When I got home, I started packing my suitcase.

After five years of calling this place home, traces of my life were everywhere—yet somehow, there wasn’t much worth taking with me.

Once I finished packing, I drifted back to the living room. My gaze swept over every corner, and for a moment, I got lost in memories.

Weekends curled up on the couch with Lawson, binging rom-coms. Lounging on the balcony in the sunlight. Building a tiny rooftop garden, planting roses—the ultimate symbol of romance and love...

The roses would bloom soon, but I knew I wouldn’t be here to see them.

Regret clawed at my chest as I picked up the watering can for the last time and cleared away the dead leaves one final time. When I finished, exhaustion hit me, and I sank into the rocking chair. I must have dozed off.

When I woke up, shouts and cheers echoed from downstairs. My foggy brain couldn’t process it at first, but instinct pulled me to my feet to see what was going on.

What I saw made my heart lurch.

Lawson had Lexi in his arms, bending her backward for a passionate kiss. The crowd around them went wild—whistling, hollering, egging them on.

I stood frozen in the corner, unable to move for what felt like an eternity—until someone blurted out, "Jazmine?!"

Every head snapped toward me—including Lawson’s. He frowned, about to say something, but Lexi cut him off.

She shot back at whoever had spoken, "Why are you yelling? I’m his fiancée now. She’s the unwanted one."

Her words were sharp, dripping with venom. But Lawson just soothed her gently. "Okay, okay, today marks the start of our life together—don’t let irrelevant people ruin it."

Once she was calmed down, he turned to me with a dismissive look. "Didn’t I tell you to move out? Why are you still here?"

I instinctively apologized. "Sorry. I’m leaving now."

But as I went to grab my suitcase, someone blocked my path.

Lexi stood in front of me, smug and self-assured. "This is my house now. You think you can just come and go as you please?"

A sinking feeling in my gut told me what was coming next. "So what exactly do you want?"

She flashed a sly smile. "Lawson told me you’re quite the cook. Turns out, we’re short a chef for tonight’s party."

Cooking was brutal—especially when you're pregnant and running on fumes. With nearly twenty guests to feed, I was on my own in that kitchen, my body heavy and weak. The task hung over me like a mountain, promising to drain every last ounce of my strength, and maybe even send me to the floor. I cast a desperate glance at Lawson, silently pleading for help. But he played oblivious, his tone firm. "Just tell us what you want to eat, and I'll have Kyren deliver the ingredients."

Lexi lit up at that, planting a joyful kiss on his cheek. "You're amazing, Lawson!"

She jumped right into taking orders, her voice bright and chirpy. "One pulled pork sandwich!" "A serving of shrimp linguine!" "And a bowl of clam chowder!"

While the cheerful chaos buzzed around them, I felt like an outsider, trapped in my own skin, the walls closing in inch by inch.

My old burn scars throbbed, dragging me back to another time. Back then, we were broke—scraping pennies just to get by. Eating out? A luxury we never allowed ourselves. So I cooked every single day, packing Lawson's lunches and making sure he was fed. He'd look so satisfied, pulling me close and saying, "Your cooking is out of this world—nothing else comes close."

That was until a boiling pot tipped over my hand, blistering my skin in seconds. We couldn't afford burn cream, so Lawson brought home some ice from a nearby store and stayed up all night, nursing me through the worst of it.

My hand eventually healed, but the ugly scars stayed.

Riddled with guilt, he beat himself up over it, tearfully vowing, "I'm sorry I couldn't be better. One day, when I make it big, you won't have to set foot in a kitchen again. You'll have the finest of everything."

But now? All of that felt like ancient history—erased, as if it had never happened.

The ingredients arrived right on time, and Lawson's cold stare drove me toward the kitchen. Bitterness coated my mouth, dry and sharp. I swallowed it down. I owed him this much, didn't I? So I resigned myself to pay.

It had been ages since I'd held a knife properly. No surprise, I nicked myself within the first few minutes of chopping vegetables. I ignored the sting, running my hands under cold water before pushing on. By the time I finished, my hands were crisscrossed with fresh cuts—some still oozing red. I was drained to the bone, every muscle screaming for rest. I forced the words through cracked lips: "May I leave now?"

Finally, a flicker of concern crossed Lawson's face. He started to say something—but Lexi cut him off, lifting a forkful of food to his mouth. He waved a hand dismissively and told Kyren to take me home.

When we pulled up to my temporary place, Kyren lingered at the door. Then he handed me an expensive-looking tube of ointment. "Mr. Simmons asked me to give you this. It'll help with the scarring."

I blinked, confused for a moment. Then I shook my head. "That's not necessary."