Chapter 3

Gracelyn POV:

Inside the dim bar restroom, the loud hum of the exhaust fan finally snapped me out of my daze.

I looked down at the cold metal object the man had pressed into my palm. It was a heavy, custom-made sterling silver cufflink. The number "19" was inlaid on the surface in black and gold enamel, its edges slightly worn.

Who was he? Very few people in Boston knew my legal first name was Gracelyn instead of Aurora.

Pushing the terrifying yet familiar ice-blue eyes out of my mind, I dropped the cufflink into my coat pocket. I couldn't stay here any longer.

Taking advantage of the fact that Derik was likely still tangled up with Krystle in that VIP room, I hailed a cab and rushed straight back to the Mccarthy villa. I needed to get my things before he returned.

Walking into the massive, silent villa, I headed straight for the second-floor master suite.

The walk-in closet was the size of a small apartment, overflowing with luxury. Row after row of Derik's custom Tom Ford suits, limited-edition sneakers, and display cases filled with expensive watches took up ninety percent of the space.

In the darkest, narrowest corner hung the only things that truly belonged to me: a few sets of worn-out hospital scrubs, some basic daily clothes, and heavy stacks of medical textbooks.

For four years, I had shrunk myself to fit into this tiny corner of his life, thinking my gratitude and compromises would earn me a home.

I spent less than twenty minutes packing my entire four years of existence into a single battered suitcase and a cardboard box of medical books.

When I dragged my things to the front porch, my best friend, Araceli Church, a top-tier sports PR director in Boston, pulled her Porsche up to the curb.

Seeing my heavy textbooks and suitcase, Araceli's eyes widened in shock. "Grace... are you planning to give Derik the silent treatment for half a year this time?"

"No," I said calmly, loading the heavy box into her trunk. "I broke up with him. For good."

Araceli knew me well. In the past, whenever Derik pushed my boundaries, I would only say I needed time to cool off. I had never once used the word "breakup."

Realizing I was dead serious, Araceli slammed the trunk shut and grabbed my hands. "I fully support you! You can crash at my place for as long as you want. That second-string leech doesn't deserve you anyway!"

Derik POV:

The next morning, the shrill sound of my alarm clock woke me up. My head throbbed violently from last night's alcohol.

I cursed under my breath, rubbing my temples as I walked into the walk-in closet. My eyes immediately fell on the first rack, where two perfectly coordinated bespoke suits were hanging.

On the lapel of each suit was a pale yellow sticky note with Gracelyn's neat handwriting, detailing which tie and watch to wear for my afternoon team meeting.

I didn't know the first thing about styling myself. For years, Gracelyn had managed my wardrobe flawlessly. Whenever I traveled for away games, she would pack my bags and label every outfit according to my itinerary.

I pulled the suit off the rack, a smug smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.

I didn't care if I was actually in love with Gracelyn or not. In my eyes, she was the perfect candidate for a wife. I could fool around with exciting, willing women like Krystle all I wanted, but at the end of the day, Gracelyn was the one I would marry.

She was useful, obedient, and completely dependent on the Mccarthy family's money. She had no backbone. Even though she threw a tantrum and stormed out last night, I knew she would crawl back today, just like she always did, to lay out my clothes and cook my breakfast.

I put on the suit and walked downstairs.

"Mr. Derik, your breakfast is ready," Martha, the housekeeper, said as she walked out of the kitchen.

I frowned, looking at the empty dining table. "Where's Gracelyn?"

Ever since she moved in four years ago, Gracelyn had cooked my breakfast every single morning unless she was on a night shift at the hospital. She knew exactly how I liked my eggs and coffee.

Martha hesitated, wiping her hands nervously on her apron. "Miss Gracelyn came back late last night and packed all her belongings."

My face instantly darkened.

"She actually moved out?" I sneered, feeling a surge of annoyed disbelief.

Did that poor maid's daughter really think she could survive in Boston without my family's wealth? She was just playing hard to get, trying to test my patience.

I pulled back my sleeve, glancing at my million-dollar Patek Philippe watch.

It was exactly 8:37 AM.

"Fine. Let her freeze out there," I said coldly, adjusting my tie. "I'll give her exactly twelve hours. If she doesn't text me begging to come back by 8:30 PM tonight, clear out her remaining junk. Krystle will be the new mistress of this house."