Chapter 3
The call ended with a sharp click.
It wasn't until tears splashed onto the wooden box filled with old belongings that I realized I was crying.
I had loved Quinn—completely, recklessly.
If I hadn't, I couldn't have swallowed years of humiliation, replaying the few sweet moments he'd given me like they were enough to survive on.
The night my brother died, Quinn knelt outside the ER, eyes red and swollen, pulling my shaking body tight against him. Pain twisted his face as he swore:
"Marlee, don't be scared. I'll protect you now. I swear on my life."
It wasn't just words spoken in grief.
In middle school, when kids whispered about my background, he slammed one of them into a locker and didn't stop until the guy had to drop out. He'd take any punishment before letting anyone hurt me.
The night his team won the championship, he pushed through a crowd of cheerleaders, wrapped his captain's jacket around my shoulders, and shot death glares at every guy who looked my way.
Those memories of him choosing me, protecting me, kept drowning out the voice telling me to leave.
I kept feeding myself the same lie: Just wait a little longer. Once we're together for real, once we're at the same college, everything will be better.
Until Paula punctured the fantasy I'd been clinging to, stripping away everything that had made me special to him.
His attention circled Paula constantly. He never noticed how quiet I'd become.
Never noticed I'd stopped following him around.
Never noticed the Ivy League materials on my desk had been replaced with UCL London applications.
Not until I found out he'd used his connections to hand Paula the recommendation I'd killed myself over for months.
I stared at the faded photo of the three of us on my desk and felt something inside me finally let go.
The Quinn who'd promised to protect me forever was dead.
We were strangers now. However publicly he and Paula paraded around campus with that stolen recommendation didn't concern me anymore.
They didn't even bother with the "she's like a sister" excuse.
Paula flooded her Instagram stories with photos of her on the back of his motorcycle. She constantly sent me screenshots of comments calling them "perfect together."
Fed up, I deleted every social media account and ditched the phone number I'd had since middle school. At least it bought me some peace.
Two days before my flight, I showed up at the Country Club's annual gala—not for the party, but to say goodbye to the coaches and teachers who'd looked after my brother.
Quinn and Paula were there. Of course they were.
Paula was practically glued to his side, but Quinn looked rough—exhausted, with something dark brewing behind his eyes.
I ignored the way his gaze locked onto me, grabbed a drink, and went to find my old teachers.
Paula drifted over within minutes, wine glass in hand.
She smiled sweetly, but her eyes were ice. "Marlee, we're graduating soon. I really should buy you a drink—you know, to thank you for being so generous with that recommendation."
I leaned against the bar and said nothing. The room went quiet. Everyone loved a good showdown.
Paula's smile faltered. She raised her voice. "Marlee, Quinn and I are officially together now. If you don't drink with me, everyone's going to think you're still hung up on my boyfriend."
"You always acted so above it all. Don't tell me you're pathetic enough to play homewrecker now."
I glanced up and smiled slightly, lifting my martini.
Paula probably thought I'd take it like I always had. Her smug look lasted maybe half a second—
I threw the drink in her face.
Before she could react, I grabbed her champagne and dumped it down the front of her dress.
Gasps rippled through the room. I tossed both glasses onto the bar. "Paula, if anyone here's pathetic, it's you."
"And Quinn spent how long swearing up and down that I was 'just like a sister'? What happened—you two into some kind of messed-up roleplay now?"
"Want me to call TMZ? Pretty sure they'd eat this up."
Her mascara streaked down her face as she started screaming. I rolled my eyes, waved to the coaches, grabbed my bag, and headed for the door.
The second I hit the front steps, Quinn came after me and grabbed my wrist hard.
"I'm not with her. I just—" He dragged a hand through his hair. "I never corrected her posts. I wanted you to care enough to say something."
"And that matters to me why?" I yanked my arm free. "Last warning—keep your little Barbie on a leash and out of my face."
Quinn's frustration boiled over. "She had no one looking out for her, I just pitied her! Could you stop being so petty for one second? How much longer are you going to drag out this ridiculous cold war?!"
I almost laughed. "Quinn, we were never together. What cold war? Sleep with whoever you want, give your recommendations to whoever. I don't care."
That set him off.
His face darkened, and something possessive and ugly flickered in his eyes. "What's that supposed to mean? You planning to run off and find some other guy? Forget it. You're not going anywhere near anyone else. Ever."
His self-righteous tone made my skin crawl. I turned and walked away.
"Marlee."
He caught up, grabbing my shoulder. For once, his voice dropped—almost pleading.
"I'm sorry."
He stared at me, those blue eyes desperate. "Taking the recommendation was wrong. But it doesn't matter—I'll transfer to your school after freshman year. We'll be together. Just stop this, okay?"
He swallowed. "We've known each other our whole lives. I promised your brother I'd take care of you. You need me, Marlee. You know you do."
His voice cracked. "And I need you."
"Can we just move past this?"
Watching him act like he was doing me some huge favor made me want to laugh and scream at the same time.
He opened his arms, assuming I'd fall into them like always. Instead, I stepped back, putting clear distance between us.
"Quinn, nobody's playing games. We're—"
Paula came shrieking out before I could finish, makeup smeared everywhere, grabbing onto Quinn's jacket and screaming about whether he'd been using her the whole time.
Quinn cursed under his breath, trying to pry her off, but she wouldn't let go. Through the chaos, his eyes found mine—panicked, desperate.
I looked at the two of them, this pathetic disaster of a scene, and couldn't even summon the energy for one last word.
My Uber pulled up right on time. I walked down the steps, opened the door, and slid into the back seat.
"Marlee! Wait!"
The door slammed shut. Quinn's voice was left behind in the rearview mirror where it belonged.
The day of my flight to London, LAX was packed.
I walked through security with my parents and didn't look back once, leaving seven years of garbage buried in California for good.
Meanwhile, Quinn stood outside my house looking like hell.
To "win me back properly," he'd brought a cake, covered the lawn in white roses, and hired drones to spell something out in the sky.
California heat had soaked through his shirt. He paced anxiously, setting everything up, his usual confidence nowhere to be seen—just raw panic.
When no one answered the doorbell, he circled around to the windows and looked inside. The blood drained from his face.
The house was empty. Just bare floors.
"They're gone, kid." The neighbor stood in her doorway, watching him with something like pity. "Moved to England hours ago."
Quinn's hands went slack. The roses hit the ground with a soft thud.
