A lot of women would be appreciative of a ring like that, Oliver said when he caught me not wearing the eyesore once after working out.
“Having second thoughts?” Julian’s deep voice has me turning around.
“Are you sure an ability to mindread wasn’t added during your last software update?”
His glare lacks its usual punch. “You’ve always been expressive.”
“Not all of us were born with the ability not to feel anything.”
“I feel things,” he scoffs.
“Like what?”
“Excitement.” He pulls my ring out of his pocket with an unhinged smile I’ve only seen on two other occasions—when I asked Julian to prom as punishment for him scoring higher than me on the ACT, and when the school’s linebacker, who called me a prude bitch, was caught in a cheating scandal.
I never asked Julian about it, but I suspected he had something to do with the football player being busted and permanently benched from the team for the rest of the year.
“You good?” he asks in the same soft voice he saves for his mother.
My boots squeak together as I rock back. “What if this is a bad idea?”
“Do you plan on getting back together with him?”
“No. Definitely not.”
“Do you want to sell it?”
I consider the option for a few seconds before shaking my head. “And pass that negative energy on to someone else? No.”
“I could buy it off you.”
I choke on my gasp. “What?”
He assesses the ring. “It’s hideous, so I wouldn’t pay more than a hundred for it.”
“Bucks? But it’s worth—”
He interrupts me. “Hundred thousand.”
My eyes bulge. “That’s a lot of money.”
He shrugs.
Asshole. Unlike him, I still remember the days before he was a billionaire, back when our families ordering pizza with extra toppings was considered a luxury.
He casually spins the ring around his pinkie finger.
Sweat clings to my brow. “But…”
Hustling him out of a hundred thousand dollars does sound nice— “The offer expires in three…”
Wait a minute. Why does he want to buy the ring in the first place?
“Two…”
Who cares? Take it!
“Fine!” I shout.
“You accept?”
“Sure.”
“Great. Now with that settled…” He tosses the ring into the concrete mixer. The diamond gets swallowed up by the thick mixture as the machine spins round and round.
“Julian!” I jump to hit the red emergency button, but he yanks me away before I have a chance. All the air is knocked from my lungs as I slam into his body.
Our hard hats bang into each other, and mine falls off and lands at our feet during my fight to get loose. He wraps his other arm around my waist and tightens his hold, making any escape impossible.
“What are you doing?” I hiss like a wounded animal.
“Saving you from yourself.” He hauls me farther away without my feet touching the ground.
“Are you serious? What was the point of offering to pay all that money for a ring you planned on throwing away?” I screech as I shove at the steel band of muscle locked around my body.
“It’ll be worth every penny.”
“But—” My reply gets lost somewhere in the chaos of my mind.
“You didn’t like your ring.”
I rear back. “What?”
“I bet you hated it from the moment Oliver got down on one knee and popped open that cliché Cartier box.”
A two-by-four to the face would be less surprising than his comment.
My pulse quickens. “Why would you think that?”
“Because, like him, it was stuffy, obnoxious, and represented everything he and his pretentious, cookie-cutter family stand for.” Julian’s words hit hard enough to make my legs shake beneath me.
Julian saw Oliver and his family for exactly what they were.
A fancy fa?ade.
I was comfortable going along with it because Oliver made it seem like he was different, but in reality, he was another Creswell clone desperate for an inheritance and his parents’ approval.
And I was the woman standing in the way of that.
Julian lets me go when the fight drains from my body, and my mind drifts as the machine spins.
The demise of my relationship started with a prenup, and things quickly devolved from there as I was pummeled with tasks like premarital counseling and health screenings.
It’s standard protocol for people like us, Oliver said as he passed me a stack of prenuptial paperwork thicker than my thigh. While I expected one given the Creswells’ financial situation, its contents shocked me.
A genetic health screening? I asked with a frown, only for Oliver to wave away my concern. It’s a formality. He grabbed my hand and gave it a squeeze. Think of it as a protective measure, he added.
I winced. Protective measure against what?
It’s boilerplate language. He quickly moved on to the next section, dictating how I would be paid per child I gave birth to. Bonus cash if I breastfed.
God, I should have run after that meeting, but instead, I trusted him.
My throat tightens until I’m gasping for air.
“Mírame,” Julian orders.
I can’t. At least not when I feel like this.
Mírame: Look at me.
“I’ll meet you back at the truck.”
“If you want the ring, I’ll pull it out.” He speaks to my back.
I shake my head hard enough to rattle my already-scattered brain. “No.” Tears pool near the bottoms of my eyes, about one second away from falling.
You better not cry in front of Julian, so pull yourself together and get the hell out of here.
“Come find me when it’s finished.” I fight the impulse to curl into myself as I accept that part of my life is over.
“Okay.”
My lungs deflate from my heavy exhale as I turn. Every step away from the mixer feels like a small victory, and I’m proud of myself for making it to the truck without shedding a single tear, although the widening hole in my chest threatens to consume me.
But unlike before, I fight back. I don’t want to cry anymore over a man who discarded me like trash.
I refuse to.
Starting now.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Dahlia
A flash of something red and white catches my eye. “Stop the truck!”
He slams on the brakes, and we both go shooting forward. I groan as the seat belt locks into place and crushes my chest.
“What’s wrong?” His eyes dart across my face.
I press a hand against my chest. “Besides the fact that you nearly gave me a heart attack?”
“You asked me to stop.”
“Not like that!”
“Sorry.”
“It’s fine. Give me a second.” I unbuckle my seat belt.
“Where are you going? It’s pitch-black outside.”
“I want to see something.” I climb out of the truck and walk back to the spot that caught my attention.
The For Sale sign posted in front of the gate feels illegal, and I’m tempted to steal it to prevent someone else from making an offer on the house of my dreams.
Lampposts lining the driveway illuminate the Queen Anne-style mansion sitting at the top of the small hill. Despite the warped wood and lack of upkeep, the house that once belonged to one of our town’s founders is beautiful with its elegant craftsmanship, unrivaled view of the lake, and historic connection to the town.