Chapter 2

### Chapter 2

"Queenie, if you're going to lie, at least make it convincing. Your parents said this morning they were coming to the wedding."

"I run myself ragged for you every single day, and it isn't so I can listen to you throw tantrums."

Tears struck the screen and blurred the letters into smears.

His tone softened a little.

"All right, I get it, you're upset. I'll definitely come to the next wedding."

The same thing, again.

Throw me a careless line afterward, and act like nothing happened.

But Tyler, you'll never have to give me another wedding.

"Don't bother, because I'm leaving—"

Before I could finish, Susan's sobbing crawled out of the earpiece.

"Queenie, there's truly nothing between me and Tyler. Going to the beach today was just a friendly thing. Please don't blame him, okay?"

My knuckles went white around the phone. I said nothing.

She added another false little line:

"We're best friends. You don't actually think I'd steal your man, do you?"

But best friends don't sit beside my fiancé at the movies, laughing and chatting while they forget me in the corner.

They don't send my fiancé to pick her up from work when a typhoon hits, and leave me on the street soaked to the bone.

Even on vacation, the two of you could forget to book my plane ticket.

Then, at last, feigning helplessness:

"Queenie, we didn't do it on purpose. Why didn't you say something sooner?"

But no matter how much I said, did it ever help?

"I don't blame him. And I have nothing more to do with either of you."

With that, I hung up.

I didn't have the strength to argue anymore.

I had my parents cremated, and by the time I got home it was the next night.

The lavish house held nothing I would miss.

I went upstairs to pack.

Then, without knowing why, I saw the study door open when it was always shut, and I walked in.

And something under the curtains stabbed at my eyes.

Five years ago, I was the youngest chief designer at a top-tier ad agency.

After we got engaged, Tyler said to me, his eyes rimmed red:

"Queenie, I know being a great designer is your dream. But it kills me to watch you stay up until three every morning."

"Quit. Stay home, get your health back, have a baby soon. I'll take care of you and our child for the rest of our lives."

With every word his eyes reddened more, as if he was afraid I'd break.

I left my job.

On so many sleepless nights, I would scroll through the brilliant work I'd once made.

He would wrap his arms around me from behind and promise, over and over, to be good to me.

But now those precious award certificates, those trophies, had become junk shoved in a corner.

I took out my phone and dialed a number.

"Mr. Gray, I've thought it over. I'll come on as a partner at your firm and lead the overseas team."

"But I need three days to sort out my visa."

Mr. Gray's excited voice came through:

"No problem, Queenie. The design director's chair is yours! See you in three days."

"All right."

I'd barely hung up when a large hand clamped down on my arm.

"A visa? Who's going abroad?!"

I turned. Tyler's brow was drawn tight, and there was a panic in his eyes he couldn't hide.

I lifted my gaze, numb.

"Tyler, I want—"

Before I could finish, a lovely figure walked in, and he let go of my hand at once, as if he'd been burned.

The moment Susan spoke, her eyes went moist:

"Queenie, it's all my fault the wedding fell through. Let's make it up another day, okay? I'll go bring your parents myself, so they can see you happy."

Something in my chest clenched hard, and my hand flew up in a slap.

"My parents are dead. The two of you killed them!"

Susan cupped her cheek, eyes wide and innocent: "I, I didn't know—"

Tyler shoved me hard and pulled her into his arms.

I hit the floor hard, and my womb, freshly cleaned out, felt like it was being churned by a dull blade. Blood soaked through my pants in an instant.

He glared at me, his eyes ice-cold:

"Queenie, cursing your own parents dead. Are you even human?"

"Look at the state of you. Desperate to get married, out of your mind for it."

I sat numb in the blood, a ringing filling my ears.

Then Tyler caught sight of a corner of paper that had fallen out of my bag.

His pupils shook.

"A miscarriage report? You had a miscarriage?!"

He had a low sperm count. We'd tried for five years, and I'd never once gotten pregnant.