Kendall's POV

There was a time when thunderstorms used to terrify me. Back then, Marc would gently cup his hands over my ears, comforting me and telling me not to be afraid.

Now, as I stared at the storm rolling in through the window, I barely flinched at the rumble of thunder. I’d long since learned to face the noise—and the silence that followed—on my own.

Marc didn’t come home that night. Strangely, I slept better than I had in months, as if letting go of him had lifted a weight off my chest.

The next morning, I walked into the dining room, only to find him already sitting at the table.

His face shifted when he saw me—awkwardness flickered before he forced a smile. “Good morning. You’re up. Are you hungry? I made breakfast.”

In all the years we’d been together, Marc had never made me breakfast. For a moment, my heart hesitated. But then I glanced at the plate in front of me, and any warmth I might’ve felt vanished.

Calmly, I pushed the plate away. “I’m allergic to peanut butter.”

His expression faltered briefly before he mumbled, “Oh… sorry, I forgot. How about just an egg?”

After a while, as if he’d remembered something, he added, “Oh, about what happened before... I was wrong. Let’s just pick a new date and have another wedding.”

Another wedding?

I looked at him with a faint smile. He didn’t know I’d already decided to move on. That I was preparing to marry someone else.

Taking a deep breath, I finally said what I should’ve said long ago. “There’s no need, Marc. Let’s break up.”

The irony wasn’t lost on me. Like every couple, we should have got the marriage license first before holding the ceremony. But Marc had taken my face in his hands, his voice steady as he insisted, “I want to give you a wedding so grand that everyone will envy you first. Then we’ll get the license.”

Back then, I’d thought he was being romantic.

Until the night I overheard him talking to Astrid on the phone. Standing frozen by the balcony door, I heard him say, “Don’t be upset. I already did what you asked. I told Kendall we’ll have the wedding first, then the license. She agreed.”

I had been a fool.

For a moment, I thought Marc might welcome the breakup. But his fork slammed onto the table with a loud clang. His face darkened and frustration dripped from his voice as he sharply said, “Kendall, are you seriously still upset about the wedding day?”

He let out a heavy breath, leaning forward as if he could will me into understanding. “I’ve already explained this. Astrid was emotional—she could’ve hurt herself. Do you really expect me to stand by and let that happen? We grew up together. She’s my childhood sweetheart, for God’s sake. What else could I have done?”

His words felt like nails in a coffin I’d already buried.

Once, I believed my years of loyalty had earned his love. I thought I’d pulled him out of his despair, piece by piece until he became a man who could smile again. A man who would rent out an entire restaurant and bring me 999 roses just to celebrate my birthday.

But I was wrong. The moment Astrid returned, everything shifted. He became that man again—the one whose entire world revolved around her.

I wanted to say something, anything, but my voice caught in my throat. It was like all the strength had drained from my body.

How did it come to this? Step by step, how had we unraveled so completely?

Just then, the doorbell rang, cutting through the tense silence.

I got up and opened the door. And there she was—Astrid—casually leaning against the doorframe.

Kendall's POV

Astrid greeted me with a shy smile, holding something up for me to see. “I’m here to return something to Marc. He accidentally left it at my place last night.”

Her tone was soft, almost innocent, but the object in her hand hit me like a slap in the face. My stomach turned as I realized what it was—a pair of men’s underwear.

Not just any pair. It was Marc’s, the one I’d picked out for him.

“Astrid, what are you doing here?” Marc asked.

But as soon as he saw what she was holding, he swooped in and snatched the underwear from her grasp. Then, he balled it up and shoved it into his pocket.

“Kendall, don’t overthink this,” he stammered, his face pale with panic. “Yes, I went to Astrid’s last night, but I only slept in the guest room. I must’ve left these there while I was changing clothes.”

Meanwhile, Astrid, standing off to the side, nodded, her eyes misty and her expression full of guilt. “Kendall, please don’t misunderstand Marc. I’m so sorry for ruining your wedding—I just got emotional seeing him get married and acted impulsively.”

Her excuse was as flimsy as it was predictable.

Glancing at the red marks on Marc’s neck, I suppressed a bitter laugh and turned away. "It's fine," I replied, my voice cold but steady.

But Marc frowned, clearly unconvinced by my indifference. He opened his mouth to say something, but Astrid, ever the drama queen, suddenly clutched his arm.

“Marc,” she murmured weakly, holding her head and swaying slightly. “I feel… dizzy.”

Concern instantly replaced whatever guilt Marc might’ve felt as he panickedly asked, “Astrid, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t know, but I feel like I can’t stand steadily,” Astrid whispered then her knees buckled as she fell into his arms.

With barely a second’s hesitation, Marc scooped her up like a knight saving his damsel in distress. His eyes, full of worry, were locked on her pale face as he said, “I’ll take you to the hospital.”

“But…” Astrid’s gaze darted to me, the faintest hint of triumph flickering in her eyes. She forced a small, hesitant smile. “I don’t want to ruin your relationship with Kendall again. Won’t get jealous if you do that?"

Marc barely spared me a glance as he dismissed her concerns. “Don’t worry about her. You’re not feeling well, so I’m taking you to the hospital. She’ll be fine. She’ll just wait for me to marry her.”

With that, as if certain I wouldn’t mind, he strode out of the house with Astrid in his arms, not even sparing me a backward glance.

The moment the door slammed shut, I let out a shaky breath. My chest felt tight, but not from sadness—it was anger, a burning determination to be done with him.

I grabbed my suitcase and started packing. Every piece of clothing, every memory of our life together, went into the bag without a second thought. When I was done, I pulled out my phone and made the call.

“Hey,” I said, my voice steady. “I’m packed. Can you pick me up?”

Dudley’s cheerful voice came through instantly. “Of course! Be there in a flash.”

When he arrived, I handed him my suitcase, taking one last glance at the house Marc and I had shared for years. I expected regret, maybe some lingering attachment, but there was nothing.

With a deep breath, I turned my back on the house—and Marc—for good.

The next day, social media exploded with news of the upcoming alliance between the Matthews and Stokes families. Later, my phone buzzed relentlessly with calls and messages from Marc, but I ignored them all.