Chapter 2

I pushed the door open.

The laughter cut off like someone had flipped a switch.

Ryan was half-reclined on a leather banquette, Chloe nestled in his arms, her finger hooked around his tie—the easy intimacy of lovers drunk on each other.

When she saw me appear, Chloe didn't so much as flinch. She just lifted her eyelids lazily.

Ryan sat up a little straighter, though his expression held less alarm than annoyance—the look of a man whose evening had been interrupted.

"Evelyn? What are you doing here?"

His brow creased almost imperceptibly.

I stood in the doorway, my voice flat.

"Did I kill the mood?"

Chloe immediately straightened up, her eyes reddening with perfect precision.

"Evelyn, I'm sorry—are we making you uncomfortable?"

One of Ryan's friends jumped in to smooth things over.

"Evelyn, don't get the wrong idea. Ryan and Chloe are just catching up—it's the tradition here. A formal goodbye to the past so he can fully commit to the new marriage."

Another one chimed in with a grin. "Besides, this pre-wedding farewell thing is actually pretty romantic. Once you're married, Ryan's all yours!"

I looked at Ryan.

"Is that how you see it too?"

Ryan took a sip of his drink.

"Evelyn, don't embarrass me here."

I smiled.

So the one who'd humiliated me was afraid I'd embarrass him.

Chloe spoke up softly. "Ryan, is tonight the last time we'll get to relax like this?"

Someone immediately started egging them on.

"Last night together—come on, one kiss! When you two broke up eight years ago, we all thought it was such a shame."

The whole room erupted.

Ryan glanced at me.

I stood there, expressionless, making no move to stop anything.

So he smiled, turned his head. Chloe leaned in and wrapped her arms around his neck.

The two of them kissed right in front of me.

Tongues intertwining, breath mingling, as if I simply didn't exist.

The room exploded with whistles and cheers.

I cut through the spectacle. "Ryan, I came to remind you—the wedding is tomorrow. Be there on time."

I turned and walked toward the door.

Behind me, one of Ryan's friends shouted loud enough for the whole building to hear: "Ryan, Evelyn's got to be the most easygoing woman alive! She watched you kiss another girl and didn't even make a scene?"

Then I heard Ryan's voice—dripping with the kind of smug, careless satisfaction that turned my stomach.

"Well, obviously. Evelyn's been with me all these years. She was even willing to go through a sterilization procedure for me. A little scene like this? She can handle it."

I stopped in the doorway, my spine rigid.

The deepest, most painful scar of my life—reduced to a boast over drinks.

In eight years, I'd lost too much for Ryan.

I was once the only daughter of the Carter family. My father had already chosen the most suitable match for me.

But I'd torn my family apart for Ryan.

Back then, he'd held me and said: "Evelyn, I'll make sure you never regret choosing me."

Later, I got pregnant three times.

The first time, we were still in college. Ryan said the timing was wrong. I gritted my teeth through the pain and went to the clinic.

The second time, his company was on the verge of bankruptcy. I spent every waking hour helping him court investors, and the baby slipped away during my most exhausted days.

The third time, it was ectopic. Massive hemorrhaging. I was rushed to the ER and lost a fallopian tube permanently. The doctor said my chances of conceiving again were slim.

Ryan had wept by my hospital bed, nearly inconsolable.

He'd said: "Evelyn, I just need you to be alive."

But now, he was using my scars as proof of how devoted I was.

A woman who could no longer bear children—what choice did she have but to stay by his side? What other man would want her?

He was certain of this.

His friends' laughter still echoed behind me as I walked out of the bar.

Back at the hotel, I got a call from Ryan.

"You're not actually mad about what happened at the bar, are you?" His tone was breezy, almost teasing.

"No."

"Evelyn, this sudden obedience of yours—I'm almost not used to it." He laughed, then shifted gears. "Relax. Chloe is the past for me—"

His words were cut short by a breathy moan.

"Ryan—" It was Chloe's voice, the final syllable stretching out, soft and lingering. "You promised tonight was the last indulgence. Don't get distracted."

Ryan quickly lowered his voice. "All right, Evelyn, I have to go. Be a good girl and wait for me tomorrow. I promise I'll be on time."

The line went dead.

I didn't cry that night. I didn't even lose sleep.

When I picked up my phone the next morning, I saw that Chloe had posted a Story.

"Eight years apart, and he says my body still drives him crazy. We didn't stop all night."

The photos left nothing to the imagination—tangled legs, sheets twisted into a thousand wrinkles.

I looked at it, then calmly locked the screen.

Then I got up, did my makeup, and put on my wedding dress.

As I was about to leave for the venue, my phone lit up again.

A text message.

[I'm here.]

I replied:

[See you in the bridal suite.]