Chapter 2Already Married On Your Wedding Day

"Look," he whispered, flipping the lid open in front of me. "I have it all ready."

Inside sat a diamond ring, its brilliant cut catching the harsh bedroom light, casting sharp, expensive glints across the room.

Austin’s eyes shone with a drunken, eager hope. He looked like a little boy presenting a prized possession, waiting to be praised.

"Do you like it?" He looked down at me, a trace of his usual smug confidence creeping back into his voice. "I spent months picking it out."

"I wanted to find a more romantic setting to give it to you, but you had to go and pick a fight in the group chat tonight."

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur.

"Let's make up, Clara."

If this had happened a year ago, I might have felt my chest ache. I might have softened.

Austin had always been incredibly skilled at playing the apologetic lover. His anger flared hot and fast, but the moment he realized I might actually walk away, he would scramble, offering grand, desperate gestures of devotion to pull me back.

But it was simply too late.

I stared at the sparkling diamond, my hands resting still on my lap.

Seeing that I wasn't reaching for it, Austin assumed I was just being stubborn. He took my left hand, intent on sliding the ring onto my finger himself.

Then, he froze.

His gaze locked onto my ring finger.

There was already a ring resting there.

It was a simple, understated band, but anyone with an eye for jewelry could tell it was exquisite, timeless, and incredibly costly.

The bedroom fell into a suffocating silence.

Austin stared at the ring, the alcohol-induced haze rapidly draining from his eyes. His voice went tight.

"...What is that?"

I slowly but firmly pulled my hand from his grip, turned around, and looked him dead in the eyes for the first time that night.

He had the same handsome face I had loved for years—clear-cut jaw, bright eyes now rimmed with a quiet, panicked red.

I closed the lid of my suitcase with a soft click and spoke in a tone so calm it bordered on gentle.

"Austin, we ended things a long time ago."

I raised my left hand, lightly turning the band on my finger, and gave him a faint, weary smile. "And this isn't a tantrum."

"I am actually getting married."

Austin stood there, completely paralyzed.

He stared at the ring, his brain struggling to process the words. "You're... getting married?"

"Yes," I replied, my expression serene.

He stared at me for several agonizing seconds, and then a harsh, mocking laugh escaped his throat.

"Clara, you've really outdone yourself this time."

"Amber was right. You're completely desperate. You're actually making up a fake wedding just to get a rise out of me."

He snapped the velvet box shut with a sharp clack, towering over me, his face twisting into a sneer of utter condescension.

"Sweetheart," he said, dragging out the word with venomous mockery. "You're thirty-nine years old. You're pushing forty. Do you honestly think that besides me, there’s some amazing guy out there just waiting to lock you down?"

The air in the room instantly turned to ice.

I looked at him, but in my mind, a memory from years ago suddenly began to play. I remembered a younger Austin chasing after me, calling me his "brilliant girl" with boundless, sunny adoration.

Back then, he was a fresh college graduate—earnest, bright, and completely devoted to me.

He used to bring his laptop to my desk, looking up at me with wide, hopeful eyes. Clara, could you look over this proposal for me?

He used to pout when he couldn't get a pitch right, leaning into my shoulder. Please help me, Clara.

He used to stand outside my office late at night during busy season, holding a warm matcha latte, smiling so warmly it could melt winter. Clara, I promise I'm going to take such good care of you for the rest of our lives.

Those vibrant, tender memories clashed violently with the bitter, sneering man standing in front of me—using my age as a weapon to humiliate me.

Every lingering thread of affection I had left for him snapped.

"I am older than you," I said, my voice incredibly quiet, incredibly steady. "But you didn't seem to mind my age when you were begging for my help and chasing me. The person you’ve become tonight, Austin, is absolutely pathetic."

His face flushed a violent, ugly red.