Chapter 4
He gave me a quick look, speaking quietly. "Ms. Jennings, I copied the security footage from the restoration studio entrance this morning."
I took it from him.
"Thanks," I said.
He scratched his head.
Nathan muttered, 'I used to think Mr. Lane was alright, but the way he reached for that logbook today, like he owned it or something. Guess I was wrong about him.'
I slipped the file folder into my bag.
My phone lit up again.
Michael texted: [Come home tonight. We need to talk. Don't make me lose face again.]
I didn't go back to that house.
Before clocking out that afternoon, I left the keys, the handover checklist, and the security footage backup in the museum director's office.
When the museum director saw the complaint form, his face darkened.
"The deputy director wants you to write an apology letter?" he asked.
"Yeah," I replied.
"An apology letter? For what? Let me handle this," he said.
I shook my head.
"I don't want to be the reason the project gets delayed. I'm leaving in two days, and I'll finish all the handover work before I go," I said.
The museum director looked at me, his gaze steady and full of concern.
"Claire, are you feeling wronged?" he asked.
I took off the engagement ring and slipped it into the side pocket of my bag.
"It's not the feeling of being wronged that gets to me. What really scares me is having to pretend like nothing ever happened," I said.
That evening, I went back to Michael's apartment to pack up my things.
He'd bought the place before we got together, but after I moved in, I ended up furnishing almost the entire place myself.
In the closet, my clothes barely claimed a single shelf.
Right next to his suits was a pale pink shawl.
I'd never seen it before, and it definitely wasn't mine.
I packed up my ID, books, and restoration tools into the suitcase.
Just as I zipped it up, the door opened.
Michael walked in with Evelyn.
Evelyn was cradling a small ceramic pot in her arms.
When she saw the suitcase, she froze right where she stood.
"Claire, are you really leaving?" Evelyn asked.
Michael frowned.
"So you're really moving out just because you're upset?" he said.
"I'm leaving," I said, my voice calm and unwavering.
"Where are you going?" he asked.
"To my parents' place. I'm leaving for the Northel in two days," I replied.
Michael stepped in front of the suitcase, blocking my way.
"I'm not letting you leave," he said.
I looked up at him.
"And what gives you the right to stop me?" I said, my voice cold.
"Because we're getting married," he shot back.
"The marriage license is off, the wedding's canceled, and I've already recalled the invitations," I said, my voice steady and unwavering.
Evelyn gasped, covering her mouth with her hand.
"Claire, why are you being so reckless? Michael just stayed with me for one night to help me out," she said.
Michael's voice was tight with anger. "Who said you could cancel the wedding? Did you even tell me?"
"Did you even bother to talk to me before you called off the marriage license?" I shot back.
He was momentarily at a loss for words, but quickly recovered. "That was different. Evelyn needed someone with her."
"I'm not without backup," I shot back.
Michael glanced at my suitcase.
"Put your stuff back. Tomorrow, I'll go with you to the marriage registry and we'll get the license sorted," he said, his tone firm.
Evelyn's face turned ghostly pale.
"Michael, didn't you say you should just pause for now? I really don't want to be the reason you two are fighting," she said, her voice shaky and full of guilt.
Michael leaned in, trying to calm her down. "Don't overthink it."
I pulled up my suitcase.
"I'm not getting the license," I said, my voice cold and unwavering.
Michael grabbed the handle of my suitcase.
"Claire, that's enough. I won't hold the wedding cancellation against you. If you just come back now, I'll act like none of this drama ever happened," he said.
"I'm the one who paid the deposit, booked the banquet, and handled all the arrangements. What exactly are you so upset about?" I shot back.
He looked embarrassed for a moment.
Evelyn hugged the ceramic pot tighter, her voice quivering, clearly on the verge of tears.
"Claire, is it because I borrowed your shawl? My stomach was hurting that day, and Michael just gave it to me so I wouldn't get cold," she said, sounding guilty and apologetic.
I glanced at the closet.
"Enjoy it as much as you want," I said, my voice cold as ice.