Chapter 6
But Grant didn’t hear them. Their voices became distant noise.
He walked toward the table, each step heavy with disbelief, and slowly picked up what was left
behind:
The ring.
Lena’s engagement ring.
The one she had worn every single day since the proposal, the one she treasured like it was a part of her.
She had always smiled when she wore it-refusing to take it off, not even when she slept.
And now, she had left it behind as if it meant nothing.
For the first time in his life, Grant felt a cold wave of panic sweeping over him.
He dialed her number over and over again-each time met with the same message: “This number is no longer in service.”
Frantically, he tried to message her-but the moment he hit send, the app displayed the words that stabbed deeper than anything else:
You have been blocked.
The unease inside him twisted into dread.
He rushed into Lena’s room, flung open the closet-empty.
All of her belongings, her scent, her presence-gone.
Gone.
Could she really have left him?
No. Impossible.
She loved him.
She had always loved him more than anything-how could she leave so easily?
His hands trembled as he gripped the ring tightly, knuckles white, veins bulging from the
pressure.
Then he remembered the message from the family group chat-the link they were all asking
about.
It had been sent by Lena herself. He hadn’t even bothered to check it before.
He clicked it now, barely breathing.
A few seconds later, his expression relaxed slightly. The tension in his jaw eased.
On the screen was a wedding invitation.
His lips curled into a faint, relieved smile.
See? She was just trying to scare him.
Just a tantrum.
She wouldn’t really leave.
But as the relief set in, so did irritation.
Lena had gone too far this time.
Too far.
When she came back, he swore, he would teach her a lesson.
He would make her apologize, beg for forgiveness, and admit she’d gone too far.
But in the very next second, all his plans came to a crashing halt.
Because as his eyes scanned the wedding invitation more closely, he saw something that made his breath hitch-
The bride’s name was Samantha.
For a moment, the room was dead silent.
Then, standing beside him, Samantha could no longer hide her glee.
A triumphant smile slowly crept across her face.
Lena had really given up.
Just then, his phone began to ring repeatedly.
One after another, the wedding venue coordinator, the photographer, and even the designer fo their couple’s wedding shoot called him.
Each of them politely congratulated him on the corrected details and wished him and Miss Samantha a joyful and blessed marriage.
Grant’s face darkened. His fury exploded.
Without a word, he hurled his phone against the wall. It shattered on impact.
The sound echoed through the apartment like a gunshot.
Startled, Samantha let out a terrified scream and backed away, not daring to go near him again.
Meanwhile, I had just landed.
As I stepped into the arrivals hall, I froze in disbelief at the familiar figure standing with a sign bearing my name.
‘Quentin?” I asked, stunned.
Quentin Yale smiled and extended a hand toward me.
‘Welcome, Little Sister Sinclair. It’s great to have you on board.”
Back in college, Quentin had been a top student-mature, brilliant, admired by everyone. After graduation, I heard he went abroad, eventually working for an Elite 500 company. I never imagined I’d be working alongside him now.
“You turned down that overseas scholarship all those years ago,” he said as we walked toward the car. “Honestly, I thought I’d never get the chance to work with you again.”
On the drive, Quentin chatted easily about our university days, his tone nostalgic.
I looked out the window, lost in my own thoughts.
Back then, I had given up the study-abroad offer without hesitation-all because I wanted to stay
Chapter h
by Grant’s side.
I believed we’d be together forever. I believed love would be enough.
I never imagined that eight years of devotion could collapse so easily.
Later that evening, after finishing up my first day at work, I was just about to lie down when a message popped up on my phone.
It was from my former supervisor back home.
He had sent a surveillance video from the company’s office and asked me what I thought.
Curious, I opened it.
In the footage, Grant burst into the office, his expression thunderous. He was clearly demanding something from my supervisor.
When the supervisor shook his head and refused, Grant’s temper flared. He stormed forward and grabbed him by the collar.
Security had to intervene and physically restrain him.
The video cut off there.
I stared at the screen, stunned.
He must have found out I was the one who changed the bride’s name to Samantha. Maybe he thought it was public humiliation. Maybe he blamed my supervisor for not stopping me.
Either way, someone else got dragged into the fallout.
I quickly messaged my supervisor with an apology.
But he didn’t blame me.
He only asked, “Do you plan to tell Grant that you’ve gone abroad?”
My fingers hovered over the keyboard for a long time.
Eventually, I typed back:
[Since we’ve broken up, there’s no need for further contact.]
And with that, I buried myself in my new
life.
Work was fulfilling. In just a week, I had already earned praise from the client company.
Quentin was also pleased. “Still sharp as ever,” he said with a warm grin.
It felt good. I hadn’t felt this kind of personal satisfaction in years.
One month has passed.
At a corporate charity dinner, I mingled with colleagues, wine glass in hand, laughter on my lips.
Then a call from an unknown number came through.
I didn’t answer. I didn’t care to.
But just seconds later, the last person I wanted to see appeared at the entrance.
Grant.
His eyes were dark and intense. He spotted me immediately and pushed through the crowd.
6:57 pm
Before I could react, he grabbed my wrist.
“Lena, why didn’t you answer my call?” he demanded.
The smile dropped from my face instantly.
By now, he should’ve been enjoying his honeymoon-with Samantha.
“What are you doing here?” I asked coldly.
“We’ve broken up, Grant. Let go of me.”
I struggled, trying to pull my hand free.
But he only gripped tighter, his grasp painful.
“Break up? When did we break up? I didn’t agree to that.”
I stared at him in disbelief.
Was he serious?
He was the one who flirted openly with another woman.
He let her wear the wedding dress I chose, eat the cake I designed, and take my place in the ceremony I planned.
And now, he refused to accept that we were over?
I exhaled slowly, pushing down the tremor in my chest.
“If this is about pride, fine.”
“If it makes you feel better, I’ll say you dumped me. I’ll tell everyone you were the one who walked away. Will that satisfy you?”
