Chapter 6

He'd just laughed.

"She won't leave me. I could ditch her ninety-nine times, and she'd still come crawling back."

He wasn't wrong.

For nine years, I'd begged for his love, always willing to forgive him.

I had loved him recklessly, completely, losing myself in the process.

But even the brightest youth fades.

And when the pile of disappointments grows too high, it becomes impossible to take even one more step.

Not even for the wedding dress I once dreamed about.

Years ago, I'd clung to him, saying, "When your company stabilizes, can we get married? Let's get that dress, okay?"

Back then, his eyes had sparkled with promises.

Now, I couldn't care less.

Even when I saw Brielle Stokes wearing the dress I once adored, I felt nothing.

"Skylar, I've never worn a wedding dress before. Trying on yours shouldn't be a problem, right?"

Her eyes were wide and innocent, but there was a flicker of challenge in her gaze.

"It's not mine," I replied flatly. "No need to ask me."

Carter stiffened, scrambling to explain.

"Brielle's just here—" "No need to ask me," I replied flatly.

Carter tensed up, trying to defend himself. "Brielle's just here to congratulate us. She's only trying it on for fun—don't get mad."

I shrugged. "I don't care. Why not let her try on the ring too?"

I glanced at my watch, mentally calculating how long the movers would take.

My things—just nine boxes filled with clothes, jewelry, and old art supplies—should have been packed and gone by now.

Nine years of my life, reduced to nine boxes.

"Skylar, you've become so sensible lately," Carter said with a pleased smile.

To him, being "sensible" meant not getting jealous, not complaining, and accepting his flirty ways with other women.

His eyes sparkled with approval. "I'm so relieved. The Skylar I love is back."

"You're so good now. Let's get engaged tomorrow, alright?"

"Think of it as a reward—getting to be my fiancée."

I didn't respond, my gaze drifting to Brielle.

She clutched the dress tightly, gritting her teeth as she glared at me.

The dress looked perfect on her, as if it had never belonged to me.

Let her have it. I was leaving anyway.