Chapter 6
Listening to him, I couldn't help but laugh. It was just so absurd.
"Hugo," I said, "do you honestly believe I'll be stuck with you for the rest of my life?"
He stayed silent.
I said, "Is that what you think? That no matter how you treat me, I'll always come crawling back like some pathetic dog, just hoping you'll throw me a bit of affection?"
I kept going, my voice soft but every word sharp. "Do you really think I can't make it without you?"
All I could hear on the other end was his heavy breathing.
"Listen closely," I said, my voice steady and deliberate. "From tonight on, my new life begins."
With that, I hung up and powered off my phone.
Finally, the world was completely silent.
I steadied myself against the wall and got up, then walked barefoot to the big window. The rain had eased, and the city was just a blur through the storm.
Far off, the top floor of the Kennedy Group building was still glowing. That was Hugo's office.
For seven years, I'd waited beneath that light, over and over, hoping he'd finally wrap up work and give me even a sliver of his attention.
But that was over now.
Never again.
My reflection stared back at me from the window—pale, disheveled, but with a flicker of fire in my eyes, quietly burning amidst the stormy night.
I gazed at my reflection and whispered, "Elodie, welcome back."
I slept through the entire day in Lincoln's apartment, completely out of it.
When I finally came to, it was already the next evening. The rain had stopped, and the sunset poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a warm golden glow over the chilly apartment.
"I lay in the guest room bed, staring up at the ceiling for a long time, slowly piecing myself back together.
My wedding.
Today was supposed to be my wedding day.
I'd kept my phone off, so I had no idea what was happening out there. Did Hugo really call off the wedding? How was the media spinning it? And what about the Moore family?
I sat up, wincing as the scab on my foot throbbed with pain. On the nightstand was a full set of clean women's clothes—everything from underwear to a jacket, all in my exact size.
Next to it was a note, the handwriting sharp and decisive: [The clothes are new and have been washed. There's food in the fridge. —Lincoln.]
I picked up the clothes. The tags had been cut off, but the fabric and tailoring were clearly expensive. Lincoln might be cold and distant, but the way he handled things was unexpectedly thoughtful.
After showering and getting dressed, I stood in the bathroom, taking a good look at myself in the mirror.
My face was still pale, heavy shadows under my eyes, but there was a spark in them. That numbness that had drained me for seven years was slowly slipping away, replaced by a weird kind of clarity I hadn't felt in forever.
I turned my phone back on.
Instantly, a flood of messages and missed calls came pouring in, my phone buzzing nonstop for a full minute.
Most of them were from Hugo. He'd been texting me every ten minutes since dawn. At first, he was furious, then threatening, and by the last few messages, he was actually begging.
[Elodie, pick up the phone. We need to talk.]
[I postponed the wedding, told everyone you suddenly got sick. But you need to come back. We have to keep our story straight.]
[I've already spoken to the Moore family. Your dad is furious, but I'll take care of it.]
[Please, pick up. Please.]
I swiped away Hugo's messages without a second thought and opened Instagram.
My Instagram feed was completely flooded.
The Kennedy Group's official account posted a statement at 10 a.m., saying the wedding was postponed because the bride suddenly fell ill. The comments section exploded. Everyone was speculating wildly.
At noon, Natalia posted a selfie on Instagram.
She was wearing a champagne-colored slip dress, leaning against the floor-to-ceiling window of some fancy restaurant, her smile bright and carefree.
The caption read: [After the rain, the sun comes out. Everything happens for the best.]
The top comment was from Hugo's alt account. I recognized the profile pic instantly. He'd used the same photo for seven years: a college snapshot of him and Natalia together.
He left a single sun emoji.
My finger hovered over the screen for a few seconds, then I kept scrolling.
The group chat with our mutual friends was blowing up—everyone was freaking out, trying to figure out what really happened.
Some people said I got cold feet and ran off before the wedding, others claimed Hugo never wanted to marry me in the first place, and a few swore they saw Hugo with Natalia last night.
[Honestly, Elodie is just too much. A guy like Hugo is willing to marry her—what more could she possibly want?]
[She should be grateful that their families are even a match. Still dreaming about true love? Please.]
[Word is, the Moore family's finances are a mess lately. They're only afloat because of the Kennedys. Now that she's pulled this stunt, the Moores are probably doomed.]
[Serves her right. Who told her to reach for something so far out of her league?]
Reading all this gossip, I felt nothing. For seven years, I'd been the punchline in this circle, but I'd always refused to face it.
I closed out of Instagram and dialed my mom's number.