The next morning, I came downstairs for breakfast. As I entered the dining room, I saw Chloe practically draped over Jonathan's lap.

He was coaxing her to eat. She complained that the egg whites were bland, then said the yolks would make her fat—yet he never lost his patience. He quietly cut some fruit into small pieces and fed them to her, one by one.

Her lips deliberately brushed against his fingers as she took a piece. He tensed, pulling his hand back slightly, but his ears flushed red.

I watched their little performance coldly, my stomach turning.

Finally, Chloe noticed me. "You're dressed up so nice today, Cammy," she said sweetly. "Going on a date?"

Before I could answer, Jonathan set the fruit plate down, his voice unusually firm. "Enough. Call her Aunt Cammy."

Even though she knew I was engaged to him, Chloe had always refused to call me that, as if avoiding the title could somehow undo the reality. Jonathan had never corrected her—until now.

I shrugged. "It's fine. She's young—let her say what she wants."

They were the same words Jonathan had so often said to me: She's still young. Let her be.

Yes. The problem was never her.

The problem was me. I was the one who had been blind, loving him for all those years.

My reply left him silent. He stopped feeding Chloe and moved to the chair beside me.

"I cleared my morning," he said. "Whenever you're ready to leave, I'll drive you."

Hearing that, Chloe's face fell. She opened her mouth to protest, but one sharp look from Jonathan cut her off.

So he could put her in her place. It wasn't that he didn't notice her games—he just hadn't cared enough to stop them.

But now, even if he did, it didn't matter. I was past caring.

After breakfast, I had Jonathan drive me to my best friend Sophia Hudson's salon.

Sophia lit up when she saw me and pulled me into a hug—then froze when she noticed Jonathan behind me.

"He's… here?" she whispered.

Sophia had never bothered hiding her dislike for him.

"He had some free time this morning," I explained. "He offered to drop me off."

"Huh. I thought he only had time for that little starlet," she said, not lowering her voice. "Keeping a girl half his age around all the time—calling it 'compassion.' Call it what it is—some people just have twisted tastes."

Sophia's bluntness left Jonathan momentarily speechless, his expression tightening. He turned to me, his tone slipping into that patronizing register I knew too well.

"Cammy, I don't control who you're friends with," he said. "But for the wedding, I expect you to invite people with some decorum. We can't embarrass the family. And we don't want to upset Chloe."

There it was. The last sentence was the only one that ever really mattered to him.

"It's my wedding," I said steadily, holding his gaze. "I'll decide who to invite."

I drew a calm breath, then handed the invitation to Sophia.

Jonathan snatched it from my hand, his temper flaring. "Cammy! Don't be unreasonable! What do you mean, your wedding? Isn't it our—"

Then he saw the groom's name printed on the invitation.

He went completely still. All the words died in his throat.