Chapter 2

Luke got home at three in the morning.

I sat on the couch, my eyes raw from exhaustion.

Our gazes met. A heavy silence stretched between us.

On the table, the tablet played his wedding-crashing video on loop.

"Here's $880,000..."

Once, twice, three times.

Luke strode over and shut it off. Then, slowly, he knelt.

He was kneeling for that woman.

The thought alone was pathetic.

"I know it's too late for excuses," he said, his voice rough. "But I swear, this is the last time I help her."

"Her dad has lung cancer, he needs money for surgery."

"She came to me first, but I refused to see her. That's why she was selling herself to that man."

"I just felt sorry for her, you have to believe me..."

Just pity.

How many times had Luke said that? He probably lost count long ago.

But I remembered every single time.

Because every time he said it, I was the one who suffered.

Funding her education, out of pity.

Arranging her job, out of pity.

Buying her a house, out of pity.

Getting into a fight for her, out of pity.

And now, even stopping her from marrying someone else, he still claimed it was out of pity?

"Your compassion knows no bounds."

The sarcasm hit its mark. He stood to hug me, but I shoved him away.

"Claire, are you going to leave me again?"

Luke knelt on one knee, his eyes watering.

"Luke, the one who gave up first doesn't get to make demands."