The last two weeks disappeared in a blur of overtime and exhaustion.
I buried myself in work—reports, meetings, logistics for the transition, anything that demanded enough concentration to keep my mind from wandering back to that dinner table.
Back to the candles burning low and the sound of a suitcase zipping shut. Sophie called every day, worried, but I kept the conversations short. I was fine. I was handling it. I just needed to stay busy.
And now I stood in the entrance hall of the Langford estate, surrounded by wealth I'd only ever observed from the periphery, and I felt every inch of the distance between this world and mine.
The venue was stunning—an elegant countryside manor draped in white flowers and soft lighting. Crystal chandeliers caught the afternoon sun streaming through tall windows.
Guests in designer gowns and tailored suits mingled with champagne flutes, their laughter floating through the air like music.
Everything smelled of roses and money and the kind of effortless elegance that takes enormous effort to achieve.
I smoothed my hands over my simple navy dress and tried not to feel like an imposter.
"Lovely venue," Charles remarked beside me, his voice low enough that only I could hear. "The Langfords spare no expense for their only daughter."
"It's beautiful," I agreed, though beautiful felt inadequate. "I've never seen anything quite like it."
"Richard has always believed in making statements. His daughter's wedding would be no exception."
Charles surveyed the room with practiced ease, nodding to acquaintances, offering small smiles to board members who caught his eye.
"Stay close. These events are as much about politics as celebration. I may need you to rescue me from tedious conversations."
I almost smiled at that. "I'll keep watch for anyone approaching with quarterly projections."
"You know me too well."
His eyes crinkled with amusement.
"Though I suspect the projections would be preferable to some of the gossip that circulates at these gatherings. Remind me to tell you sometime about the Henderson merger negotiations. Conducted entirely between courses at a charity gala."
I was about to respond when movement near the front of the hall caught my attention. A side door opened, and the groom stepped through.
My world stopped.
James.
He stood at the altar in a perfectly tailored charcoal suit, adjusting his cufflinks with the casual confidence I once found charming. His hair was styled exactly the way he preferred, his posture straight and assured.
He smiled at someone in the front row—that practiced smile, the one he deployed in boardrooms and client meetings, the one I'd watched him rehearse in mirrors.
"Belle?" Charles's voice seemed to come from very far away. "Are you alright?"
I couldn't answer. I couldn't move. I could only stare at the man I'd spent six years loving as he prepared to marry someone else.
The music swelled, and everyone turned toward the entrance. The bride appeared in a cascade of white silk and lace, radiant and young—younger than me, I realized with a sick twist in my stomach.
Richard Langford walked beside her, beaming with pride. The chairman's daughter.
She moved down the aisle like she'd been born for this moment, every step graceful and assured. And on her finger, catching the light with every movement, was the ring.
The same ring.
The ring I'd found hidden in James's drawer. The ring I'd built fantasies around, imagining how he would propose, what I would say, how our life would unfold. The ring I thought was meant for me.
"That's James Whitmore," Charles murmured, something careful in his tone. "One of our senior executives. I didn't realize you knew him personally."
The words barely registered. Everything was clicking into place with brutal clarity—the distance over the past months, the late nights he'd blamed on work, the way he'd stopped touching me, stopped looking at me.
The sudden breakup that had felt so calculated, so rehearsed.
He hadn't fallen out of love with me. He'd upgraded.
The chairman's daughter offered what I never could: connections, wealth, a direct path to power. I was a stepping stone. She was the destination.
I couldn't breathe.
The ceremony began, but I heard none of it. The officiant's words blurred into meaningless noise.
I watched James take the bride's hands in his, watched him smile that smile, watched him promise forever to someone he'd been pursuing while I cooked his dinners and cleaned his apartment and waited for a proposal that was never coming.
Across the room, movement caught my attention. A figure stood near the far wall, separate from the crowd, watching me instead of the ceremony.
Sebastian Cole—Head of Marketing at Pemberton Corp, and a thorn in my side since the day he'd arrived.
He leaned against a marble pillar with calculated nonchalance, champagne flute dangling from his fingers.
Dark hair swept back from his forehead, slightly tousled in a way that looked effortless but probably wasn't. Grey eyes that always seemed to be analyzing something.
Strong jaw, sharp cheekbones, an athletic build visible even beneath his expertly tailored suit. The kind of intense handsomeness that made people uncomfortable—made me uncomfortable, though I'd never admit it aloud.
I hated that I noticed. Hated that some objective part of my brain catalogued the broad shoulders, the way his shirt fit across his chest, the confidence in his posture.
Sebastian Cole was undeniably attractive—striking, even. The kind of man who drew attention simply by existing in a room. It would have been a genuine asset if he wasn't such an insufferable jerk.
Our eyes met. Something flickered in his expression—recognition, perhaps. Understanding.
Then he winked. Slow. Deliberate. Almost mocking.
Irritation flared hot in my chest, cutting through the shock and grief. Of course Sebastian was here. Of course he was watching.
He'd always watched me, found excuses to be near me, manufactured moments of proximity I couldn't explain.
Every interaction between us crackled with tension—he challenged me, provoked me, seemed to take genuine pleasure in getting under my skin.
I'd never understood why. I'd never cared to find out.
Right now, I didn't care about anything except escaping.
"Belle." Charles's hand touched my elbow, gentle but concerned. "You've gone pale. What's wrong?"
"I need air." The words came out strangled. "I'm sorry, I just… I need a moment."
"Of course. Take whatever time you need. I'll be here."
I turned and walked toward the exit. I didn't run—I wouldn't give anyone that satisfaction, wouldn't let James or Sebastian or any of these people see me fall apart.
But I moved fast, my heels clicking against the marble floor, weaving through clusters of guests who were too focused on the ceremony to notice me leaving.
The doors loomed ahead, promising escape. Behind me, I heard the officiant ask if anyone objected to this union. The question felt like a cruel joke.
I pushed through the doors and didn't look back, leaving Charles and the ceremony and the man who'd destroyed me standing at an altar that should have been ours.