Chapter 3

3

It was Sienna Montgomery.

I accepted the request immediately.

"Hey Preston. Is your mom serious about the wedding? It feels like a dream."

"It's real. See you abroad."

Sienna sent a cute sticker. "Counting down the days!"

I found my passport and realized I had left some essential visa paperwork back at the apartment.

I drove back to get the documents.

When I opened the front door, Linnea was sitting cross-legged on the sofa, fuming.

"Preston, you've really crossed the line today. You completely ignored me after the exhibition."

"You're utterly useless. You can't get a single thing right."

Ever since Gavin returned from his overseas residency, Linnea had grown increasingly critical of me, finding fault in everything I did.

I clenched my jaw, swallowed the bitterness, and said nothing.

I walked past her into the bedroom and packed my essentials into a single suitcase.

Apart from a few work suits and casual clothes, there was very little in this apartment that actually belonged to me.

Seeing my packed luggage, Linnea froze.

"Preston, what are you doing?"

"My mom isn't feeling well," I lied flatly. "I'm staying with her for a while."

Noticing the coldness in my tone, her attitude softened slightly. "You don't need a whole suitcase just to visit your mom."

"Are you still jealous of Gavin? I've told you a hundred times, we're just friends..."

"Got it," I cut her off.

Tired of her endless excuses, I grabbed my suitcase and headed for the door.

Linnea rushed over and grabbed my arm, putting on a pouting, victimized expression.

In the past, I would have wrapped her in my arms and apologized profusely.

Now, looking at her innocent face, all I could picture were those sensual poses she struck for Gavin. A wave of disgust washed over me.

"Preston, your birthday is in a few days. Look, I even got you a present."

She pulled a wrinkled garment from a battered gift box.

"Look at this. It's the hottest designer trend this season. I spent forever picking it out for you."

Linnea always used this trick on me: slap me in the face, then toss me a piece of candy.

I was sick of her candy.

I looked at the avant-garde jacket with bizarre cutout patterns on the chest.

"Do you really think this is my style, Linnea?"

She held the jacket against my chest. "How do you know unless you try it on?"

I yanked the jacket from her hands, threw it onto the floor, and opened Gavin's Instagram page.

I scrolled down to a post from last winter, where Gavin was wearing this exact jacket while posing in an art studio.

I shoved the screen into her face. "Do you take me for an idiot? Giving me Gavin's secondhand trash as a birthday gift makes you feel clever?"

Caught red-handed, Linnea's face turned pale, and she stammered, unable to find an excuse.

She had always assumed I was a clueless broke guy who knew nothing about luxury brands.

She had no idea that I grew up accompanying my mother to private couture showings.

I shook off her grip and walked out the door.

Behind me, Linnea shrieked in frustration. "Preston, if you walk out that door, don't you dare come back! Gavin only wore that jacket once! How dare you call it trash!"

Leaving that building felt like shedding years of heavy chains.