Chapter 3

Michael stood frozen, and Lily's sobs cut off in an instant.

I looked at them, flashed a calm smile that felt surprisingly freeing, like I'd finally let go.

"No need to change the tickets," I said, my voice steady, even I was surprised at how calm I sounded. "Go ahead, enjoy your honeymoon in Cyvera."

"This husband? I'm done. I don't want him anymore."

With that, I didn't even glance at Michael's stunned, angry face or Lily's panicked, wide-eyed look. I yanked my suitcase upright and strode off.

Luckily, my ID and all the essentials were safely tucked in my backpack.

Then I turned and headed for the gate to Northgate, not once looking back.

The airport announcement was urgently urging passengers bound for Northgate to board.

I walked tall, my steps unwavering, no hesitation at all.

Only I knew that every step felt like walking on the shards of my shattered heart.

But I didn't look back, not even once.

Behind me, I could faintly hear Michael's angry shout. "Claire! What the hell are you doing? Stop right there!"

And Lily's fake, tearful voice trying to stop him. "Mike, don't be mad. Claire probably just acted on impulse. You should go after her and explain things to her"

Lily sounded anything but genuinely worried.

Chase after me? Try to explain?

Forget it.

The roar of the plane's engines grew louder, like a mocking farewell anthem for my ridiculous marriage and honeymoon.

Goodbye, Michael.

Goodbye to the love I kept lying to myself about.

As the plane took off, the powerful thrust pinned me firmly to my seat.

I turned my head toward the window, watching the city's dazzling lights fade into distant, blurry dots, until they were swallowed up by thick clouds.

The cabin was dim, just a few reading lights glowing here and there. Most people were dozing off, eyes shut, lost in their own worlds.

I sat by the window, next to a middle-aged lady who was already knocked out with her eye mask on, snoring quietly.

It was so quiet that I could hear the blood rushing in my ears and every slow, heavy thud of my aching heart.

Finally, I let my guard down and stopped pretending.

That straight back, that calm smile, that decisive turn at the airport—all of it melted away, leaving nothing but cold exhaustion and a tidal wave of heartbreak crashing over me.

Suddenly, tears spilled over, blurring the endless black night outside the window.

I bit down hard on my lip, refusing to let a single sound escape.

I couldn't cry.

He was not worth it.

But memories came crashing in like a flood, unstoppable, overwhelming.

The first time I saw Michael was in the university library.

He was sitting by the window, sunlight pouring over his profile, his features well-defined, totally lost in concentration.

Back then, I wondered how someone could be so good-looking and so calm at the same time.

Later, I found out he was Michael, the famous genius from the architecture department.

I went through so much just to get close to him, so many "accidental" run-ins, carefully figuring out what he liked.

And every time he talked about Lily, the girl next door he grew up with, my heart would twist with jealousy, but I'd act like I was totally fine with it, pretending to understand.

He said Lily wasn't in good health and needed someone to take care of her.

He said Lily was naive and didn't really have any friends.

He said Lily was like a little sister to him.

I believed him.

Or maybe I just forced myself to believe it.

Chasing after him was no easy feat; he was a real iceberg.