Chapter 2

The first thing I did was call my mother. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely hold the phone. It was almost two in the morning, but I didn't care.

"Mom?" My voice cracked.

"Chloe? Honey, what' s wrong? Are you okay?" Her voice was thick with sleep but instantly alert with concern.

"That offer," I said, forcing the words out past the lump in my throat. "The one from the Thomes. Is it still open?"

There was a silence on the other end of the line. The Thomes were old family friends, their son Marcus a successful architect. For years, our parents had joked about arranging a marriage, a quaint, old-fashioned idea. Last year, they' d made a serious offer. I had laughed it off, completely devoted to Liam.

"Chloe, what is this about?" my mother asked gently.

"Please, Mom. Just tell me. Is it still an option?"

"Yes," she said slowly. "I think so. Marcus is a good man, Chloe. He would treat you well."

"I' ll do it," I said, the words tasting like ash. "Tell them yes. I want to meet him."

"Okay, honey," she said, her voice full of a relief she tried to hide. "I' ll call them in the morning. Get some sleep."

Sleep was impossible. After I hung up, I turned on the lights and pulled a suitcase from the top of my closet. I started pulling clothes from their hangers, dumping them on the bed. T-shirts, jeans, sweaters. My hands worked mechanically, my mind blessedly blank. I was just a machine, packing away a life that was no longer mine.

I found the hoodie he' d left here last week, the one that still smelled like him. For a moment, my resolve wavered. I clutched it to my chest, a sob finally breaking free. I let myself cry for exactly one minute, then I threw the hoodie into a trash bag. I would burn it later.

I was stuffing shoes into the side pockets of the suitcase when I heard the familiar scrape on the trellis.

My body went rigid.

Liam slid through the window, a smirk on his face. "Forgot my phone."

He saw the open suitcase, the piles of clothes on my bed. The smirk vanished.

"What' s this? Going somewhere?"

I didn' t answer. I just kept packing, my back to him.

He came up behind me, his arms wrapping around my waist, his lips pressing against my neck. It was the same move he always used, the one that always made me melt.

Tonight, it just made my skin crawl.

"Let' s not fight, Chloe," he whispered, his hand sliding up my stomach. "I' m sorry I left so fast."

I flinched away from his touch, stepping out of his grasp. "Don' t."

He looked genuinely surprised, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. "What' s wrong with you?"

"I' m tired," I said, the excuse feeling flimsy even to my own ears. "I don' t feel well."

He watched me for a long moment, his eyes searching my face. I kept my expression blank, a mask of indifference. He seemed to accept it, for now. He grabbed his phone from the nightstand.

I knew this was my last chance. One final test to see if any part of him was real.

"Liam," I said, my voice steady. "I' m having dinner with my parents on Sunday. I want you to come."

He stopped, his hand on the window frame. "Sunday? I can' t Sunday."

"Why not?"

"Sarah... she needs my help," he said, the lie coming so easily to him. "We' re working on a new arrangement for one of her songs. It' s a big deal for her."

Of course. It was always Sarah. His priority was clear. My last, foolish ember of hope died out. It was a relief, in a way. The final confirmation.

Just then, his phone vibrated in his hand. A special ringtone I' d never heard before. He glanced at the screen, and his entire demeanor changed. He straightened up, his focus absolute.

"I have to go," he said, already swinging his leg over the sill. "It' s Sarah. It' s an emergency."

He didn' t wait for a reply. He didn' t look back. He just disappeared into the night, leaving me alone in the wreckage of my life.

I stood there for a long time, just listening to the silence. Then, a wave of dizziness washed over me. The pain I' d been holding back crashed down all at once. My legs gave out. I reached for the bedpost to steady myself, but my hand slipped.

I went down hard, my ankle twisting beneath me with a sickening crack. A sharp, white-hot pain shot up my leg. I cried out, but there was no one to hear me. I was completely, utterly alone.