Chapter 1

Three days before the wedding, I got a text from myself three years later. [Cancel the wedding. Henry has another family.]

I thought it was a prank, but when I was ironing his suit, a strange key fell out of his pocket.

I checked the address. It was a school-catchment property, and the owner was his secretary, Sophia Lane.

I confronted him with the key.

Henry rubbed his brow, looking exhausted.

He explained, "Sophia's been by my side for five years. It's not easy raising a kid on her own. I just helped her out with the down payment for a school-catchment property. Why do you have to twist it like that?

"We're about to get married. Can't you trust me even a little?"

I kept quiet, and the next day, I went to the house with a housewarming gift.

The door was slightly open, and a cleaner was tidying up.

Seeing what was in my hand, she smiled and said, "Looking for Mr. Quinn? He and the kid just headed out to the amusement park. You can leave the gift by the door."

I stood at the doorway and saw a photo of a family of three hanging on the wall.

The boy, about three or four, had Henry's eyes and brows.

I did the math. It was the same year I got pregnant for the first time, and he convinced me to have an abortion.

I took out my phone and replied to my future self's text: [Thanks for the warning. Wedding's canceled.]

*****

"The dress is ready. The wedding planner asked if you want to try it on this afternoon." Henry's voice came through the phone with his usual gentle warmth.

I stood in front of the family photo. There he was, holding a three-or four-year-old boy with a gentle, loving smile.

"Where are you right now?" I didn't answer his question, and even I was surprised by how calm my voice sounded.

There was the sound of paper rustling on the other end.

"I'm going over next quarter's reports," Henry said with a soft laugh, his tone doting. "What's up? Checking up on me?"

"No," I said, watching the cleaner set a limited-edition Transformer on the TV stand.

Henry had bought it at an auction last week, saying he was going to give it to a client's son.

"I'm just asking. What do you want to eat tonight?" I said.

"I've got a business dinner tonight, honey. You go ahead and eat without me, okay?" He paused. "Once things settle down, I'll take you abroad for a little getaway. You've been talking about it forever, right?"

"Okay." I hung up the phone.

The cleaner came over with a rag and glanced at the housewarming gift in my hands. "Oh, just leave it there. Mr. Quinn told me Ms. Lane doesn't like anyone messing with her stuff," she said.

"Got it." I put the gift box on the shoe cabinet by the door.

On the bottom shelf of the shoe cabinet, three pairs of parent-child slippers were neatly lined up.

I walked out of the complex. The early autumn breeze hit me, and I felt sharper than ever.

Half an hour later, I was sitting in the VIP lounge at the wedding planning company.

"Ms. Shaw, here's the final schedule. Take a look and see if you need any changes," the wedding planner said, handing me a thick folder with a big smile.

"No need to look." I pushed the folder back. "The wedding's off."

The planner's smile froze, as if she couldn't process what I'd said. "W-What did you say? The wedding's in two days. The hotel, the venue, everything's already paid for," she blurted out.

"I know." I took out a bank card from my bag and pushed it to her. "Take the penalty from this card, and I'll pay the rest according to the contract. Please let all the vendors know to stop everything right away."

The planner stood up in a hurry. "Ms. Shaw, this isn't about the money. It's about Mr. Quinn. Does he know about this? Maybe you should talk it over with him first?"

"No need to discuss it." I looked at the steaming cup of coffee on the table. "This is my decision alone. Just handle the cancellation. That's all you need to do."

The planner hesitated for a moment, then finally pulled out the cancellation agreement.

I signed my name without a second thought.

As I walked out of the wedding planning company, my phone buzzed.

It was a message from Henry on WhatsApp, a photo of a carousel at the amusement park. At the edge of the photo, I caught a glimpse of the hem of a floral dress. It was Sophia's.

Henry: [The client picked this place, but it's so noisy it's giving me a headache. I just want to get home and be with you.]

I stared at the message, my finger paused for two seconds before I replied with a simple "Okay."

I put my phone away and hailed a cab. "Please, go to Hillside Residence."

That was our wedding home, filled with everything I'd poured my heart into.

Now, it was time to take out the trash.

The street outside the window blurred past as I leaned back in the seat, watching my own reflection in the glass.

There was no hysteria, no tears, and even the feeling of heartache was dull.

It was like living in a house for years, only to suddenly realize the foundation was eaten away by termites. There was no need to repair it except for moving.

Back at Hillside Residence, I pulled the suitcase out from under the bed.

I calmly packed my skincare products into my makeup bag, but my fingers were trembling slightly, beyond my control. It wasn't sadness. It was a visceral nausea.

When I got to the study, I opened the drawer and pulled out the equity agreement for Nebula Creative Studio, the company we'd started together. My share was 40%, his was 60%.

I pulled out my phone and drafted an Equity Withdrawal and Copyright Termination Notice.

Just as I finished, I heard the beep of the fingerprint lock unlocking at the front door.

Henry was back.