Paige returned to Maple Grove to move out. After sorting through everything, she realized she didn't have much—just a few large boxes and she was done. What remained were Dylan's things. He hadn't left much either; she'd already taken inventory. Most of it was office supplies, but she was terrified of accidentally discarding some important document. After much deliberation, she decided to call him and ask him to come collect his belongings.

The call connected. But it wasn't Dylan who answered.

It was Nancy.

"Hello, who is this?"

Paige's breath caught. No sound came out.

After a moment, the voice on the other end said, "I know who you are. Paige, right?"

Paige didn't deny it. Her tone stayed level. "Yes. I'm looking for Dylan."

"He's not available. Whatever you need, you can tell me."

Paige bit her lip. Deep down, she was nowhere near as calm as she appeared. She still cared—she was just pretending not to.

"Ms. James," Nancy continued, "if you're still harboring any ideas, I'd suggest you drop them. The divorce papers are signed. What, having second thoughts? Want to take it back?"

"I grew up with Dylan. I know him—really know him. Do you? Did he ever take you home to meet his family during your marriage? No? Want to know why? Because they would never accept you. That's why he never brought you."

"I was the one who rejected him back then. He found you out of spite. You were the mistake. And after three years, it's time to correct it. So stop contacting him. And stop making excuses to reach out!"

Silence.

Paige truly didn't know much about his family background. She'd brought it up before, but her own family situation was complicated. She hadn't told either of her parents about the marriage. As for his side—her own insecurities had kept her from asking, and he'd never volunteered. So it had simply... never come up.

Nancy hung up.

Paige didn't call back. She took a moment to steady herself, then contacted Dylan's driver and asked him to come handle the belongings.

"Hi, Timothy. This is Paige. When you have a moment, could you come by and pick up Dylan's things?"

"Ms. James, I'll need to check with Mr. Farley first."

She could hear the hesitation in his voice. She understood. "Then could you just give me an address? I'll ship everything over. That way you won't have to make the trip."

"Well..."

"Is that not possible?"

"Without Mr. Farley's permission, I can't give out the address. I hope you understand, Ms. James—it's a matter of his privacy." Tim's words were polite, carefully measured, as if he was afraid of offending her.

He's worried I'll use it to keep bothering Dylan.

"Alright. I understand. Please ask him, then."

Before long, Tim called back, his tone still courteous. "Ms. James, Mr. Farley says it's all unimportant. If you don't want to keep it, you can throw it away."

For some reason, Paige felt her heart clench. "Those were his exact words?"

"Yes."

"Okay. I understand. Sorry to have troubled you."

She hung up briskly, but something still felt off. She'd only been pretending to be unbothered. Three years of marriage—there had been feelings. If there hadn't been, she wouldn't have shared a bed with him all those days and nights.

She disposed of Dylan's things and left Maple Grove.

After that, Paige moved back into the apartment she'd lived in before the marriage. On her very first night there, she received a call from Dylan.

She froze, thinking she'd misread the screen. Why would he be calling now? She hesitated for a few seconds, then answered. Her voice came out soft, barely above a whisper.

"Hello?"

"You called me earlier. What did you need?"

Dylan's low, rich voice came through the speaker.

Paige kept her tone flat. "It's nothing now."

"I sent Timothy to Maple Grove this morning."

"..."

"You're selling the house?"

Word travels fast.

She didn't bother hiding it. The house was hers now; what she did with it was her business. Besides, she'd done nothing wrong in this marriage. She had nothing to be secretive about.

"Yes. I'm selling it."

"Where are you staying?"

"I have a place."

"You don't like Maple Grove? You used to say you loved the environment there." His tone was neither cold nor warm.

She had said that once—just an offhand comment. She hadn't expected him to remember.

She took a deep breath. "I don't anymore."

A pause. Then: "I called you earlier to ask what to do with the things you left at Maple Grove. It's been handled now. If there's nothing else, we don't need to contact each other again."

"Suit yourself."

Was it her imagination, or did Dylan sound... annoyed?

No. Probably just her imagination.

...

Dylan was the one who ended the call. He tossed his phone onto the desk, his gaze darkening. The air around him grew heavy, suffocating. He pressed pale fingers to the bridge of his nose, a nameless irritation coiling tight in his chest.

Timothy Dickerson stood nearby, his eyelid twitching. The pressure in the room was palpable—and its source needed no explanation.

Especially after this morning. Tim had gone to Maple Grove and discovered the house was already listed for sale online. He'd reported it to Mr. Farley immediately.

Mr. Farley had not seemed pleased.

Why he wasn't pleased—Tim didn't dare ask.

Dylan lit a cigarette and drew on it slowly, his brow furrowed low. Smoke curled around his sharp features, obscuring his expression, making his thoughts impossible to read.

"Sir, about the house—how would you like to handle it? Should I speak with Ms. James?"

Dylan flicked ash from the cigarette. "No need. The house is hers now. What she does with it is her business."

Tim said nothing more.

A moment passed. Dylan's impatient expression smoothed over, though no real emotion replaced it.

"Do you know where she's staying these days?"

"I believe she moved back to her old apartment." Tim wasn't entirely certain. "I heard it from Ms. Whitney."

Worried that Dylan might not remember who that was, he added, "Ms. Whitney—she's Ms. James's friend."

Dylan looked up. His gaze turned cold, as if the clarification had been unnecessary.

Tim fell silent.

True to her word to Nancy, Paige hadn't contacted Dylan again. She threw herself into work and finally finished the design drafts. The client tried to squeeze out a few more freebies, but this time she held firm—no more revisions within this budget. Any changes would cost extra.

The moment money came up, the client backed off and grudgingly paid the balance.

But not without a parting shot: "It's not like you're some famous designer. Your rates are ridiculous—practically luxury-brand prices."

Paige didn't lose her temper. She patiently explained that this was standard pricing for bespoke jewelry. No matter how she framed it, the client still thought she was overcharging. The woman lingered at the studio, haggling and complaining, before finally leaving.

The studio wasn't Paige's alone—she'd started it with a friend who was now home with a newborn and rarely came in. So lately, Paige had been running everything herself.

That evening, she had a dinner engagement organized by Cara Chavez, a former client. Normally, Paige avoided these things whenever possible. She wasn't built for networking. But Mrs. Chavez had been so insistent that refusing felt impossible.

She had no idea Nancy would be there.

The moment Nancy spotted Paige, a contemptuous smile curled her lips. "Cousin, did you invite her?"

"I did! Let me introduce everyone—this is Paige. She's a jewelry designer. She made a set for my wedding."

"Oh, that set. I thought it looked familiar." Nancy pointed at Paige in front of everyone. "Didn't you copy some big brand for my cousin's pieces? The design looks awfully similar."

Paige hadn't come looking for a fight. If she'd known Nancy would be here, she would have stayed home. Technically, this was their first time meeting face-to-face—they'd never crossed paths before. Not once.

"That can't be right." Mrs. Chavez's expression wavered with uncertainty. "Paige has a decent reputation. She wouldn't do something like that... would she?"

Despite her words, doubt had already crept into the way she looked at Paige.

Paige's fingers tightened at her sides. "Mrs. Chavez, the set I designed for you wasn't copied from anyone. I don't do that."

Someone pulled out photos, and the whispers began.

"No wonder it seemed so familiar—like I'd seen it somewhere. Now that I look, the style really is too similar."

"These days, any nobody calls herself a designer. Cara, I think you got scammed. This so-called designer is clearly second-rate. You should've gone with an established brand—at least there's accountability."

Sharp, judgmental gazes fixed on Paige. They believed Nancy without question. Paige didn't stand a chance.

She knew Nancy was doing this deliberately—stirring up trouble for the sake of it. "If you think I copied a brand, feel free to provide evidence. Or have it verified by a professional agency."

There was no point staying. Paige turned to Mrs. Chavez. "I'm sorry this evening took such an unpleasant turn. If you have concerns, you're welcome to get an official assessment or take legal action. If I'm guilty, I'll accept the consequences. But if I'm not, I won't admit to something I didn't do."

"Again, my apologies. I'll see myself out."

She turned and walked away. She'd barely made it out the door when Nancy followed, intercepting her in the corridor.

"Paige. Did I say you could leave?"

Paige stopped and fixed her with a cold stare. "Is there something else?"

"That's your attitude?"

"What attitude would you prefer?"

"Shouldn't you at least explain yourself to my cousin first?"

Paige studied her. Flawless makeup. Beautiful. Every hair in place. Skin smooth as porcelain. The clothes and jewelry she wore cost more than most people earned in months. She practically glowed.

Looking at her, it was easy to see why men couldn't forget Nancy Kaufman.

And yet...

Paige's lips curved. A slow, unexpected smile.

"Are you jealous of me?"

"Jealous of what?" Nancy almost laughed at the absurdity.

"If I'm not, why frame me?"

"I didn't." Nancy bit her crimson lip. "Who's framing you? I'm stating facts. Someone like you, still daring to cling to—"

"Dylan?" Paige cut her off. "We're already divorced. I have no intention of clinging to him."

"Who knows what you're really scheming? I'm warning you again—stay away from him!"

Paige had no desire to explain further. She turned to leave, but Nancy wasn't finished with her. "Don't act so above it all, Paige. No matter how unwilling you are to accept it, you need to give up on him."

"I'm not unwilling to accept anything. Believe it or not, since I've already divorced him, I won't be pursuing him." Paige allowed herself a thin smile. "Ms. Kaufman, there's really no point in making things difficult for me. And you can stop sending me those photos and videos of how blissfully in love you two are."

"Don't think saying that will make me believe you. If you want me to believe you, then disappear from our lives completely—leave Coastview!"

How insecure could one person be? Did she really need to drive her out entirely?

Why should she be the one to leave? Why was it always her?

Nancy's voice dripped with smug confidence. "Dylan and I will be married soon, and we'll have children. Won't that just eat you alive, Paige? Watching us?"

Married with children...

The words dredged up memories Paige would rather have kept buried. She pressed her lips together, then said, "Marriage, I believe. Children? Are you sure about that?"

"What—you don't think so?"

Paige's smile turned faintly pitying. "Actually... you might want to suggest Dylan visit the hospital. Urology department. Whether he can even have children is... questionable."

She couldn't really blame herself. Nancy had pushed and pushed. She hadn't wanted to say it.

Nancy froze, the words not quite registering.

Paige offered her some helpful advice. "Why else do you think I was so eager to divorce him? Being stuck with a man who can't perform—life gets rather tedious."

With that, Paige walked past her without another glance.

"You told Nancy that Dylan can't perform? Holy— wait, can he actually not?"

Paige's composure was shakier than she let on. Back at the apartment, recounting the evening to Elena, she felt that familiar churning in her stomach—disgust mixed with something else.

"..."

"Hold on—is that why you two never had kids? Because Dylan couldn't?"

Paige pinched the bridge of her nose. "I think you're missing the point here..."

A flicker of regret surfaced. If Dylan found out about this... But what was done was done. Too late now.

Elena remained skeptical. "There's no way, right?"

"I don't know. Maybe Nancy's the exception for him. Maybe they'll have a baby any day now—" She gagged. "—ugh..."

Mid-sentence, a wave of nausea hit her. She bolted for the bathroom.

"Paige? What's wrong?"

She dry-heaved over the sink, her face draining of color. When she finally lifted her head, the reflection staring back at her was ghostly pale. She gripped the edge of the counter, waiting for the room to stop spinning.

"It's nothing. Didn't eat tonight. Just hunger making me queasy."

Elena went quiet for a moment. Then, carefully: "When was your last period?"

"..."

The question stopped Paige cold. Her cycle had always been erratic—she never bothered tracking it. Dylan had made it clear from the start: no children. They'd always been careful. He'd always been careful. Every single time, without fail. He'd refused to let her take anything, worried about side effects on her already fragile constitution. The responsibility had always been his.

"Paige..." Elena's voice was gentle but insistent. "Maybe you should see a doctor tomorrow. Just to be sure."