Chapter 3

3.

In that moment, I almost wanted to say it out loud. To demand who it was that didn't want this engagement.

But I didn't.

I didn't want to sound like some bitter, resentful ex-girlfriend.

"I just think it's no longer appropriate for you to keep it."

"Fine. Whatever." He reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket, pulled out the metal tag, and tossed it at me. "It's old anyway. Time for a new one."

With that, he took Sophia's hand and walked out.

I didn't chase after them. I just traced my finger lightly over the dent at the edge of the tag.

He had treasured this gift when I first gave it to him. He wore it against his chest, inside the inner pocket, always.

Until the accident in Colorado. A skiing trip. A broken branch came flying at high speed. It should have pierced straight through his ribcage. The edge of the dog tag deflected it just enough. A few inches to the side. A few cracked ribs instead of a fatal wound.

Everyone thought he'd be badly hurt. He'd just sat there for a moment, stunned, then slowly pulled the tag out of his chest. He stared at it for a long time.

Later he came to find me.

"Stella, you literally saved my life. I swear, I will never let you down."

Things were still good between us then.

But eventually even the way he addressed me grew distant.

He never called me "Stella" anymore. Sophia had told him his affectionate tone when he said my name made her feel insecure. Like she was a replacement.

So from then on, Blake addressed me as "Miss Lane."

"Stella." My assistant Paige's voice pulled me out of the memory. She looked at me, worried. "Are you okay?"

I handed her the tag. "Get rid of this for me."

"But you designed this yourself..."

I smiled. It didn't reach my eyes.

"I don't need it anymore."

Blake didn't come looking for me after that. Four days until my wedding to Harrison.

On this day, my mother took me to the Van Court estate to meet with Eleanor and finalize the last wedding details. That was the first time I formally met Harrison.

He sat in a high-end powered wheelchair. His complexion carried an unhealthy pallor. But he was devastatingly handsome―chiseled, solid, quietly powerful. His presence was commanding. The complete opposite of Blake's careless swagger.

Eleanor said, "Harrison, the roses in the back garden are magnificent today. Take Stella for a stroll."

I murmured my assent and followed him out.

He was witty, charming, and immensely well-read. There was no topic he couldn't hold his own on―Silicon Valley AI startups, global luxury market trends, even the latest viral fashion influencers. He discussed them all with ease.

I had been nervous at first, stiff and careful. But slowly, I relaxed.

In the middle of our conversation, I suddenly felt a sharp gaze land on me.

I turned. Blake was standing under the colonnade, how long he'd been there I didn't know. His dark eyes were locked onto Harrison and me.

In his hand was a venue confirmation document―the very paperwork we had just finalized with Eleanor.