Chapter 3

I rubbed my eyes and checked my phone. 3 AM.

He actually came home? This late?

Normally, when Jenna so much as sniffles, Quinn spends the night playing nurse—afraid she might keel over or something.

Now he stood there scowling, like I'd personally offended him:

"Harper, I’m exhausted after working late, and you didn’t even text? Didn’t wait up? Seriously?"

*I’m* the problem here?

I bit back an eye roll.

When I used to call to check on him, he accused me of being ‘controlling.’

When I stayed up with dinner waiting, he said I was ‘too clingy.’

Now I’m giving him space, and he’s still mad.

I grunted noncommittally and reached to turn off the light.

Quinn flopped onto the bed, practically draped over me like a dead weight:

"Harper, I’m beat. Can’t you run me a bath?"

Jenna’s perfume hit my nose—cloying, sickly sweet.

Gross.

I used to wait on him hand and foot without him asking.

Now? He just sounded entitled.

I pushed him off me.

I scowled, voice sharp with sleep:

"I’m tired. Do it yourself."

Quinn froze, like he couldn’t process that I’d actually pushed back.

After a long pause, his knuckles whitened around his belt buckle as he ground out:

"Harper, I miss one dinner and suddenly you’re giving me the cold shoulder? Real mature."

"You think I even wanted to come home tonight?"

He stormed out, slamming the door so hard the walls shook.

I heard him grab his keys and peel out of the driveway.

Once upon a time, I would’ve chased after him—begged him to stay.

Now I just flipped off the light and rolled over.

I slept in the next morning—no alarms, no stress. Felt amazing.

I was about to make coffee when I froze—Quinn was home.

Normally, after a fight, he’d be at the office by dawn—no need for me to play peacemaker.

He was perched on the couch, gift box on his lap, fussing with a bow.

He looked up when I walked in.

Quinn jumped up, grabbed my wrist, and held a necklace from the box against my neck.

The metal was icy against my skin.

He adjusted the pendant, nodding like he was approving a design:

"Perfect. Not too flashy, just right."

I recognized it from Vogue—this season’s must-have, price tag in the five figures.

Before I could pull away, he snatched it back and polished the pendant with a tissue.

As he tucked it back in the box, he mumbled:

"Good thing your neck’s as skinny as Jenna’s. If it fits you, it’ll look great on her."

I almost laughed.

Right—Jenna’s the necklace girl. Why would he waste this on me?

Quinn grabbed his jacket, scooped up the box, and headed for the door.

I stepped in front of him:

"Quinn, we’re done."