Chapter 2

2.

At dawn, our housekeeper, Rosa, unlocked the front door and walked in. She froze when she saw me sitting on the floor, shoving mouthfuls of cake into my mouth. "Miss Bailey! Aren't you deathly allergic to dairy cream?"

Her gasp echoed in the quiet living room as she rushed over and grabbed my arms, which were already covered in angry red hives. "What are you doing? Why are you hurting yourself like this?"

My vision was blurred with tears, my eyes swollen from crying all night.

If his endless devotion was reserved for someone else, what were the last eleven years of my life to him?

Was I just an interlude, a background track to their grand romance?

Rosa rushed me to the emergency room, sitting by my hospital bed with a heavy sigh. "Miss Bailey, I've watched you and Mr. Hayes weather so many storms together. Maybe he had his reasons."

Carter's new track had become an overnight sensation. The internet was buzzing with romantic edits of his childhood history with Melody, and even someone as out of touch as Rosa had seen the headlines.

The gifted pianist and the genius composer. If I were just an uninformed netizen, I would have cheered for their fairytale romance too.

Instead, I was the surplus woman in the story, the faceless shadow hiding behind the male lead.

Rosa had to leave for a family emergency shortly after, and the nurse told me I needed an immediate family member to sign my discharge papers. I had no choice but to dial Carter's number.

After several rejected attempts, he finally answered.

Before I could say a single word, his voice snapped through the speaker. "Justine, haven't you thrown enough tantrums for one day?"

I sat frozen, a wave of nausea washing over me from the dairy reaction in my stomach.

"Carter, I'm in the―"

"I don't care what you're doing! Today is Melody's comeback. If you can't be happy for her, that's fine, but why the hell are you blowing up my phone with your petty jealousy?"

His temper flared. "You're almost thirty, start acting like an adult!"

"Melody and I grew up together. If there were ever anything romantic between us, do you really think you'd even have a chance?"

A dry, bitter laugh escaped my lips. My chest ached with a dull, suffocating weight.

"I'm at the hospital with a severe allergic reaction. Can you come pick me up?"

He seemed taken aback. He wasn't used to me asking for help, especially since I had always gone out of my way to avoid burdening him.

"Can't you just handle that on your own like you always do?" he asked, sounding genuinely confused. "You never needed me for these things before. Why are you suddenly making a fuss today?"

It turned out that all my quiet sacrifices over the years had simply become an expectation.

All those times I endured medical emergencies alone, signed my own surgical consent forms, and dragged my trembling body straight from recovery to drive him home from his studio sessions―it was all just a joke.

"Carter," I whispered as tears spilled down my cheeks, my voice shaking despite my best efforts. "Let's break up."

Loud chatter erupted on his end of the line, and Carter tossed the phone onto a table without answering.

Even my breakup speech was treated like noise in the background.

After being discharged, I returned to our penthouse alone and began packing my bags.

Right after graduation, I had defied my parents' wishes to follow Carter to this sprawling city. I lived on five-dollar street cart meals and waited in midnight clearance lines just to save money for his equipment.

Under the freezing overpass where we used to live, we had to press our bodies tightly together just to stay warm.

I loved him so much that I would secretly switch spots with him in the middle of the night, letting my back block the biting draft so he wouldn't catch a cold.

Life was brutally hard back then, but he would always blow on the first spoonful of hot soup before feeding it to me. "Justine, I swear to God I will give you the life you deserve."

Now, we had all the luxury we could ever want, but his heart had spoiled like rotten leftovers.

I didn't own much. Most of the designer clothes and bags in the closet were gifts from Carter that I rarely wore.

In the end, I packed only a few simple outfits and a braided red prayer cord.

Years ago, when I fell dangerously ill, Carter―a man who claimed to believe in nothing―had climbed the steep stone steps of the mountain sanctuary on his knees, bowing at every step just to get that blessed cord for me.

Even now, looking at the frayed red threads, I didn't have the heart to throw it away.

I zipped my suitcase and pulled open the front door, only to find Carter standing on the welcome mat.