Chapter 2

Two weeks after I walked away from Jeremy, I found myself at Belltown Bar with Gwen. She'd insisted on taking me out, claiming I needed to "reclaim my nightlife" after five years of letting Jeremy dictate our social calendar.

"You look amazing tonight," Gwen said, squeezing my arm as we navigated through the crowd. "That blue dress is everything."

I smiled, still getting used to wearing colors again. The navy dress felt bold against my skin—something Jeremy would have deemed "too attention-seeking." Now it felt like armor.

"Thanks for dragging me out," I said, taking a sip of my cocktail. "I wasn't sure I was ready for this."

"Trust me, you're ready for anything," Gwen replied, her eyes scanning the room. "Oh shit."

My stomach dropped. "What?"

"Don't turn around," she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Jeremy's here. With her."

I didn't need to ask who "her" was. Fiona Parker had returned from London three weeks ago, and according to my social media feeds, she'd wasted no time reconnecting with Jeremy.

"It's fine," I said, though my hands trembled slightly around my glass. "This is a public place."

I turned anyway.

They were sitting at a corner booth, Jeremy's arm draped possessively around a woman with sleek dark hair and perfect makeup. Fiona Parker. Even from across the room, I could see why he'd always kept her on a pedestal.

But what made my heart stutter wasn't seeing them together.

It was the scarf around her neck.

Cream-colored cable knit with a small heart pattern. The one I'd spent weeks perfecting in college, my fingers bleeding from pushing through the tough yarn, determined to create something perfect for him.

I'd given it to Jeremy our sophomore year, telling him it was a piece of my heart he could keep with him always.

Now it was wrapped around her neck like it belonged there.

"Sutton," Gwen's hand was on my arm again, her voice concerned. "We can leave."

"No," I said, surprised by the steadiness in my voice. "I'm not running away anymore."

Across the room, Jeremy spotted me. His eyes widened, and he leaned in to whisper something to Fiona. She turned, her gaze finding mine immediately.

I expected to feel something—rage, jealousy, humiliation. Instead, a strange calm washed over me. The scarf that had once symbolized my devotion now looked like just another accessory on another woman.

Jeremy looked uncomfortable, guilt flashing across his face before he composed himself. He nodded in my direction, a gesture that once would have sent my heart racing. Now it felt empty.

I nodded back and turned to the bar.

"Another drink," I told the bartender.

I was halfway through my second cocktail when I felt a presence beside me.

"Sutton, right?" Fiona's voice was cool and polished, with a slight British lilt. "I'm Fiona."

I turned to face her. Up close, she was even more striking—tall and confident, with the kind of beauty that made other women instinctively compare themselves.

"Fiona," I repeated, setting down my glass. "Nice to meet you."

She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Jeremy talks about you sometimes. It's interesting to finally meet the ex."

The bathroom was quieter, the music from the bar muffled behind the door. I stood at the sink, staring at my reflection in the mirror as Fiona reapplied her lipstick.

"He says you were... stable," she continued, studying me through the mirror. "Dependable. Someone who never caused him any trouble."

I met her eyes in the reflection. "Is that why you're here? To tell me what Jeremy thinks of me?"

"I'm just making conversation," she replied, her tone suggesting otherwise. "This must be awkward for you."

I turned to face her directly. "Not really."

She blinked, clearly thrown by my lack of reaction.

"You look lovely in the scarf," I said quietly. "It suits you."

Her hand instinctively went to the cream-colored knit around her neck. For a moment, something like uncertainty flickered across her perfect features.

"I—thank you," she said, her composure slipping slightly.

I moved past her toward the door. "Have a nice night, Fiona."

As I pushed open the bathroom door, I caught her reflection one last time in the mirror. She was staring at me with an expression I couldn't quite read—confusion, maybe even a hint of respect.

I stepped back into the crowded bar, feeling lighter somehow. The scarf that had once represented everything I thought I wanted was now just a piece of yarn around another woman's neck.

And I was finally free of both.