia was sitting up. The hallway light hit Michael’s back. In the flicker of shadow and light, she couldn’t make out his face.
Maybe it was unwillingness to give up. She still asked, “When are we going to get the license?”
“Some other time,” Michael said as he shut the door behind him. Soon, the sound of a car engine echoed from the yard.
Lydia gave a bitter laugh–part mocking, part sad.
The next morning, right after Lydia finished breakfast, Ciara’s new WhatsApp update popped up right on cue.
Ciara: [Still feel safest sleeping in your arms.]
In the photo, Ciara wore a black camisole nightdress, sexy and flirtatious. Even with the soft focus, the kiss marks all over her neck were clear.
Behind her, Michael was sleeping soundly with his arms wrapped tightly around her. The black shirt he’d worn the night before had been swapped for a light gray loungewear set.
There was a close–up of his hands around Ciara’s waist–tight and possessive. The same hands that had held Lydia just last night..
Lydia felt sick to her stomach. Even her clothes felt dirty.
They’d lived together for a year and a half. They’d come close a few times, when things got heated, but Michael had always said he wouldn’t touch her until they were married. Said it was out of respect–for her and for marriage.
Now, those words just felt like a joke.
Outside, Lydia heard the sound of a car stopping. A moment later, Michael’s assistant, Timothy Quinn, walked in holding a
massive box.
His tone was polite but distant. “Ms. Sullivan, Mr. Finnian asked me to purchase both wedding dresses you tried on yesterday. This way, you won’t have to go through the trouble of trying them again.”
He pulled out his phone and scrolled through it. “Mr. Finnian’s schedule is full, but he’s cleared the afternoon one week
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from now to go with you to get the marriage license.”
His whole delivery was cold, like a business transaction. Michael didn’t even need to show up in person.
Just then, the TV in the living room, which had been left on, switched to a late–night news segment.
Over the noisy background, Michael was seen shielding Ciara while leaving the bar district. He was usually calm and composed, but now, his face was twisted in anger.
“She’s under my protection,” he said. “Back off.”
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So here he was, planning a wedding with Lydia while also publicly declaring his intent to protect Ciara and staying out all night with her. Lydia thought he was both a jerk and a drama king.
Timothy looked slightly uncomfortable. He opened his mouth, as if to explain, but Lydia had already turned off the TV and gave a small nod.
“I’ve got the date for the marriage license. You can go now,” she said.
