Chapter 1

While Andrew Quinn knelt on one knee proposing to another woman, I sat locked in a storage closet.

My phone screen glowed with the live stream of his carefully orchestrated proposal. Roses blanketed the ground beneath twinkling fairy lights, creating the perfect romantic scene.

He raised a diamond ring toward the woman standing before him. His voice carried that tender tone I used to know. "Olivia, marry me. I promise Charlotte won't come between us anymore."

I twisted the plain silver band on my ring finger, then swiped to open another file on my phone.

The photo showed me standing outside the city hall on the day we'd filed for our marriage license.

The man beside me in that picture wasn't Andrew.

*****

The storage closet smelled like old dust and forgotten things.

I leaned against the cold wall. My legs had gone numb from sitting too long.

The glow from my phone screen was the only light in the darkness.

On the livestream, Andrew's friends had started chanting.

"Kiss her!" they shouted. "Come on, kiss her!"

Olivia Lane ducked her head with practiced shyness. She looked like a delicate flower trembling in the wind.

Andrew smiled and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.

The comments section exploded.

[OMG! Mr. Quinn is so sweet to her!]

[They're perfect together! I'm obsessed with this couple!]

[Thank God that crazy bitch Charlotte is finally gone. Good riddance!]

I stared at the screen without expression.

Crazy bitch. They were talking about me.

I had loved Andrew for ten years. In the end, all I got was that title.

I supposed it was some kind of achievement.

He had someone lock me in here, probably terrified I'd storm out and wreck the most important moment of his life.

Everyone believed I was obsessively in love with him, that I'd never allow another woman within ten feet of him.

He underestimated me. And he overestimated himself.

I unlocked my phone and closed the livestream.

In my photo gallery, a picture waited.

I stood arm-in-arm with a man in the photo, wearing an expression so calm I barely recognized myself.

The man had sharp, defined features. His eyes held a quiet intensity, and the ghost of a smile touched his lips.

Gabriel Foster. My legal husband.

Outside, a key turned in the lock.

I quickly put my phone away and smoothed my face back into a blank, unreadable expression.

The door swung open. Andrew stood in the doorway, backlit, his expression lost in shadow.

He probably expected to find me crying, broken down, and desperate.

Instead, he got nothing.

I stood and brushed the dust from my clothes, moving slowly and deliberately.

"Congrats," I said.

My voice came out rough and raw from hours of silence.

Andrew's brow furrowed, his expression radiating undisguised irritation mixed with confusion. He said sharply, "Charlotte, cut the act."

He assumed I was throwing another tantrum.

I replied, "I'm tired. I'm going home to sleep." I stepped around him and walked straight toward the exit.

He grabbed my wrist, his grip painfully tight.

He snapped, "Enough already. Do you really want me to say something we'll both regret?"

There it was, his signature line.

I wrenched my wrist free and turned to face him. I shot back, "Andrew, you proposed successfully, and I gave you my blessing. What else do you want from me? Should I throw rice at your wedding and give a speech about how perfect you two are?"

Andrew's expression darkened instantly.

He clearly hadn't expected me to speak to him this way, not after years of being his willing doormat.

He demanded, "Charlotte, what the hell is wrong with you?"

I shrugged. "Maybe." I had no interest in arguing with him, so I turned and walked away.

When I returned to the room I'd occupied for five years, I pulled out the suitcase I'd packed days ago and began gathering my remaining belongings.

Nothing here was worth staying for anymore.

Andrew and I had grown up together, inseparable since childhood.

For as long as I could remember, my entire world had revolved around him.

I'd learned to cook for him, taken floral arrangement classes for his mother's approval, and turned down a prestigious art scholarship abroad to stay by his side.

I'd molded myself into his perfect accessory.

Everyone said I was head over heels for Andrew, completely devoted.

I used to think that was a compliment.

Now I recognized it for what it was, pathetic.

The final straw had come three months ago.

That day had been my birthday and the anniversary of my father's death.

I'd visited my father's grave in the pouring rain, and by the time I got home, I'd spiked a fever of 103 degrees.

I'd lain in bed shivering, my body wracked with chills, and called him seven times.

He'd finally answered on the seventh call.

Background noise crackled through the phone. I heard women laughing.

Andrew's voice cut through, sharp with annoyance. "Charlotte, what is it now? I'm busy."

"I have a fever," I managed to say. "I feel awful."

"Then go to a doctor," he snapped. "Why are you calling me?"

The line went dead.

I learned later that Olivia had returned from overseas that day.

He had reserved the entire yacht club to welcome her home.

While I lay in a hospital bed with a critical condition notice taped to my chart, he stood on a yacht deck, laughing with her under the stars.

Gabriel saved me that night.

He owned the private hospital. During his late-night rounds, he found me curled up in a hallway corner. I couldn't afford to pay my medical bills.

He asked me nothing. He simply removed his suit jacket and draped it across my shoulders.

"Want to change your life?" he murmured close to my ear.

Fever burned through me, but I grabbed at this lifeline. "Yes."

"Marry me," he said. His voice was steady, certain. "I'll give you a new identity. I'll help you escape everyone you don't want to face."

"Why would you do that?"

He paused. When he spoke again, his voice had softened. "Because someone once left me out in the rain too."

We were two people nursing the same wound.

The day after I was discharged, we went to the city hall and applied for a marriage license.

There was no ceremony. No friends showed up. No family members witnessed it. Two people who had stopped believing in love stood before a clerk and made a deal.

I zipped my suitcase shut after packing the last piece of clothing inside.

Behind me, Andrew leaned against the doorframe, watching. His gaze grew colder with each passing second.

His tone dripped with mockery. "What's this? Running away from home?"

He continued, "Who's this little show for? Give it three days. You'll be crying and begging to come back."

I ignored him and dragged my suitcase toward the door.

He stepped into my path, irritation written across his face.

Andrew's voice was flat. "Charlotte, my patience has limits. Put the suitcase back and I'll pretend this never happened."

I looked up and met his eyes directly.

My voice was steady. "Andrew, I'm moving out. We're done."