Chapter 3Your Wedding Cost My Sisters Life

"I’m... I’m sorry... I..."

I cut her off. "It’s fine."

I turned away and pulled out my phone to call an Uber. Behind me, I heard the whispers of her friends.

"Is that him? Serena, isn't that the guy who was begging for money at your party? The stalker?"

"Check your purse, Serena. He probably swiped your wallet when he bumped into you."

Serena said nothing. She let the slander hang in the air, her silence a confession.

When I got back to the apartment, I went to pay for the ride. A notification popped up from my travel app:

Your standby flight from Chicago to Houston is confirmed. Departure tomorrow, 3:00 PM. Please check in.

I screenshotted the confirmation and sent it to the HR director at the tech firm in Texas.

Within seconds, he replied: Nathan, we’ve been waiting for you. See you tomorrow!

A small weight lifted from my chest. I grabbed my pre-packed suitcase and headed for the door. I couldn't spend another second in this museum of failed expectations.

I ran into Serena in the foyer. She frowned, slamming the door shut behind her.

"Where do you think you’re going?"

Derek followed her in, his voice dripping with faux-concern. "Nathan, man, don't overreact. Serena was just playing along for the sake of the family's reputation. Don't start a fight and walk out over a game..."

I didn't even look at him. "Serena, we’re done. I’m leaving."

Serena looked like she was about to yell at me for being "jealous" again, but the finality in my voice made her flinch. "Leaving? Because of one kiss during a game? Nathan, don't you want the wedding anymore?"

She actually thought a "pity wedding" was still a threat she could use. In the past, I would have dropped to my knees and begged for her to stay. Now, I just smiled.

"Serena, there is no 'us.' Why would there be a wedding?"

"No 'us'?" Her face flushed a deep, angry red. "That’s not what you said when you proposed a month ago! You said you’d protect me forever. You bought me a ring!"

She started digging through her Birkin, looking for the ring as if to throw it in my face.

"Don't bother," I said quietly. "You took that ring to a pawn shop and sold it for twelve hundred dollars. You used the money to buy Derek a silk tie for your first date."

In seven years, every gift I’d ever scraped money together to buy her—jewelry, watches, books—had ended up on eBay or at a consignment shop. She told me they were "too cheap to wear in her circles" and that I shouldn't be "sensitive" because she was "hers."

I used to think her pragmatism was cute. Now, it was just grotesque. She didn't hate the gifts; she just didn't value the man who gave them.