Chapter 3

While sorting through some old boxes, a dusty cardboard container fell from the shelf.

Inside were forgotten fragments of my youth: faded movie ticket stubs, college design awards, and a stack of postcards from friends.

At the very bottom lay a navy blue velvet box.

I hesitated before flipping it open.

Inside rested the wedding band that Julian was supposed to slip onto my finger that day.

The diamond still caught the light, and engraved on the inside band were two cursive letters: A.L.—the initials of my maiden name.

Beside it was a tiny inscription: To Avery, my bride.

What a tragedy. This ring had never made it to its ceremony.

It stood as a silent witness to the longest, most humiliating ordeal of my life.

I snapped the box shut and tossed it onto the workbench, planning to sell or scrap it later.

The past, much like this ring that would never touch a finger, had lost every shred of meaning.

My phone buzzed. It was Mom, asking cheerfully about the studio's launch.

Toward the end, her voice dropped to a cautious whisper. "Avery... I heard Julian hasn't been doing well lately. His family's business is hitting rough waters, and word on the street is his marriage with Rebecca Young is completely falling apart..."

I cut her off. "Mom, his life has nothing to do with me anymore. I'm doing great right now, and that's all that matters."

Silence stretched across the line for a moment.

Then, she let out a gentle sigh. "Good. That's good. As long as you're happy, that's all that counts. Your dad and I are behind you all the way."

Hanging up, I walked to the floor-to-ceiling window and watched the bustling traffic below.

The city lights burned bright into the evening, but not a single spark belonged to Julian Vance anymore.

I no longer needed anyone's light to guide me. I had become my own damn sun.

Preparations for the opening entered the final sprint.

I worked myself to the bone, my days full and peaceful.

However, I underestimated how small this city truly was—or rather, how obsessively stubborn certain people could be.

One Sunday afternoon, while I was carefully burnishing the edge of a custom leather tote, the door chime rang crisp and clear.

I assumed it was an appointment.

When I looked up, an unexpected face greeted me: Rebecca Young.

Five years hadn't altered her appearance much. She was still dripping in designer couture, every inch tailored to perfection.

Yet the smug, victorious gleam in her eyes had soured into sharp, bitter malice.

She swept a condescending glance around my studio, scoffing openly. "Avery. I heard you crawled back to town. And you opened a... craft shop? How fitting for your station. Small-minded as ever."

I set down my tools and cleaning cloth, meeting her gaze with icy calm. "Can I help you with something, Rebecca?"

She took a sharp breath and repeated the exact stunt she had pulled five years ago.

A check landed softly onto my workbench. Her tone dripped with haughty charity. "There's five million dollars. Pack your things, leave this city, and never cross Julian's path again."

"Miss Young," I replied coldly, pity flashing in my eyes. "First, Julian Vance and I are dead to each other. Second, you don't get to dictate where I live. And third..." I picked up the check and slid it back across the marble table. "Take your money and get the hell out of my shop. You're not welcome here."

Rebecca's face contorted with rage. "Don't flatter yourself, Avery! You think Julian actually gives a damn about you? He’s under massive stress and just looking back at the past for nostalgia! A low-class woman like you was never good enough for him! Not back then, and definitely not now! Take the check and get lost!"

"Whether I'm good enough or not isn't your business, and it's certainly not mine anymore."

I stepped to the front entrance, pulled the glass door open, and gestured outside. "Miss Young, instead of picking fights with me, why don't you go home and fix your own dumpster fire of a marriage?"

"A dumpster fire?" My words hit her raw nerve, and her eyes flashed with murderous fury. "You think my marriage is a joke?"

The next second, a twisted, sinister smile spread across her red lips. "Do you want to know why Chloe looks so much like you?"

My chest tightened violently, but I forced my voice to stay steady. "I don't care."

"You don't care?" She let out a manic laugh. "What if I told you... that little girl is your biological daughter?"