Chapter 2

2

I shrugged off her hand when she tried to grab my arm and spoke coldly.

“I am not overthinking anything.”

Heather looked at me with pure suspicion. “Since when did you become so understanding?”

I let out a bitter laugh, completely at a loss for words.

Was there anything I could ever do that would satisfy her?

We were already at the bedroom door. I flipped on the light, and the disgusting sight hit my eyes with brutal clarity.

Heather shrieked, shoving me back into the hallway.

“Let me clean up before you go in! Brent was just being messy, so do not make a big deal out of it!”

I stared blankly at the closed door.

I had no intention of ever sleeping in that bed again because it made my skin crawl.

I only wanted to grab my clothes and personal belongings.

Without a word, I turned on my heel and walked into the guest room.

As I finished showering, Uncle Robert called my phone.

“Wyatt, I am so glad you came to your senses. Ever since your father passed away, I have treated you like my own son.”

“If you have no objections, I will go ahead and set the wedding date for you and Rose.”

Uncle Robert was my late father’s brother-in-arms, tied by a bond forged in service.

He had always looked out for me and spent years trying to set me up with his daughter.

I had turned him down every single time for Heather’s sake.

Looking back, I had been completely blind, hurting the people who truly cared about me for a woman who never did.

This time, I did not refuse.

“Thank you, Uncle Robert. Please handle the arrangements as you see fit. I trust your judgment.”

Right after I hung up, heavy footsteps approached from the hallway.

Heather pushed the door open, her expression slightly awkward.

“The master bedroom is clean now. Are you coming back in?”

I shook my head.

Instead of leaving, she lingered by the doorframe, eyeing me suspiciously. “Who were you on the phone with just now?”

A wave of irony washed over me. “Just a client,” I replied flatly.

She tossed a small velvet box toward me, acting as if she were doing me a favor.

“Here. I picked this out specifically for you, so stop sulking.”

She threw it carelessly, and the corner of the box struck my forehead before bouncing onto the floor.

The sharp edge dug into my skin, sending a throbbing pain through my feverish head.

I pressed my hand against the bruise and winced in pain.

Heather only scoffed at me with utter disgust. “Stop being so dramatic. You are a grown man, act like one.”

I looked down at the box on the floor. Cheap shredded paper and dried petals had spilled out.

Inside lay a men’s watch.

I had never worn watches, nor did I have any interest in collecting them.

I picked it up and examined it closely.

The watch was clearly used, and there were still greasy fingerprints smeared across the glass.

I instantly remembered the brand-new luxury watch sitting on Brent’s wrist half an hour ago.

Heather had spent time picking out a gift, but not for me.

She had simply handed me the old watch that Brent had cast aside.

Back when we first started dating, we barely had two nickels to rub together.

Yet, we never treated any anniversary lightly.

We used to spend weeks planning little surprises for each other.

Because she was allergic to real flowers, I had hand-folded paper bouquets until my fingers bled, and she spent an entire afternoon learning how to cook my favorite stew.

Now, all she had left for me was careless disregard.

When I did not show any excitement, Heather scowled in annoyance.

“Wyatt, that is enough. Do not push your luck.”

She paused for a second before adding, “I ordered some seafood chowder for you. It is in the fridge, so remember to eat it.”

A cold laugh escaped my throat. She knew damn well that I had a severe seafood allergy.

Years ago, when I accidentally ate shrimp and ended up in the emergency room, she felt so guilty that she could not sleep for days.

Even after I assured her I was fine, she remained terrified of triggering my allergy again.

Now, she was trying to placate me with seafood chowder.

Did she genuinely forget, or did she simply not give a damn if I lived or died?