It has been fifty-five days since my fiancé cut me off. I called off the wedding I'd waited eight long years for. All while he was caring for his childhood sweetheart, who was battling depression and seeking peace at a remote retreat. He even had the historic chapel—a local landmark called the Aethelred Sanctuary—closed to the public for six months because of her.

And me? I was left to face the swarming reporters, hounded from one place to the next until I had nowhere left to hide—all because he disappeared without a word.

Out of options, I went to the retreat to find him. But he turned me away, saying I would disturb the quiet and sanctity of the place. In the bitter cold of deep winter, I collapsed outside the gates, barely holding on.

When I woke, I saw him—Jonathan—planting an entire garden of roses on the grounds, every bloom a declaration of love.

Six months later, he finally left and returned home with his childhood sweetheart. The roses they had planted now filled what was supposed to be our wedding venue, from floor to ceiling. I watched them, cold and unmoved.

What he didn't know was this—I was already engaged to someone else.

While picking out a ring in the store, I saw Jonathan Baxter for the first time in six months.

The salesperson's cheerful commentary on the diamond ring I was trying on barely reached my ears. My eyes were fixed on him, looking slightly preoccupied across the room.

When he noticed the ring on my finger, he walked over, expression cool, and asked, "How come you came alone? I was actually going to surprise you."

His tone was casual, but I saw the shopping bag in his hand—a set of diamond necklaces. Not for me. For Chloe Morris.

Yesterday, when they had returned, I'd overheard her murmuring to him, asking for diamond necklaces as her birthday gift. And here Jonathan was, already delivering.

Of course—whatever Chloe wanted, no matter the effort, he made it happen.

Not like me. All I'd ever wanted was a wedding. A wedding I had waited eight years for, and never received.

So this time, Jonathan, I would wait no longer.

I took a few steps back, silently slid the ring off my finger, and handed it to the clerk to put away. Instantly, Jonathan pulled out his card to pay.

Before I could explain to the salesperson, my gaze caught on the strand of prayer beads around his wrist.

Just yesterday, when Chloe announced her return to the public eye, one of the photos in her post had prominently featured those same beads. At a glance, they seemed out of place among the other glamorous shots—but someone online recognized them as exclusive items from the historic retreat he'd closed for her.

Soon, the story of the place's six-month closure and the identity of the bracelet's owner was everywhere. Paparazzi had captured footage of Chloe and him leaving the grounds. Even without showing Jonathan's face, the custom-tailored suit and the special edition car said it all.

Everyone was congratulating her on landing a wealthy partner.

And me? I had become the punchline.

I pulled my thoughts back to the present and stopped the clerk from taking his card. "No, it's all right. I was just browsing. I don't plan to buy it."

Jonathan glanced at his phone, replying distractedly, "Just get it. I have some time this afternoon—we can go get our marriage license."

Marriage license? To him, it was just another item on a checklist, a matter of formalities. But that kind of obligatory commitment—I don't need it anymore.

I didn't answer him and walked out of the store.

Jonathan followed, clearly annoyed by my refusal. "Are you still upset because of Chloe?" he asked. "I told you, our wedding is still happening. I'm only helping her out of respect for her father."

Yes, Chloe was his old friend's daughter. Since her father passed, Jonathan had taken it upon himself to look after her.

She called him "Uncle Jon," but the look in her eyes held something far warmer. I knew Jonathan saw it too—he just chose to pretend he didn't.

And me? I was nothing more than a shield he used to deflect gossip and protect her from the world's scrutiny.

I met Jonathan's gaze and replied evenly, "Yes, I understand."

Though inwardly, I thought, 'Jonathan—this game of three we've been playing—I'm done. Yes, my wedding will still happen as scheduled… but the groom won't be you anymore.'

…

Faced with my detached response, Jonathan's tone sharpened with impatience. "I'm busy every day. I don't have time to manage your moods. If you don't want to get married, fine. Don't. Call it off."

With that, he left me standing alone in the mall and drove off. He didn't know—the wedding was already canceled. And truly, I no longer wanted to marry him.

I opened my phone and saw the last message in our thread. My message had been blocked and hadn't gotten through. I tried sending another message. The result was the same.

He hadn't even re-added me after blocking me. How could there be any talk of marriage? In the past, I might have tried to smooth things over, to coax him back. But not anymore. His heart had never been mine to begin with.

Just as I was about to hail a taxi, my fiancé, James Wick, called. He asked me to meet him at a newly opened café nearby.

Noticing my empty hand, he raised an eyebrow. "No ring?"

I offered a faint smile. "Nothing felt right."

Then, unexpectedly, he took out a ring box and handed it to me. "I brought this back from abroad. I wasn't sure if you'd like it, so I held off until now."

Inside lay a rare pink diamond ring, the band engraved with my name. This was a kind of devotion I had never known before. Tears stung my eyes as I reached to slide the ring onto my finger, ready to thank him.

Then Jonathan's call came through. "Where are you? I'll send the driver to pick you up so we can get the marriage license."

After everything that had just happened, he still had the nerve to speak of marriage. He was so sure I would forgive him.

Back then, every disagreement between us began with him giving me the silent treatment. But within hours, we'd make up—mostly because I was the one who yielded. I yielded until Chloe joined our dates. Until the passenger seat of his car was reserved solely for her. Until the backseat was filled with her trinkets and souvenirs.

Even his clothes, his meals, everything he used was chosen by her. There was no trace of me left in his life.

And yet, it still wasn't enough. When he missed her call during a meeting, she jumped from the second-floor balcony of the villa and broke her leg.

Jonathan canceled deals worth millions to rush to her side. And somehow, it was my fault—simply because I hadn't arrived fast enough to tend to her.

He demanded I apologize to Chloe. I refused. He berated me for a full day and night, insisting I kneel by her hospital bed in apology before he would forgive me and marry me. Otherwise, he would end things for good.

I loved him too much back then. I couldn't bear the thought of losing him. So I agreed. But love isn't meant to be a form of torture. Once the heart wears out, leaving is the only way forward.

Remembering it all, I couldn't help but laugh bitterly under my breath. I ended the call, returned the ring to its box, and waved goodbye to James before turning toward home.

But as I reached the curb, Jonathan's car pulled up beside me. He rolled down the window, his eyes dropping to what I held in my hand. "What did you just buy?"

Afraid he'd see the ring box, I shifted it behind my back and moved toward the other side of the car to get in. Jonathan watched me closely. Whether he had noticed or not, I couldn't tell.

Jonathan glanced at my handbag and the white shopping bag in my hand, his gaze lingering. "I saw a small pink box earlier," he said. "What was that?"

"You must have been mistaken," I replied, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear as I searched for a way to decline his sudden push for the marriage license.

Before I could form a response, his phone rang sharply, the caller ID flashing through the car's speaker.

It was Chloe, her voice tight with panic. "Uncle Jon, I think someone's following me!"

Jonathan's entire demeanor shifted to alert. "Don't be scared, Chloe. Tell me where you are. I'm on my way."

Watching the stark concern flood his eyes, I was thrown back to the time of Chloe's suicide attempt. It happened after she learned of my engagement to Jonathan. She had confessed her feelings to him, been gently rebuffed, and reacted with desperate measures.

Consumed by guilt, and with our wedding date already set, Jonathan had redoubled his efforts to care for her. He had insisted I be available to answer her calls at all hours, a safeguard against any further crises.

Once, when I was in a meeting and missed her call—and Jonathan was unreachable on a flight—she had made another attempt. That was the incident that led to him blocking me and taking Chloe to that secluded retreat, leaving our wedding plans in complete disarray.

Jonathan had always prioritized soothing her pain, even if it meant orchestrating my own unhappiness. Was this the "compassion" he so often preached? It seemed his brand of mercy was simply the unshakable belief that I would never leave—that I couldn't survive without him.

But this time, I wouldn't be held captive by that belief.

The driver sped to the location. We found Chloe crouched by the roadside, a picture of vulnerable distress—yet there was no one else in sight.

The moment she saw Jonathan, she flew into his arms. The triumphant glint in her eye, quickly hidden, betrayed her. This was deliberate. She must have known he and I were on our way to the courthouse and had staged this to intervene.

I almost laughed at the absurdity. If only she knew I was preparing to marry someone else, she would likely feel the fool herself.

Clutching him, Chloe whimpered about her fright while he soothed her and helped her into the car. As he turned back, his eyes finally found me.

He hesitated, his steps pausing for a brief moment. "Get home on your own," he said flatly.

Then he left.

He had abandoned me in the middle of nowhere. How was I supposed to find a cab? A bitter laugh escaped me as I pulled out my phone and called James for a ride.

I hadn't been home long when I heard quick footsteps on the stairs. Jonathan appeared in the doorway, and I could almost sense his quiet sigh of relief.

"I'm sorry," he said, with an uncharacteristic hint of regret. "The afternoon got completely derailed. We never made it to the courthouse."

I assumed he was just filling the silence, but he kept going.

Casually, I slid the stack of invitations I'd prepared into my bag. "It's fine.”

My tone held no accusation, and he seemed satisfied. He walked over and lightly touched my head.

That was how it used to work. If I was obedient, he was gentle. He wanted me compliant and quiet, yet he gave another girl free rein to do as she pleased.

I shifted away from his hand and bent down to straighten things in the cabinet.

He paused, then tried again. "What about tomorrow? I can clear my schedule.”

He so rarely made concessions for me. A cynical smile tugged inside.

"No,” I replied flatly. "I promised Sophia I'd give her a wedding invitation tomorrow.”

As he heard that, his expression eased slightly. He still didn't know the truth. My wedding had nothing to do with him anymore.