Chapter 4

I sat at Grandma's antique writing desk, the polished oak surface illuminated by a single lamp. The house was quiet now, emptied of the Mitchells' intrusion, though their presence lingered like a foul odor. My fingers hovered over the crisp stationery—Grandma's personal letterhead, with the delicate lavender border she'd always loved.

The words came easily, flowing from a place of cold clarity rather than the hot anger that had consumed me earlier.

"Mr. Mitchell," I wrote, keeping my handwriting steady and precise. "I am writing to formally dissolve our engagement arrangement. While I respect that my grandmother wished for this…