Chapter 2Lethal Vows And Buttercream Lies

For my birthday last month, Carter had promised to drive upstate with me to see my parents and officially ask for my hand.

My parents had been over the moon. They’d spent days preparing. They woke up at dawn, went to the farmer's market, scrubbed the house from top to bottom, and cooked a massive, beautiful feast to welcome him.

The food grew cold. I couldn't reach him.

I had cried out of sheer humiliation, but my parents—always so gentle—just patted my back and made excuses for him, assuming he was caught up in an emergency.

Later that night, I found his "emergency" on Mia’s Instagram story. He had vanished all day to take her to a pier carnival to watch the fireworks.

When I finally confronted him, screaming until my throat was raw, asking how he could humiliate my parents like that, he had just looked at me with cold detachment. He called me a lunatic.

"Dinner is just dinner. You can eat anytime. The fireworks were a one-night-only event," he had reasoned, perfectly calm. "Besides, your parents would have cooked anyway. Stop being so dramatic."

After a week of icy silence between us, he declared that today was an "auspicious date" and told me to get dressed for City Hall.

I knew it was his twisted version of an olive branch. And because we had survived the trenches of our twenties together, building a life for eight years just to finally reach the altar, I had spinelessly agreed.

Usually, I was the one to break first after a fight. This time, because he had disrespected my parents, I held out for a week.

Because I loved him, I had compromised. Again and again. I had drawn lines in the sand, only to let the tide wash them away the moment he smiled at me. I had inadvertently taught him that there were absolutely no consequences for hurting me.

Our relationship had degraded from a partnership of mutual respect into a psychological game where he held all the cards. A slap in the face followed by a piece of candy. He had me entirely under his thumb.

And then came Mia. It was as if she had a sixth sense. Whenever I needed Carter, she would miraculously face a crisis, cleanly extracting him from my life.

Just like today. I had sat there clutching my passport, watching the numbers on the screen tick by for four agonizing hours.

He was "handling an emergency." In reality, he was escorting her to a clinic for a Band-Aid.

It was almost poetic in its cruelty.

But the well of my disappointment had finally run dry. The moment corporate processed my visa for London, I was a ghost.

The next morning, Carter emerged from the guest room and tossed a small, velvet-wrapped box into my lap.

"Consider it compensation for missing yesterday."

I popped the lid. Resting on the silk was the new limited-edition Bulgari necklace. I had been obsessed with it, dropping hints for months that I wanted it for my birthday.

But before I could speak, he sneered, "It's such a gaudy piece anyway. Honestly, even if you wear it, people are just going to assume it’s a fake."

The insult hit me like a physical blow.

But then, the pieces clicked together. I had seen that exact necklace resting against Mia’s collarbone in her latest post.

I weighed the pendant in my palm. The metal felt just slightly off. It was a replica. A high-tier knockoff.

In his eyes, I simply wasn't worth the real thing.

In that split second, I didn't feel anger. I didn't feel the familiar sting of betrayal or the urge to weep. Instead, a profound, sweeping clarity washed over me. It was the liberating relief of sunlight breaking through a long, suffocating storm.

I carelessly tossed the box onto the corner of the sofa. Carter’s brow pinched in irritation.

I didn't make his customary Sunday breakfast. Instead, I ordered a heavy delivery brunch for one, and a pharmacy drop-off of medical supplies.

When the food arrived, Carter scowled. "Delivery again? I told you to stop eating that garbage. It's loaded with sodium."

I ignored him. My abdominal cramps had been blinding last night, leaving me completely unable to tend to my ruptured stitches. I dry-swallowed a heavy painkiller and waited for the edge to blunt.

The blood-soaked gauze had dried and adhered to my skin. As I slowly peeled it back, I had to gasp for air through my teeth to ride out the searing pain.

Carter caught a glimpse and slammed his coffee mug down. "Jesus, Tina, I'm trying to eat! That is repulsive. Can't you do that in the bathroom?"

I gritted my teeth and gave the gauze a final yank. Before I could formulate a response, an automated Siri voice chirped cheerfully from his phone on the counter:

“Reminder: Mia’s menstrual cycle begins today.”

I froze, lifting my eyes to meet his.

A flash of genuine panic crossed his face. He quickly flipped his phone over, clearing his throat. "Don't read into that. She got horrible cramps last month and ended up in the ER. I just wanted to track it so I could remind her to take it easy, so her work doesn't suffer."

I stared at him in the heavy, suffocating silence. Finally, I asked, "Carter, we've been together for eight years. Do you have any idea when my period is?"

He shot up from his stool, defensive and annoyed. "Are you seriously picking a fight over this? You're tough as nails. Why would I need to track yours?" He waved a dismissive hand. "Whatever. Make me a thermos of ginger tea before I leave."