Chapter 3

I managed to hold it together until I reached the quiet hallway outside the ballroom. The distant sound of applause was a muffled roar, mocking me. I leaned against the cold wall, my legs shaking. I felt naked, stripped bare in front of the entire city.

My dress, which had felt so elegant an hour ago, now felt like a costume for a fool. I saw my reflection in a decorative mirror on the wall. My makeup was perfect, my hair was perfect, but my eyes were hollow. I looked like a stranger.

I would not cry for him. I would not give him that satisfaction. I took a deep, shuddering breath and repeated it in my head like a mantra. Do not cry for him.

"Chloe?"

His voice. I squeezed my eyes shut. I didn't want to see him. I didn't want to talk to him.

I turned around. Ethan was standing there, a few feet away, a strange look on his face. It wasn't triumph. It was something else. Guilt, maybe? For a brief, insane moment, I thought he was going to apologize.

He took a step closer. "I know this is hard to understand."

Hard to understand? I almost laughed. It was brutally, painfully clear.

He ran a hand through his perfect hair. "Look, this doesn' t have to change everything. My proposal to Sarah... it' s for business. Her family has connections in the new energy sector. It' s a strategic alliance."

I stared at him, my mind struggling to process the sheer audacity of his words.

"You and I," he continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "we can still be together. In private. Sarah is young, she' ll do as she' s told. You can still have me. You just won' t have the title of Mrs. Black. Is that really so important?"

The air left my lungs. He wanted me to be his mistress. After everything, after publicly humiliating me, he was proposing that I become his dirty little secret while he married the woman he cheated on me with.

The absurdity of it was so profound, it snapped me out of my shock. A cold, hard anger began to burn through the pain.

"Are you insane?" I whispered, my voice trembling with rage.

"Chloe, be reasonable," he said, his tone shifting to one of condescension. "You' re almost thirty. You know about your family' s... issue. Without me, your career is stalled. That big museum project you want? My family is on the board. I can make that happen for you, or I can make it disappear. This is the best solution for everyone."

He knew. He knew about the curse. It was a secret I had shared with him in a moment of vulnerability years ago, a secret I had trusted him with. And now he was using it against me, twisting it into a weapon.

"How could you?" I asked, the words barely audible. "How could you use that against me?"

"I' m not using it against you, I' m trying to help you!" he insisted, his voice rising. "I' m offering you a way out! A way to have both me and your career. You should be thanking me!"

"I would rather my hands fall off so I can never design another building," I said, my voice low and steady. "I would rather face a hundred curses than spend one more second of my life with a monster like you."

His face darkened. He finally realized I wasn't going to break down and beg. I wasn't going to accept his disgusting offer.

"Fine," he hissed, his charm vanishing to reveal the ugliness beneath. "Be a martyr. But don' t come crying to me when you turn thirty and everything falls apart. Sarah was right. You' re too emotional, too difficult. I need someone who understands the real world."

He took a step back, his expression shifting again, this time to a look of feigned concern. "Chloe, please. Don' t do this. Don' t throw away everything we had."

He reached for my arm, trying to pull me closer.

I yanked my arm away as if his touch were fire. I didn' t say another word. There was nothing left to say. I just looked at him, letting him see the utter contempt in my eyes.

Then I turned my back on him and walked away.

I didn' t run. I walked, each step deliberate and firm, down the long, empty hallway and out into the cool night air. I could feel his eyes on my back, and for the first time, his gaze had no power over me. He was watching me, probably expecting me to turn around, to falter.

I never looked back. I left him standing there, alone with the ruins of what he had destroyed. The pain was still there, a gaping wound in my chest, but for the first time in a long time, I felt a flicker of something new. Freedom.