Chapter 2

They were a global powerhouse—had been trying to poach me for years.

But I'd always said no. I wanted to build something with Quinn—our dream.

The HR rep gushed about their benefits package, salary, and how excited they were to have someone with my talent.

By the time we hung up, I was pulling into my driveway.

Staring at the hour-long call log, I tightened my grip on the phone.

Years ago, I'd turned down that dream job to build this company from the ground up with Quinn.

I'd worked myself to the bone—stressing over deadlines, running on fumes, burning out.

We'd gone from rags to riches together... but somewhere along the way, he'd checked out.

From now on, I was done sacrificing for someone else's dream.

I texted our brand partners to let them know about the design lead change.

They'd signed those big contracts because of me—invested in my vision, not some random assistant.

They deserved to know the truth before Jenna ran the company into the ground.

Then I booked a flight for tomorrow and started packing.

Digging through the back of my closet, I knocked over a photo album hidden under a coat. A picture of Quinn and me fell out.

Eight years old—our first year together. We looked so young, so hopeful, just shyly leaning into each other.

I picked up the album and flipped through the pages.

Funny—Quinn was the one who insisted we take all these photos. "To remember where we came from," he said. "So I can always make it up to you."

We'd been through so much together.

Crammed into that tiny apartment, sharing popcorn and old movies.

Silly fights over holiday plans, both trying to let the other have their way.

Back then, those struggles felt like happiness. They kept me going.

Slowly, the photos changed—nicer clothes, fancier backdrops... but fewer and fewer pictures of us together.

From daily snapshots to monthly, then yearly.

Once Jenna showed up? No new photos at all.

Our conversations dwindled to work updates and nothing else.

He stopped noticing when I skipped meals, when late nights made me sick, when I got hurt scouting locations for inspiration.

But Jenna? He dropped everything to take her to dinner when she "felt off." Spoiled her like she was fragile, like he owed her something.

I confronted him once, asked why the double standard.

He looked at me like I was being ridiculous. "We've both been through tough stuff," he said. "I expected you to be more mature than this—not act like Jenna."

He said he loved Jenna's "innocence," didn't want her to "suffer like we did."

I stared at the album—once our most precious possession—and suddenly it felt like garbage. I tossed it in the trash without a second thought.

I went back to packing when my phone rang.

It was the fancy restaurant I'd made reservations at:

"You're 30 minutes late for your reservation. If you don't arrive in 10 minutes, we'll have to give your table away."

I hate Western food, but Quinn swears by it—thinks it's "classy." He took me to one for our first date, so I'd made tonight's reservation there.

I'd booked this fancy spot for our post-proposal celebration—his favorite steakhouse—but he'd blown me off for her.

I kept my voice steady:

"Cancel it. Give the table to someone else."

Quinn texted me right after I hung up:

"Stuck at work. Can't make dinner tonight."

Something about that text felt off.

Quinn never bothered with excuses before—just stood me up and didn't care.

Then it hit me.

Jenna had just posted on Instagram.

There was Quinn, cutting steak in the exact restaurant I'd reserved.

Caption: "My hero ❤️ Quinn makes the best steak ever!"

How convenient. So *they* were the "other guests" the manager mentioned.

I didn't bother asking him why he lied. No anger, no sadness—nothing.

I just felt... numb. All I wanted was to sleep.

I washed up and crashed—first real sleep I'd had in years.

But the bedroom light suddenly flipped on at some ungodly hour, jolting me awake.

I squinted against the brightness—and there was Quinn, standing over my bed.

His eyes were wide, like he couldn't believe what he was seeing:

"Harper... you're actually sleeping?"