Chapter 2

It hadn' t always been like this.

Five years ago, I was nineteen, a scholarship student at NYU, wide-eyed and impossibly naive. Ethan Vanderbilt had been a junior, a campus legend – rich, handsome, and exuding a confidence I' d only read about.

He' d noticed me in the library, of all places. He said he liked my quiet intensity, the way I chewed on my pen when I was concentrating. He' d been charming, overwhelmingly so. He' d pursued me with a single-minded focus that left me breathless. Flowers, extravagant dates, whispers of a future that sounded like a fairytale. I fell, hard and fast.

My family, especially my father, had been ecstatic. A Vanderbilt. It was like winning the lottery.

But the fairytale began to fray.

My quiet intensity, once charming, became "brooding." My upstate, working-class background, initially a novelty, became a source of subtle embarrassments for him at his family' s stiff gatherings.

He started to pick at me. My clothes weren' t right. My friends were too ordinary. My opinions, if they differed from his, were unsophisticated.

I tried to change, to adapt. I bought new clothes I couldn' t afford, mimicked the laughter of the girls he admired, bit back my own thoughts. I became a carefully constructed version of what I thought he wanted.

It only earned his disdain. "You' re trying too hard, Mia. It' s not a good look."

Two years ago, I' d been on track for a prestigious internship, one that could have set up my career. Ethan had demanded I accompany him on a last-minute trip to Monaco for a yacht party. I' d hesitated, mentioned the final interview for the internship.

He' d scoffed. "An internship? Mia, you' re with me. You don' t need some dreary office job."

I went with him. I missed the interview. I didn' t get the internship.

When I was quiet and withdrawn on the flight back, he' d turned on me. "God, you' re sulking about that stupid job? It' s your own fault for not being more decisive. You clearly didn' t want it enough."

He' d used it as an excuse to pull away, to create distance. That was the first time he' d made me feel like my failure was a weapon against me, a reason for his coldness.

The pressure from my father to keep Ethan happy, especially after Leo' s diagnosis last year, became immense.

"Don' t be difficult, Mia. He' s our only hope."

So I' d tried. God, how I' d tried. I' d called more, suggested dates I knew he' d like, endured his moods, his criticisms, his increasingly frequent cancellations. I' d swallowed my pride so many times it felt like a permanent lump in my throat.

My friends saw it. Chloe, my best friend from college, had been blunt. "Mia, he' s treating you like dirt. You deserve better."

But I couldn' t see a way out. Leo' s face, pale and weak in his hospital bed, was always in my mind.

My attempts to win back Ethan' s affection only made me look desperate. People whispered. The Vanderbilts' circle was small and vicious. I was the girl who wouldn' t let go, the charity case clinging on. My reputation, whatever I' d had, was in tatters.

Now, standing in his penthouse, with Isabella smirking at me, Ethan' s words from our first meeting echoed mockingly. "I like your quiet intensity."

He looked at Isabella, then back at me, his expression hardening. "So, yeah. We' re getting married. It' s better this way, Mia. You must see that."

He was twisting the knife, making it clear he was upgrading, and I was the past he was eager to shed.

"She' s just… easier," he added, as if that explained everything. Purer, he meant. Untainted by desperation, by the messy needs of a struggling family.

To his surprise, a strange calm settled over me. Maybe it was shock. Maybe it was the final, definitive severing of a tie that had been strangling me for years.

Leo. The thought of Leo still hurt, but something inside me knew this path with Ethan was a dead end.

I reached into my purse and pulled out the small, antique silver locket he' d given me on our first anniversary. It felt cold in my hand.

I held it out to him. "Here. I think this belongs to your future."

Ethan looked taken aback. He' d expected tears, pleading, a scene. Not this quiet resignation.

I placed the locket on the marble coffee table between us.

"Goodbye, Ethan."

I turned and walked out, not looking back, the image of his surprised face a small, bitter satisfaction. For the first time in a long time, I felt a flicker of my own self, a self I had almost forgotten.