Chapter 2

Back in the suite, the air was thick with unspoken words. I started pulling clothes from the closet, throwing them into my suitcase. Each item felt like a piece of a life I no longer recognized.

Sophia. Five years we dated. Three years before that, I'd pursued her, convinced she was the one. Ivy League smart, beautiful, a catch. My parents, owners of a successful boutique hotel chain, had been cautiously optimistic. Her parents, academics and lawyers, had always looked down on us, the "new money."

My phone rang, a number I didn't recognize immediately. Then it clicked. Chloe Davis. My college friend. The brilliant, popular girl-next-door who'd tutored me in economics, always patient, always supportive. I hadn't spoken to her in months.

I almost ignored it, but something made me answer.

"Mike?" Her voice was slurred, emotional. "Mike, is that you?"

"Chloe? Are you okay?"

"No, I'm not okay!" she wailed. "I'm in... I'm in Tokyo. Business trip. Drunk. Very drunk. But I had to call you."

A pause, a sniffle.

"Don't marry her, Mike," she blurted out. "Please, don't marry Sophia. She's not good for you. She never has been."

I sank onto the edge of the bed, the half-packed suitcase forgotten.

"Chloe, what are you talking about?"

"I love you, Mike," she confessed, the words tumbling out in a rush. "I've always loved you. Since college. Since that stupid econ study group. You were so kind, so lost. And she... she just uses you."

My mind reeled. Chloe? Loved me?

"I know this is crazy," she continued, her voice thick with tears. "I'm a mess. But I couldn't let you marry her without knowing. You deserve better. You deserve someone who sees you, Mike. Really sees you."

A spark. Not hope, not yet. But something. A tiny flicker in the overwhelming darkness.

Sophia had called me weak. Chloe saw kindness.

"Chloe," I said, an impulsive, insane idea forming. "What if I didn't marry Sophia?"

"What?"

"What if I married you instead?"

Silence on the other end. Then, a shaky laugh.

"Are you drunk too, Mike Chen?"

"No," I said, a strange certainty filling me. "I've never been more sober."

Another pause. "Marry me, Chloe. Right now. Fly back. We'll figure it out."

I could hear her sharp intake of breath. "You're serious?"

"Deadly serious," I said. And I was.

"Okay," she whispered. "Okay, Mike. I'll... I'll get the first flight back."

We hung up. I stared at my phone, then at the suitcase. A different kind of packing began.

I called my parents.

My mother's shriek when I told her about Sophia and Julian was epic. My father's silence was even more damning.

"That... that woman!" Mom finally sputtered. "And that... that peacock Julian! I knew it! I always knew he wasn't just a friend!"

"What are you going to do, son?" Dad asked, his voice calm but firm.

"I broke it off," I said. "And Dad... Mom... I asked Chloe Davis to marry me. She said yes."

Another silence. Then, my mother again, surprisingly soft.

"Chloe? The girl from college? The one who helped you with your thesis?"

"Yes, Mom."

"Well," Dad said, a hint of approval in his voice. "She always seemed like a sensible girl. Good head on her shoulders."

"We support you, Michael," Mom said. "Whatever you decide. As for Sophia Hayes... she'll regret this."

The next morning, as I was checking out, my phone rang. Sophia's mother.

"Michael?" Her voice was like ice. "Sophia told me about your... outburst. I must say, I'm not surprised. Your lack of sophistication was always a concern."

I didn't say anything.

"Sophia is willing to overlook this tantrum, for the sake of appearances. But you need to apologize. To her, and to Julian. This behavior is unacceptable."

"Mrs. Hayes," I said, my voice even. "There will be no wedding. Sophia made her choice. I've made mine."

I hung up before she could respond. The small satisfaction was fleeting, but real.