Chapter 2

My phone buzzed nonstop with messages from Annalise Castro, each one packed with photos.

"Mila, check these out! All handcrafted by Martin and me," she gushed. "Every piece is a masterpiece, don’t you think? They deserve prime spots!"

I shot a quick text to my assistant, Reign Rice: "Handle it. Just sync up with her."

Before closing the app, curiosity got the best of me, and I clicked onto Annalise’s social media. Her Facebook painted a cozy, lovey-dovey picture—a stark contrast to the bold, flashy content she posted on Instagram. A pinned post caught my eye: "Today’s craft session with my love!" accompanied by photos that made me cringe.

Honestly, it wasn’t surprising. Three months ago, Martin came back from a business trip with a ceramic vase, insisting I make room for it on our dining room shelf. After that, he kept bringing home handmade trinkets, claiming they were client gifts. Like a fool, I believed him.

But now, staring at Annalise’s posts, reality slapped me in the face.

Martin barely looked up when he said, "Annalise mentioned she added you. Let her know where to place the items."

I swallowed the lump in my throat and forced a calm reply: "Sure."

Only then did he glance at me, a faint smile flickering before disappearing, as if driving me to work was some grand gesture.

I didn’t respond, my eyes locking onto his hand. "Where’s your ring?"

His expression shifted instantly. He pulled his hand back, mumbling, "Had too much to drink last night. Must’ve misplaced it."

Seeing my skeptical look, he softened his tone. "It’s just a cheap ring. We’ll upgrade to something better later."

Cheap? I designed that ring myself five years ago. The man who once promised me forever was clearly not the same person anymore.

"I get it. You don’t need to drive me. I’ll manage on my own."

Martin hesitated, thrown off by my lack of resistance. He opened his mouth as if to say something but stayed silent as I turned to leave.

The day blurred by as Reign and I finalized details for the art show. By evening, I spotted Martin waiting downstairs.

"Mila, why didn’t you answer my texts?" he asked the moment he saw me.

I checked my phone, noticing his messages asking when I’d wrap up. Before I could respond, he added, "Let’s go pick out that ring."

I was surprised he remembered. After a pause, I nodded.

But as we browsed rings, his phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID, then at me.

"Mila, my boss needs me. Something urgent came up," he said, trailing off.

I nodded, watching him leave with a detached calm.

I picked out a ring for myself, swiping Martin’s linked card without hesitation.

The store clerk, Madelyn Barnes, handed me two boxes. "This one’s a custom engagement ring Mr. Franklin ordered a month ago," she explained.

My stomach dropped. Engagement ring? I couldn’t resist opening the box. Inside was a diamond ring engraved with Martin’s and Annalise’s names.

It felt like a punch to the gut, leaving me speechless.

So, Martin had already bought a ring to propose to her.

Madelyn offered tissues, asking if I needed help, but I shook my head.

Clutching the ring, I stepped into the elevator, fighting back tears I refused to shed.

For five years, I’d dreamed of marrying Martin. Once, I casually brought up marriage, and he snapped, accusing me of pressuring him. He claimed he wasn’t ready to settle down.

I never brought it up again, thinking we’d wait until he was ready. Turns out, it wasn’t marriage he was avoiding—just marriage with me.