Chapter 2

"Ha…"

I let out a cold laugh, shrugged him off, and walked out of the room.

The early autumn night wind carried a chill. I stood under a streetlamp, slowly, almost deliberately, pulling my wind-blown collar tighter.

My fingertips traced the cold fabric, each movement slow and deliberate, as if I was fighting with myself.

Harper reeked of Owen’s cologne. Our wedding bed was a mess because of them, and he was still defending her.

"Clara!"

The sound of his dress shoes rapidly approached.

I turned back to see Owen standing a few steps away. He stood there in the cold wind, his shoulders trembling slightly, his chest heaving, as if he'd just run a long distance.

"Let's talk," his voice softened.

I let out a long breath, saying nothing.

He walked closer, his hand suddenly gripping my arm tightly, as if afraid I'd shake him off.

"There's really nothing going on between Harper and me," he said, his voice low, almost pleading. "She was just drunk. I couldn't just leave her…"

"Drunk?" I scoffed. "So drunk she can lie on our wedding bed? So drunk she can make you stay out all night? So drunk she can—"

I yanked my arm away, pressing my thumb hard into the skin on his inner wrist—there was a faint bruise there, like someone had gripped him tightly.

His eyes flickered, and he instinctively tried to pull his hand back, but I held firm.

"Was this an 'accident' too?"

His face shifted, and then he pulled away, his voice suddenly rough. "Are you ever going to let this go?!"

He took a deep breath, as if trying to keep calm. "You're going to cancel our wedding just because of a misunderstanding? We've been together for three years. Do you really trust me so little? Besides, she's already gone home!"

"Misunderstanding?" I stared into his eyes. "Alright, prove it to me."

"Block Harper now. Delete all her contacts. Don't see her again."

His expression froze.

"No way," he blurted out almost instantly. "She's my most important friend. We've known each other for twenty years. You want me to just cut her off?"

"Most important friend?" I forced a smile. "More important than your fiancée?"

He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, his phone suddenly rang.

He glanced down at the screen, and his face instantly changed—it was Harper.

"Hello? Harper? What's wrong?" He answered the phone, his worry barely hidden.

Harper’s faint, dramatically pained groans trickled through the phone. "Owen… I fell… My head's spinning…"

"Don't move! I'm coming right now!" He hung up, turning to leave.

I grabbed him.

"Owen." My voice was as cold as ice. "If you go to her today, we are completely over."

He stopped, turning back to look at me, his eyes filled with struggle.

Three seconds.

Five seconds.

"I'm sorry…" he finally murmured, then added, "I'll be right back."

He ran toward the road without a backward glance, hailing a taxi.

The moment the car door closed, I pulled out my phone and dialed the wedding planning company.

"Hello, Mr. Thompson? Yes, it's Clara Ruan." I stared at the disappearing taxi, my voice terrifyingly calm. "Cancel all wedding arrangements. I'll still pay the full fee."

The night wind swirled fallen leaves around my feet. I stood under the streetlamp, watching my shadow stretch long, long, across the pavement.