Chapter 3

I pulled my suitcase out of the apartment without looking back.

I went straight back to my parents’ house.

Ever since I agreed to marry Nelson, my mom’s smile hadn’t left her face. She rushed to greet me as I came in, taking my suitcase.

“I told you Nelson was reliable. We watched him grow up; we know him inside and out. Your father and I will absolutely be at ease if you marry him.”

Nelson and I grew up together.

My mom and his mom are best friends; they even joked about arranging our marriage when we were babies.

If I hadn’t met Dennis in college, I probably would have married Nelson a long time ago.

I knew he had always liked me.

This time, when Dennis’s company’s cash flow was breaking, and he was at his wit’s end, it was I who swallowed my pride and went to Nelson, begging him to give Dennis a chance for a collaboration.

He was silent for a long time, but finally nodded.

Thinking about it now, I was incredibly stupid.

After dinner, I hid in the study to organize my work handover documents. My phone vibrated.

It was a WhatsApp message from Dennis: “Coming back late, don’t wait up for me.”

I looked at the message and immediately deleted his chat.

By the time I finished organizing, it was past ten. I showered, lay in bed, and casually opened Instagram.

The first post was Anna’s update from half an hour ago.

The photo’s background was the living room of the Flower Gardens apartment. Dennis and a few friends were arm in arm, playing a drinking game, with a pile of empty bottles on the table.

The caption: He called me his darling in front of all his brothers. I’m so shy.

The comments below were all teasing, saying Mr. Dennis was too doting.

I stared at the screen for two seconds, then calmly pressed exit.

No sadness, no anger.

Eight years of affection had already burned out completely the moment he allowed my colleagues to call me a mistress.

A new WhatsApp message popped up. It was from Nelson:

“Are you free tomorrow? The bridal shop said the custom dress is altered. Want to go try it on?”

I replied, “Okay.”

The next day, Nelson came to pick me up early. My mom smiled as she saw me off, even packing two boxes of his favorite pastries.

In the car, I felt a little embarrassed. I scratched my head and told him:

“Could you please keep the Nelson Group contract on hold for me? I’m planning to switch to a new company and want to use it as a strong start.”

He turned his head to look at me and smiled:

“Why not just come work for my company?”

“It’s better to keep business and personal separate,” I smiled back.

At the bridal shop, the consultant immediately greeted us with a smile, holding a mermaid-style wedding dress.

“Mr. Nelson specifically instructed us to alter it three times to your measurements. It’s sure to look beautiful on you.”

I changed into the wedding dress and stood in front of the mirror, frozen for a long time.

Before, when Dennis and I passed bridal shops, if I lingered a little too long, he would say he would design a one-of-a-kind dress for me later, so there was no need to rush now.

I waited eight years and never got a dress designed by him. Instead, I wore one custom-made by Nelson.

“Want to take a photo for Instagram?” Nelson stood behind me, his voice very gentle.

I nodded and handed my phone to the consultant: “Could you please take a photo of us together?”

He paused, then his eyes crinkled in a wide smile. He quickly walked to my side, gently and courteously placing his hand on my waist.

The photo came out beautifully.

I uploaded it to Instagram, editing the caption:

Next Saturday, Cloudtop Chapel. Everyone is welcome to join Nelson and me at our wedding.

One minute after I posted it, the comment section exploded.

“OMG! Is that Mr. Nelson from the Nelson Group? Chloe, you kept that a secret!”

“Who was saying she was throwing herself at Mr. Dennis before? Their faces must be so swollen right now!”

“Mr. Nelson is a million times better than Mr. Dennis!”

As I was scrolling through comments, my phone suddenly rang. It was Dennis.

I answered, and from the other end came his drunken mockery, sharp and piercing.

“Chloe, you’re something else! To force me to marry you, you actually got Nelson to put on an act with you?

You’ll stop at nothing for a title.”

I was about to speak when Nelson suddenly reached out, took my phone, and put it on speaker.

His voice was calm, yet undeniably firm, echoing through the receiver.

“Mr. Dennis, Chloe and I are really getting married.”

“She waited for you for eight years; I waited for her for twelve.”

“Thank you for not marrying her.”

On the other end, there was a deathly silence.

After several seconds, Dennis’s frantic roar came through:

“Impossible! Chloe, say something!”