Chapter 3

I sat alone in my room, surrounded by the keepsakes my parents and Emory left behind, the reminders that my child once lived, and the protective charm Bentley got for me when I was sick three years ago.

I gently touched Emory's belongings, noticing there was still a dried drop of blood on them.

I talked to these silent keepsakes about how Bentley's been doing lately, as if they could actually hear me.

Finally, I put Emory's things back in the drawer and whispered, "Emory, I'm going to start living for myself now."

After locking the drawer, I started packing my things and booked a flight for three days from now, getting ready to leave behind this place overflowing with memories.

In the days that followed, I threw myself into music production, while Bentley was off traveling with Azalea.

Every now and then, my phone would light up with cute selfies of the two of them together. Pretty sure Azalea was behind those.

Bentley tried calling me a few times, but I just let it ring.

It wasn't until their trip ended that I got a call from an unknown number. It was Azalea. "Angela, Bentley just proposed to me."

Our conversations were always brief, and this time was no exception.

All I said was, "Okay."

Moments later, she sent me a photo of her hand with a ring on it. I fought back the sting in my chest, managed to say "congratulations," hung up, and drove straight to the airport.

Just as I was about to board, Bentley texted me: [Angela, why aren't you home?]

Call after call came in, but I let them all go unanswered.

Just before my phone shut off, I finally answered. I said softly, "Bentley, take care of yourself. Goodbye."

His voice came through, rough and furious. "I saw what you had in your nightstand! Are you leaving because you're afraid I'll find out about the miscarriage? Is it because you feel guilty about Emory?"

I was wearing my headphones, but Bentley's shouting was practically blowing out my eardrums.

I turned the volume down, but his rant still made me laugh. "Bentley, have you forgotten? I was never married to Emory.

"I was just his girlfriend. Even if I got pregnant and miscarried, I don't owe him anything.

"Besides, are you seriously telling me you don't know who my baby's father is?"

That only made him angrier, his voice going hoarse as he yelled, "Angela! You're so shameless! How am I supposed to know who you got pregnant by?

"If you come back right now, maybe I can forgive you on Emory's behalf. But if you don't, you'll never see me again. I'll move his grave, and you'll never get the chance to visit him!"

My hand went numb around my phone, and disappointment just hit me all at once.

I didn't care whether Bentley had really forgotten or was just faking it. What really got to me was him threatening me with Emory's grave, like he'd use Emory's resting place against me.

I went quiet, and Bentley seemed to cool off a bit on the other end too.

He took a deep breath and called me "Angela," just like he used to. "Angela, come back. It doesn't matter to me if you've been with other men, as long as you come back."

A sarcastic laugh escaped me. "Bentley, like I said, I was never married to Emory. Who I choose to be with has nothing to do with you.

"I'm going to live my own life now. Goodbye."

On the other end, I heard the sharp crash of glass shattering.

Before Bentley could launch into another tirade, I hung up.

After I switched off my phone and finally got a good night's sleep, I woke up to find myself overseas.

Eleyvaland was a country bursting with romance, art, and more than its fair share of pickpockets.

Almost the moment I stepped out of the airport, some tall guy snatched my bag right out of my hand, dragging me down to the ground with him.

My forearm scraped against the rough gravel, streaks of blood appearing, and the pain was so sharp it brought tears to my eyes.

A warm voice called out to me, "Miss Lowe, are you okay?"

I looked up and met the worried eyes of an Eleyvaland guy.

He pulled me to my feet, and I shook my head. "I'm okay."

I recognized him right away.

This was the mentor Arnav had found for me, a renowned musician internationally.

I tried to cover up my embarrassment with a smile. "Nice to meet you. I'm Angela Lowe."

He reached out and gently took my fingertips. "Angela, you can just call me Maximus Fisher."

I smiled and nodded.

He handed me his phone. "Arnav's called me a bunch of times. Looks like you need a new phone."

Only then did I remember that my bag had just been stolen.

Luckily, there was nothing in it except my phone.

I took Maximus Fisher's phone and called Arnav.

Arnav sounded pretty anxious. "Angela, is Bentley out of his mind? He's been camped out at our studio for five hours!"