Chapter 1

On the day I was supposed to marry my childhood sweetheart, Finnick Foster, I became a runaway bride.

As the flight took off, I deleted every trace of my past life.

Six years later, I had to return because my parents' graves were being relocated.

Right at the entrance of the funeral home, I crashed straight into Finnick's arms.

He gripped my wrists so hard it hurt, his eyes bloodshot. "Why did you run?"

He had lost a lot of weight, and the dark circles under his eyes made it look like he hadn't slept a wink in six years.

"Because I didn't want to marry a man I didn't love," I said simply.

He recoiled as if I'd slapped him, his soul seemingly leaving his body.

"Anything else?" I asked.

He remained silent.

I waited for a moment, then brushed past him without another word.

I wasn't lying.

Three years abroad had completely drained whatever burning love I once felt for him.

1

At the gates of the cemetery, my wrist was seized again with brute force.

Finnick stood before me, his eyes mapped with red veins.

"Wren, we need to talk."

"We have nothing to talk about," I said, yanking my hand back with cold indifference.

His fingers curled in the empty air before dropping helplessly to his side.

"Wren Winslow, you actually have the nerve to show your face here?"

Finnick's best friend, Xander Sterling, stepped forward, his rage nearly boiling over.

"Don't you think you've ruined Finnick's life enough already?"

"Did you hear he's about to get engaged to Quinn and decided to come back and wreck things again?"

"I'm begging you, just leave him alone."

I had no interest in a scene, so I tried to walk away.

Xander lost it. He reached out to block me and shoved me hard.

I hit the pavement, a sharp sting blooming in my elbows and knees.

In that same heartbeat, Finnick instinctively stepped forward, reaching out to help me.

His brows were knit tight, a flash of genuine pain crossing his eyes.

"Don't touch me."

I pushed his hand away and stood up on my own, ignoring my disheveled state.

His hand froze in mid-air, his face turning as white as a sheet.

"Finnick..." a soft, melodic voice interrupted the tension.

I looked up.

Quinn Quincy was walking over from a parked car.

The moment she appeared, Finnick stepped back, putting distance between us.

He walked toward her and draped his coat over her shoulders.

"It's freezing out here, and you're not well. Why did you get out of the car?"

He adjusted the coat with practiced tenderness.

Quinn leaned into his chest, looking like a fragile doll.

"You worry too much. A little fresh air is good for me."

"Besides, I missed you. I wanted to be with you."

Her cheeks flushed slightly as her gaze landed on me.

"Wren, you're finally home."

I didn't give her the satisfaction of a response. I just raised my hand to hail a cab.

As I pulled the door open, I heard Finnick's suppressed cry from behind: "Wren!"

I didn't look back.

As the car pulled away, I saw him in the rearview mirror, standing still, watching me with a haunted look.

A few minutes into the ride, the driver spoke up, sounding excited.

"Hey, was that Mr. Foster back there? The one from the Foster Group?"

"His love story with his fiancée is all over the news. They say his ex-bride dumped him at the altar and he almost lost it..."

"Lucky for him, he found his current girl."

The driver sighed. "I wonder if that woman who ran away regrets it now."

"She doesn't," I said, watching the Chicago skyline blur past.

"Don't be so sure. You aren't her."

I looked down, tracing the faint, faded mark on my ring finger where a band used to sit. My heart felt nothing but peace.

She would never regret it.