PART 1
I dragged my suitcase onto the crowded train, desperate to collapse into my reserved window seat. But as I reached my row, I froze.
Sitting there was Camellia, our newly hired intern. Yet, it wasn’t her presence that anchored my feet to the floor. It was the charcoal wool blazer draped intimately across her lap. It belonged to my fiancé of five years, Luke.
Luke stood beside her, one hand bracing my seat, the other gently, rhythmically stroking Camellia’s hair.
“It’s going to be fine,” Luke murmured softly, ignoring the boarding chaos. “Clover isn’t petty. It’s my job to look out for you.”
Camellia looked up, her doe-eyes watery. “But Luke, this is Clover’s seat. What if she gets mad?”
“She’ll understand,” he dismissed easily.
When he finally turned and saw me, his expression hardened into profound annoyance. “What took you so long? Look, Camellia is nauseous. Just take her seat back there.”
I followed his gaze to a cramped aisle seat next to a screaming toddler.
“Is this my assigned seat, Luke?” I asked, my voice terrifyingly level.
He stiffened. “Clover, don’t make a scene. You’re a Senior Director. And my fiancée. Can’t you be generous?”
The word fiancée tasted like rust. For five grueling years, I had built his career and funded our life. My reward was being banished so his intern could rest.
I didn’t scream. I simply glanced at my watch. One minute until departure.
I engaged the wheels of my suitcase and turned sharply toward the exit.
“Clover, where the hell are you going?!” he called out, panic finally lacing his voice.
I stepped onto the platform just as the heavy doors slid shut, sealing my fiancé and his intern inside. My phone immediately buzzed. A text from Luke: What is this supposed to mean?
I let out a dry, hollow laugh and typed: It means we’re done.
I immediately texted our wedding coordinator to pause all vendor contracts. Then, I slid the brilliant-cut diamond off my finger—the ring I had quietly paid the difference for when his budget fell short—and dropped it into the zippered abyss of my tote bag.
I marched toward the Amtrak ticketing counter. I wasn’t going to Boston to chase a cheating coward. I was going because the multi-million dollar contract waiting at the end of the line was my project, and I was about to unleash a war that Luke could not possibly survive.
