Chapter 1
The day before the wedding, I told Michael Jordan the whole thing was off.
"Just because I missed your final dress fitting?" He ripped at his tie with one hand, his voice thick with irritation.
"Yes," I replied.
He stared me down for a long beat. "Fine. Just don't come crawling back when you change your mind."
We'd been a thing for over a decade, from high school sweethearts to the brink of the altar. We grew up in each other's pockets.
He was dead certain I couldn't breathe without him.
But he was dead wrong.
The dress was just the final insult.
I'd already burned the guest list, and my grad school placement abroad was locked in. Barring a disaster, I wouldn't be back stateside for at least five years.
This time, we were well and truly finished.
*****
"Just because I didn't show up for your wedding dress fitting?" Michael snapped.
Outside the dorm, Michael stood under the maples, morning light filtered through the leaves and dappling his face. He toyed with his worn cufflinks, brow furrowed. "How much longer are you going to keep this act up?"
"Just assume I'm acting out," I replied coldly.
He checked his watch. "That was literally the only window I had open all year. You'd better think long and hard about this."
The bluntness caught me off guard.
My phone buzzed, blaring the upbeat ringtone Michael had set specifically for himself.
"How many times have you threatened to cancel? Six? Seven? Emily, I can't keep putting up with your drama," Michael sighed.
It's the seventh time, I remember it perfectly. "This will be the last time," I said.
He gave a sharp nod. "Fine. Don't come crying to me later."
The ringtone finally stopped, and I could just make out Mia Bright's voice in the background.
"Mr. Jordan, I messed up again. Can you come over?" Mia whimpered.
"I'm on my way," Michael answered.
Mia Bright was Michael's assistant, hired two years ago. She was the "girl-next-door" type, but she was constantly dropping the ball.
Michael used to vent 24/7 about how flaky she was and how much of a nightmare it was to clean up after her.
But his complaining shifted from genuine frustration to a sort of fond exasperation, until eventually, he just stopped mentioning Mia altogether.
It's been almost a year since Michael last uttered her name to me.
Students were buzzing in and out of the dorm, but Michael's soft "I'm on my way" echoed in my head like a direct hit.
The early autumn sun was bright, yet I couldn't stop my hands from shaking with a deep, inner chill.
I retreated to my room, buried myself under the duvet, and blacked out. When I finally surfaced, the room was pitch black.
I checked my phone and saw Mia's latest post at the top of my feed.
Mia captioned: [Messed up again, but my boss was a total saint and walked me through it. Paid him back with wings and sliders.]
The photo showed a dive bar table littered with greasy baskets and crumpled napkins, the neon beer signs blurred in the background.
In the corner of the frame, a hand with sharp, masculine knuckles was gripping a chicken wing.
And on that hand sat the silver band we'd picked out together.
Just then, my phone screen lit up—Michael had texted me.
Michael: [You canceled the wedding reception? If you don't like it, we can book a different place.]
He couldn't spare a single day for my wedding dress fitting, but he spent the whole day patiently teaching Mia Bright.
Drip.
My screen was blurred with tears, but I could still make out his profile picture—a shot from our high school graduation, where he was looking down at me, his eyes full of joy he couldn't hide.
He'd never changed it, not in all these years.
My fingers shook as I hovered over his name, hesitating again and again. But finally, I hit the block button and deleted his contact for good.
I buried myself deep under the duvet, crying silently in the darkness as my tears soaked the pillowcase.
When I stumbled down for breakfast, my brother, Alex Pearl—who I hadn't seen in forever—was sitting at the island. "Why are your eyes all puffed up?" he asked.
"I stayed up late watching a horror flick and totally freaked myself out," I replied, my voice raspy.
"You're such a scaredy-cat, yet you still insist on torture-testing yourself," Alex laughed. "Here, try this coffee—it's an artisan roast I brought back from the coast just for my Princess Emily Pearl."
"The country club called me and said you canceled the reception booking. Was there something about the venue you didn't like?" Alex questioned.
My brother had just started running the family firm, working insane hours lately, but he still kept tabs on every detail of my life.
"Mom and Dad are loving retirement in the islands. They're definitely flying in for the big day. We can't stand the thought of you moving out so soon, but at least Michael treats you right," Alex noted.
Tears dropped into my bowl out of nowhere.
"What's wrong? Who's bothering my favorite girl?" Alex scrambled to wipe my tears away.
"It's nothing, I'm just not ready to let go of everything," I choked out.
Alex was drowning in work, having just stepped in as CEO, and the board of directors was already gunning for him. I couldn't bear to pile my drama onto his plate.
"You need to get to the office, Alex. I'll be fine on my own," I said, keeping my voice steady.
Alex looked me over carefully, then finally nodded. Right then, my phone buzzed—it was Lucy Lane, my best friend, texting me about the graduation bash.
"Go on, get out of the house. Use my black card," Alex said, giving my hair a gentle ruffle.
Alex added with a wink, "Enjoy your last bit of freedom before you're a married woman."
Half an hour later, I pulled up to the high-end bistro we always picked for our senior send-offs.
Lucy Lane had invited the entire graduating class, and the private lounge was vibrating with energy—everyone was partying like it was their last night on earth.
"Hey, kiddo, you're walking down the aisle right after commencement, right?" a classmate shouted.
Before I could blink, the whole room was gossiping about me. Michael had graduated two years ahead of me, but he was always hanging around campus to see me, so he was practically a local celebrity.
"Who in this town hasn't seen the video of that insane Jumbotron proposal?" another girl asked.
"You guys better be happy forever! We've all been front-row fans of this romance," a guy cheered.
Michael was always the big spender—whenever he visited, he'd buy rounds for the whole table. Sometimes it was crates of craft beer, other times it was a mountain of designer donuts from that place downtown.
The well-wishes kept coming, but I just sat in the corner, forcing a smile and staying out of the conversation.
The room started picking up on my vibe, and the chatter gradually faded until a heavy silence took over.