Chapter 2

It was late into the night by the time the yacht docked.

I just called a ride and headed straight back to our apartment.

I used to think this would be my forever home. But now, looking at the meticulous decor and the wedding planning binders scattered around, the whole place just felt like one massive, cruel joke.

I walked straight into the study and flipped open my laptop.

At the very top of my inbox sat an email from LVMH headquarters in Paris.

It was for the Global PR Director position I had interviewed for half a month ago. They loved me and offered an incredibly generous package. The only hard condition was that I had to start within two weeks and relocate to Paris.

I had been hesitating because Julian said he hated the idea of a long-distance marriage and wanted me to be a stay-at-home wife.

Now, I didn't hesitate. I hit reply: "I accept the offer and am ready to begin the onboarding process immediately."

Right then, the electronic beep of the front door unlocking echoed through the hall.

I shut my laptop and stepped out of the study, bumping right into Julian and a few guys propping up Blair. Blair was still clutching a half-empty bottle of liquor.

"Vivian, you crossed the line tonight," Julian snapped, his tone heavy with exhaustion and blame. "Do you have any idea how bad you made me look, taking off your ring in front of everyone? What are my friends supposed to think?"

He didn't even bother to ask how I felt. All that mattered was his bruised ego.

With a loud thud, Blair stumbled past him and crashed right into our master bedroom.

"Julian! Your bed is so freaking soft!" Blair shrieked, totally belly-flopping onto the mattress Julian and I shared.

I frowned, swallowing my disgust. "Blair, this is my bedroom. The guest room is next door."

"Oh, come on, Vivian, don't be such a tight-ass!" Blair rolled over on the bed.

She winked at Julian as he walked into the room. "Hey Julian, remember when we went camping in college and had to squeeze into the same sleeping bag? You were pitched like a tent the whole night, couldn't even sleep!"

The frat boys crowding the doorway immediately erupted into a chorus of raucous, lewd laughter.

"Whoa! Julian, didn't know you were such an animal back then!"

"Blair, if you know how hard he gets, does that count as a deep, intimate exchange down there?"

Faced with these incredibly trashy, boundary-crossing jokes, Julian didn't shut them down.

Instead, he just laughed helplessly and cursed playfully. "Shut up, you idiots. That was ancient college history."

Looking at this pack of men making dirty jokes about my fiancé, on my bed, inside my future marital home, made my stomach turn violently.

"Get out," I said. My voice wasn't loud, but it cut through the laughter like a knife.

Blair's laughter abruptly ceased. She sat up, a flash of pure malice crossing her eyes. Without warning, she jerked the wine bottle in her hand, slinging its contents sideways.

The dark liquid arched through the air and splashed directly onto the wedding dress hanging dead center in the walk-in closet.

It was a custom Vera Wang gown, tailored specifically for me by their head designer. It cost hundreds of thousands of dollars, and I had waited eight months to get it.

The dark red stain rapidly bloomed across the pristine white tulle, looking like a series of ugly, jagged scars.

The room fell dead silent.

Blair exaggeratedly covered her mouth, feigning innocence. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry, Vivian. My hand just slipped! But hey, it's just a dress, right? Just swap it out. Julian can buy you another."

She looked at me, her eyes screaming with provocation: See? Even if I destroy what you cherish most, Julian won't do a damn thing to me.

I didn't even look at her. I turned my gaze to Julian.

Julian's brow was deeply furrowed, but he didn't walk toward me. He walked to Blair.

He snatched the bottle from her hands. His tone carried a hint of reprimand, but mostly, it was just helpless indulgence. "You really had too much to drink."

He turned to me. "Vivian, Blair is drunk, she didn't mean it. It's just a dress. I'll have them rush-order you a new one tomorrow."

When disappointment hits rock bottom, even anger becomes a luxury.

I turned around. Under the watchful eyes of Julian and his entourage, I pulled the wine-stained gown off its hanger.

"What are you doing?" Julian asked, frowning.

I walked straight to the trash can and shoved the dress inside without a second of hesitation.

"Vivian! Are you insane?" Julian strode over, reaching out to grab my arm.

"When something gets dirty and can't be washed clean, you throw it away." I dodged his hand. My eyes swept past Blair on the bed before finally landing on Julian's face. "The same goes for people."

Julian's face instantly went livid. In his mind, I had just humiliated him in front of his boys.

"Vivian, you are being completely unreasonable!" Julian gritted out through his teeth. "Blair is going through a rough patch right now. As my fiancée, can't you show her even a little ounce of grace?"

"Since she's in such a bad mood, why don't you keep her company." I pulled out a suitcase and started packing my clothes and documents.

"What the hell are you pulling now?" Julian sneered, watching me. "Playing the runaway bride? Vivian, you're twenty-six, not sixteen. If you think you're going to walk out that door with a suitcase and I'm going to chase after you begging like before, you're dead wrong."

Blair giggled from the bed. "Just ignore her, Julian. She's just doing this for attention. I've seen women like her a million times. She'll come crawling right back by tomorrow morning."

Julian took a deep breath, as if he had finally lost every last shred of patience with me.

"Fine. You want to leave? Suit yourself. Blair's been depressed anyway, so I'm taking her skiing in Switzerland tomorrow to clear her head. Vivian, I hope you've cooled down by the time I get back. Or else, let's just call this whole wedding off."

With that, he yanked Blair off the bed. Trailed by his peanut gallery of friends, he walked out without a single backward glance.

The door slammed shut.

I stared at the heavily rumpled bed, fighting back tears as my trembling hands shoved the last few pieces of clothing into my suitcase.

Just as I zipped it up, my phone buzzed. A notification popped onto the screen:

[Flight Confirmation] Your flight to Paris tomorrow morning has been ticketed.

Finally, a single tear dropped onto the glowing screen.

I looked at the message, a bitter smile tugging at the corners of my lips.

You're right, Julian. The wedding really is off.