Chapter 3

Ethan Quinn remained every bit the perfect boyfriend—patient, charming, and composed. Even after I publicly humiliated him, he kept his head low and tried to appease me, his voice soft and apologetic.

The murmurs in the crowd grew louder, and it didn’t take long for people to start blaming me.

“Willow really doesn’t know how good she has it. Ethan’s proposal was so heartfelt—what more could she possibly want? If I had someone like Ethan, I’d cherish him forever.”

“Exactly! Ethan treats her like a queen. Everyone knows he’d do anything for her. And on top of that, they’ve been childhood friends! Honestly, Willow’s just lucky to have him.”

“Maybe she’s fallen for someone else? Why else would she reject him?”

“Last week, I saw them on a date. They looked so happy—what could’ve happened?”

“Look at Ethan! He’s about to cry. I think Willow’s being completely unreasonable.”

The whispers surrounded me like a swarm of bees, but one voice, in particular, cut through the noise. It was a voice I could never forget, one that was burned into my soul after years of torment.

I turned, scanning the crowd, and found her—Lydia Wright.

She stood quietly among the onlookers, her appearance modest and unassuming. But the jealousy in her eyes was unmistakable, burning so fiercely that it nearly betrayed her facade of innocence.

Ignoring Ethan, I walked straight past him and stopped in front of Lydia.

Under the confused stares of the crowd, I slipped the engagement ring off my finger and tossed it at her feet.

“If you think Ethan is so perfect, then why don’t you take him? You two seem like a match made in heaven.”

The diamond caught the sunlight as it arced through the air, landing with a sharp clink on the ground.

Lydia’s face flushed bright red, her composure cracking under the weight of my words.

I smiled at her, a sharp, knowing smile.

In my previous life, Lydia had boasted endlessly about her “unbreakable bond” with Ethan.

She once told me, with a smirk on her face:

“I’ve loved Ethan since high school.”

“I wrote him 99 love letters, each one carefully written by hand. And do you know what he did with them? He kept every single one. He carried them with him everywhere, tucked safely in his briefcase. You never even noticed, did you?”

“On the back of the letters, Ethan marked the dates. He always planned to marry me—on the day your family fell from grace.”

Now, I looked her dead in the eye and asked, loud enough for everyone to hear, “Didn’t you say you’ve loved Ethan since high school?”

Lydia’s face paled.

“And didn’t you write him 99 love letters?” I continued, my tone dripping with mockery. “How many was it again? 99, right?”

Lydia’s embarrassment turned to rage. She pointed a trembling finger at me and shouted, “Don’t think you can just throw around your status as the Linwood heiress to bully people!”

Someone from the crowd stepped forward, touching my arm lightly. “Willow, is there some kind of misunderstanding here?”

Ethan rushed over as well, his expression frantic. “Willow, are you rejecting me because of these baseless rumors? That’s all they are—rumors!”

He turned toward the crowd, desperate to clear his name. “I don’t even know her! She’s lying. Don’t believe a word she says.”

Ethan’s devotion to me was no secret.

Everyone in Riverton knew the stories. When I had a high fever that wouldn’t break, Ethan stayed by my bedside for days, barely sleeping until I recovered.

When I woke up and casually mentioned craving a bowl of clam chowder from a restaurant in a distant city, Ethan chartered a plane that very day to bring it to me, still warm.

On my 18th birthday, someone had made an inappropriate comment toward me at the party. Ethan didn’t hesitate to start a fight right then and there, risking not only his place in the Quinn family but also nearly getting arrested.

He told me once, “Willow, I would give my life for you.”

To him, I was more important than anything—even himself. Or so he said.

But what the world didn’t know, what I hadn’t known until it was too late, was that Ethan’s love was a lie.

And so, on the day he proposed, the day he claimed to love me in front of the entire city, I didn’t just reject him—I humiliated him.

When he tried to explain himself, insisting that he and Lydia had no connection, I responded by slapping him across the face.

The sharp crack of my palm against his cheek silenced the crowd.

I didn’t hold back—I put every ounce of anger, betrayal, and hatred into that slap.

But even that wasn’t enough. Not compared to the pain he had inflicted on me and my family in my previous life.

“You say you have nothing to do with her?” I said, my voice cold and unwavering.