Chapter 1

As I stepped out of the city hall, Ryan Carter's Maybach was parked right in front of me.

He pushed me into the passenger seat, then magically produced a bouquet from behind his back and stuffed it into my arms, wearing that nonchalant grin.

Ryan said, "Sorry, babe, my commitment issues kicked in again. Next time, I swear we'll actually get the marriage certificate!"

I didn't respond.

We had been together for ten years, and in the ninth year, we decided to get married.

This year alone, we booked seven appointments at the city hall. He bailed on all seven.

Every time, Ryan would say, "Next time," and always blamed it on his so-called fear of marriage.

But honestly, I had known for a while; it wasn't actually getting married or starting a family that freaked him out.

It was because his family had lined up a woman from a rich, influential family for him.

Ryan had been hesitating for a whole year. That was why there were so many next times.

But what he didn't know was that this time, there wouldn't be another chance.

Just a few minutes ago at the city hall, I had married someone else.

*****

The silence stretched on, and Ryan started to get impatient. He hadn't started the car yet.

Ryan frowned and said, "Emily, you can't be mad at me because of my issues, right? I'm already getting help. Didn't I go with you to the city hall this time?

"That's a huge improvement compared to before, isn't it?"

He sounded so self-righteous, almost as if he were the one being wronged, as if it were my fault for not being more understanding of his so-called issues.

I didn't feel like arguing, so I replied flatly, "Yeah, you're right."

Ryan paused, probably surprised that I was so calm this time, not snapping at him like I usually did.

"Just drive," I said, closing my eyes.

Ryan blinked, didn't say another word, and stepped on the gas. The car sped off.

The window was rolled down all the way, and the wind whipped through, tearing the bouquet Ryan gave me to pieces. A bunch of petals flew right out of the car, scattered by the breeze.

Maybe the flowers weren't fresh anymore; after all, they had been sitting around since morning, and now it was already nighttime.

To be fair, Ryan was right about that.

Unlike before, when he'd backed out halfway, this time he actually came with me to city hall.

But right after we finished filling out the forms, he said he needed to use the restroom and then vanished.

I knew he'd walk out on me.

Right before Ryan headed to the restroom, his phone went off with that classy violin ringtone, Swan Lake.

That was the ringtone he set for the woman his family wanted him to marry, Charlotte Sinclair.

And right then, that same ringtone started ringing again.

Ryan's expression froze for a second, then he hit decline.

The caller was relentless; two more calls came in, and he rejected them both.

When the car pulled over to the curb, I thought Ryan was going to make me get out again.

Just like last month, during our sixth attempt to get the marriage certificate, he got a call on the way and dropped me off on a deserted stretch of road.

He was in such a hurry to leave that he didn't even hand me my purse.

I walked for what felt like forever, so worn out that I collapsed by the roadside from exhaustion and miscarried the baby.

But this time, after Ryan pulled over, he crossed the street to a shop and came back with a cake.

"Your favorite chestnut cake," he said.

Ryan handed it to me, his tone still distant, but this was the closest he'd ever come to making amends.

After ten years together, he rarely ever tried to comfort me unless we were in bed.

Him actually detouring to buy this cake? That was pretty much his limit.

Before, I'd always take the olive branch, smile, and say, "Thanks, honey."

But this time, I said, "Put it away."

Ryan paused for a second, then tossed the cake onto the back seat.

The car started up again, and I glanced out the window, realizing we weren't heading home.

"Where are we going?" I asked, my voice so calm it almost felt foreign to me.

"To see your mom," Ryan replied.

I went rigid.

He always knew my weak spot.

"Let's not," I said.

Ryan pulled up at a red light, the countdown ticking away second by second.

"Why? Is her condition getting worse again? I can call in the best specialists in the state to take a look," Ryan said.

I shook my head, forcing the words out. "Let's go home. The chestnut cake won't taste good if it sits too long."

Ryan shot me a look, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips. "Alright."

The light turned green, and he flicked on the turn signal, heading us back home.

My eyes lingered on the chestnut cake box in the rearview mirror, and suddenly, an indescribable ache welled up inside me.