Chapter 3

After hanging up, I took a cab back to the penthouse I shared with Carter.

The smart lock beeped, and the door swung open.

The living room was cluttered with wedding favors we hadn't sent out yet. I walked straight into the bedroom and pulled out a large black suitcase.

I didn't have much. When I first moved in, Carter had told me, "I'll buy you whatever you need. You just need to bring yourself."

Now I realized he just didn't want this place to have too many of my traces. After all, this place used to be his and Melody's home.

I had just finished packing a few everyday clothes when the front door opened.

Carter was back.

He carried a strong smell of veterinary disinfectant, mixed with a faint, sweet trace of Melody’s perfume.

Seeing the open suitcase on the bed, he stopped in his tracks as he kicked off his shoes.

"What are you doing?" He walked in, his brow locked in a tight frown.

"Packing." I didn't even look up, throwing my toiletries into a makeup bag.

Carter took a deep breath, trying to control his temper. He walked over and grabbed my wrist.

"Chloe, have you had enough? It was bad enough that you threw a tantrum at the boutique, but now you’re doing the whole run-away-from-home act?"

I yanked my hand out of his grip and looked at him coldly.

"How’s the dog? Not dead, I assume?"

"Chloe!" Carter’s voice raised, his eyes filled with disbelief. "When did you become so heartless? Cotton had acute gastroenteritis!

The vet said if I had arrived a step later, he would have gone into shock! Melody was crying so hard she couldn't even stand. Can’t you show some compassion?"

I laughed. I laughed so hard tears almost came out of my eyes.

"Carter, your compassion is truly overflowing. So overflowing that you can abandon your fiancée in a fitting room just to dry your ex-girlfriend’s tears."

I zipped my suitcase shut with a sharp, scraping sound.

"I’m not throwing a tantrum, and I’m not running away. I’m just making room."

Carter stared at me, his chest heaving. He seemed to be trying to control his anger, trying to use his usual arrogant, condescending tone to put an end to my "childish behavior."

"Chloe, I know you feel hurt. But I’ve explained this a thousand times. The co-parenting agreement was signed when Melody and I broke up.

Cotton was severely traumatized by our split back then. As a man, I have to take responsibility."

His tone softened, and he reached out, trying to hug me.

"Alright, don't be mad. I rescheduled the boutique. Tomorrow, I’ll cancel all my meetings and spend the whole day with you at the fitting, okay?"

I took a step back, dodging his touch.

"No need." I pulled the cancellation receipt from my bag and tossed it onto the bed. "I cancelled the dress. They didn't refund the deposit. Consider it my donation to your dog’s therapy."

Carter’s eyes fell on the receipt, his pupils shrinking instantly.

"You cancelled it? Who gave you permission?!" His voice finally cracked, revealing a hint of panic.

"Not just the dress," I said, looking at him calmly. "The venue, the caterer, the florist—everything I was in charge of, I’ve cancelled. Carter, our wedding is off."

The air in the room froze.

Carter stared at me for a solid ten seconds before letting out a cold scoff.

"Chloe, you’re threatening me with the wedding?" He loosened his tie, his eyes turning cold again. "Do you honestly think I’ll buy into this?

You love me so much you threw away your dignity. You’ve spent the last four years playing house and taking care of me like a maid. You really think you have the guts to leave?"

His words were like a rusty blade, slowly carving into my heart.

He was right. I had loved him so much. I loved him enough to tolerate him rushing over to Melody’s at midnight because of a phone call.

I loved him enough to smile while helping him pick out dog food for that Samoyed. I had spent four years squeezing myself into the tiny cracks of their crowded, three-way relationship.

"I didn't have the guts before," I said, grabbing the handle of my suitcase. "But now? You just make me sick."

Carter’s face turned pale. He lunged forward, grabbing my wrist with a grip tight enough to shatter my bones.

"Chloe! If you walk out of this door today, don't you dare think about coming back. Even if you beg me on your knees, I won’t look at you again!"

Right then, a sharp, aggressive car horn honked from downstairs.

Three short honks, followed by two long blasts.

It was the distinct custom horn of a Maybach—low, arrogant, and commanding.

I shook off Carter’s hand and dragged my suitcase toward the door.

"You won't have to look at me ever again. Because someone is already here to pick me up."