Chapter 2Repaying The Debt Of Love With Ash And Shards

Before stepping out of the car, Preston made a solemn promise: “I’ll be back as soon as possible. Wait for me.”

I didn’t answer.

Once his tall, elegant back had vanished into the stream of passersby, I told the driver to keep going. I didn't doubt Preston intended to keep his word; I just knew Sienna Reed would ensure he couldn't.

When the Brandon family went bankrupt, all their friends scattered, and Sienna and her parents emigrated. Last month, she finally returned and made a beeline for Preston.

I happened to be home. I opened the door to find Sienna standing there in a designer suit, adorned with perfect pearls—her entire look screaming ‘unapproachable wealth.’

I had to wonder who this elegant stranger was.

Sienna bypassed me and looked into the apartment, her delicate eyebrows drawing together in a look of profound pity.

“Preston’s been living here all these years? He’s been so wronged.”

I had to fight the urge to roll my eyes. Two thousand square feet of prime City real estate, with panoramic skyline views, was “wronged”?

When Preston emerged from his studio, Sienna immediately rushed forward and embraced him with an easy, intimate familiarity.

“Preston, I missed you so much. It’s been too long.”

I coughed twice.

Sienna finally seemed to notice my presence, turning to flash a polite, practiced smile.

“You must be Cass. Thank you for taking care of Preston all this time.”

Her tone was the classic, patronizing delivery of a true hostess thanking the maid.

I pulled my lips into a thin line. “My pleasure.”

Sienna exchanged numbers with me, then took Preston’s arm, ready to leave for dinner. Before stepping out, she gave me an apologetic glance.

“Cass, are you sure you don’t want to join? Though we’ll probably be talking about things you wouldn’t understand…”

Before I could reply, Preston nodded slightly, his voice flat.

“Cass, stay home. I’ll see you later.”

I waited up until midnight that night. Then, I received Sienna’s first text.

«Cass, Preston is helping me set up the gallery, so he won’t be home for a few days. Just wanted to let you know so you wouldn’t worry.»

Three days later, the second one arrived.

«Preston gifted me several of his paintings to be the cornerstones of the gallery. I hope you don’t mind.»

A week ago, the third.

«I just found the sketchpad he kept from childhood. He drew me in it all the time. I heard he’s never painted a single thing for you? Is that true?»

I never replied to any of them.

The car reached the cemetery. I walked up the hill alone, set out the offerings, lit the incense, and had just finished my third bow when my phone buzzed.

It was Sienna again.

«Preston soaked his shirt fixing the pipes, so he can’t make it to the memorial. I know today is special, and I’m genuinely sorry, but please stop using gratitude to tie Preston down.»

«Even though Preston is honorable, your backgrounds are too far apart, and you don’t understand his artistic vision. Letting him go now will be better for both of you.»

The usual polite, veiled sneering was gone, replaced by a raw, brutal honesty.

I read every word, then let out a cynical, short laugh.

She was right. I truly didn't understand Preston’s art. Every time I was asked to critique his work, all I could squeeze out was some hollow platitude like, “The colors are so pretty,” or “It looks exactly like the ocean.” Preston would simply nod, uninterested, and never asked for my opinion again.

I even tried to suck up to him once, offering a massive sum to buy one of his skyline paintings to hang in my restaurant lobby.

Preston had looked up at me, his eyes as cold and distant as if I were a stranger.

“Cass,” he’d said, “don’t cheapen my art with money.”

I was mortified, unable to speak, and never raised the subject again. Yet, the moment Sienna needed a gallery, Preston personally packed up most of his recent work and sent it over to boost her standing.

And the sketchpad.

Preston had treasured that thing. When he wanted to retrieve it from the abandoned Brandon Estate, he was so distraught I had to go in his stead. I twisted my ankle jumping out a window, got caught, and took a few solid hits to the head. Blood ran into my eyes, but my first instinct was to feel for the notebook in my jacket. It was safe. I hadn't known what was inside, only that it was his treasure.

It was filled with drawings of Sienna.

I supposed I should thank Sienna for showing me where Preston’s heart truly lay. Otherwise, I would have continued to bury my head in the sand, grinding my way through a strained marriage. After all, Preston would never be the one to ask for a divorce.

I touched the cold stone of the headstone and recalled the first time he visited this grave. He had knelt, his back ramrod straight, and his voice was earnest and serious.

“Sir, I promise to spend my entire life repaying you and Cass for your kindness. I will always be with her.”

He had meant it. A life for a life. He kept his promise.

But I never wanted his gratitude. I only ever wanted his genuine love.

I sighed, then typed my first-ever response to Sienna.

«You’re right. Preston is honorable, which is how a girl like me got so lucky in the first place.»

«No matter how late, he will be back today to pay his respects to the man who saved him.»

I hit send, switched off my phone, and pulled the pre-signed divorce agreement from my bag, using a flat stone to hold it down against the headstone.

I turned and walked back down the hill. I didn’t look back once.

At nine that night, I was reviewing the restaurant’s monthly accounts when Preston’s call came in.

His tone was heavy.

“Cass, you didn’t wait for me, and you left a divorce agreement behind. What does this mean?”