Chapter 3

An hour later.

The planner slid the updated itinerary across the table.

"Claire, you've only got seven days."

"The venue, guest list, and vendors can all carry over. We can update the groom's name and the wedding website."

She hesitated.

"But if you want the legal marriage to go through, you'll need to reapply for a marriage license."

"There's still time."

I'd just picked up the pen when a familiar voice came from behind me.

"Claire."

A man in a tailored suit stood in the doorway. Same face I remembered.

Nathan Hayes.

A friend I'd known since high school.

Now a partner at an investment firm.

Five years ago, before he left LA for New York, he'd asked if I'd marry him.

I'd said no.

Every year after that, a postcard with no signature would arrive on my birthday.

Now he looked at the updated itinerary on the table and wrote his name directly in the groom's field.

My pen hand froze.

"I'm not joking."

Nathan walked to the table.

"Years ago, I asked you once."

He held the pen out to me.

"Now it's your turn to ask me."

The ink on the page hadn't even dried.

I pulled out my phone and dialed Ethan.

One ring of the busy tone—then the call was rejected.

A message popped up instantly.

[Sophie's not doing well. I'll be home later.]

[Handle the wedding stuff yourself.]

He used to stay up all night with me picking venues, obsessing over the exact shade of the table flowers.

Now my wedding got one line:

Handle it yourself.

I turned off the screen. Looked up at Nathan.

"Next week—will you marry me?"

He didn't answer right away.

"Let's go see your parents first."

Nathan gathered the itinerary.

"I'll marry you."

"But I won't be a weapon you use against Ethan."

Half an hour later.

I set the wedding video in front of my parents.

On screen, Ethan slipped my ring onto Sophie's finger and leaned down to kiss her.

My father, Robert Bennett, slammed his fist on the table.

"I'm going after him!"

"Dad."

I held him back and flipped my phone facedown.

"Seven years ends here."

"The wedding goes ahead. You show up as planned."

"Everything else—keep it quiet for now."

My mother, Laura, gripped my hand. Her tears fell onto the invitation we'd spent days choosing together.

"Are you sure about this?"

"I'm sure."

I didn't tell them Sophie had seduced him.

The one who walked down that aisle was Ethan.

The one who said those vows was Ethan.

The one who shoved every ounce of blame onto me—that was Ethan too.

That afternoon.

Nathan and I went to city hall and filed a new marriage license application.

Over the next few days, I started clearing out the apartment Ethan and I had shared.

Documents boxed up.

Jewelry removed.

Following my lawyer's advice, I transferred any funds with clear paper trails back to my personal account from our joint wedding account.

The apartment, shared accounts, and other coowned assets—all handed over to the lawyer.

I also organized the studio's registration documents, years of design manuscripts, and copyright records separately.

The studio was built with my own savings.

Registration, lease, every design copyright—all mine.

Ethan had never held a single share.

He came home occasionally.

Saw the closet getting emptier each time. Just smiled and hugged me from behind.

"Might as well redecorate after the wedding."

"Glad you've finally come to your senses and stopped picking fights with Sophie."