Chapter 3

Chloe’s dad snapped, veins bulging on his neck. "Watch your mouth! Calling the police for what?"

"Fraud."

When my dad said that word, his face looked as stern as a federal judge.

Chloe freaked out, jumping between both families. "Mr. and Mrs. Miller, it really doesn't have to come to this! Ethan and I just need to talk. This is between the two of us—"

"There's nothing left to talk about."

I ripped off my bowtie and shoved it into her hand.

"Didn't you want to give him a ring? Go right ahead. I'm setting you free."

Chloe’s mom tugged at her sleeve from behind. "Forget it, forget it! We don't want the twenty grand back! Just leave it at that!"

My mom let out a humorless laugh. "You think you get to call the shots?"

"Return the money, or the cops will be here in five minutes."

Realizing we weren't bluffing, Chloe’s dad softened his tone significantly. "Don't call the police! Let's just talk reasonably. We never said we wouldn't pay it back."

"Then write an IOU. Right now."

My dad never messed around with empty talk.

He grabbed a pen from a groomsman, ripped a sheet of paper from the welcome desk, and slapped it onto the table.

"Write."

Chloe’s dad looked like he was about to vomit blood.

Chloe walked up to the table, took the pen, and with trembling hands, scribbled an IOU on the paper.

Her father turned purple and tried to stop her, but she shoved him aside.

When she finished, she looked up at me.

"Ethan, I wrote it. Can you please—"

"I didn't promise you a damn thing."

I turned and walked away.

I pushed through the hotel doors, leaving the entire disaster behind me.

My mom patted my back, her voice shaking violently. "Come on. Let's get some food first. You haven't eaten a single bite all morning."

We went to a cozy diner across from the venue.

Mom ordered three bowls of hot soup and a plate of dumplings.

My dad didn't touch his fork the entire time. He just stared at me.

Only when I set down my spoon did he finally speak.

"After this, we go to the apartment. Get your things out first."

Mom wiped her mouth with a napkin, her eyes welling up again.

Dad pushed the bowl toward her. "Eat first. You need your strength to move his stuff."

I put down my fork and looked at them.

"Mom, Dad... I'm so sorry. I humiliated you both today."

"Humiliated who?"

My dad set down his fork firmly. "You aren't the one who needs to apologize. It's that shameless family."

Mom wiped her tears and forced a smile. "He's right. You did the right thing. If you had swallowed your pride in front of all those people, you'd never be able to hold your head high around them for the rest of your life."

I didn't say another word. I finished my soup and paid the bill.

The apartment was in a newly developed area downtown. Chloe’s family had covered the down payment.

The deed was under her name, but both families had split the renovation and furniture costs fifty-fifty.

My clothes, my official documents, and a heirloom gold jewelry set my mom gave to Chloe were still inside.

I had to get those back.

We took an Uber to the apartment.

On the way, my mom kept fretting, saying that gold set was handed down from her grandmother to her, and then to me. Losing it would mean failing her own mother.

Dad sat in the passenger seat in complete silence, but his knuckles around his phone were stark white.

In the elevator, Mom tried to compose herself, reminding us not to start another screaming match—just grab the stuff and go.

I nodded.

When we reached the door, I pressed my thumb against the smart lock.

Nothing happened.

I pressed it again.

Still nothing.

The lock flashed a red light and buzzed twice.

I paused, confused, and typed in the passcode.

My birthday.

Incorrect.

Chloe’s birthday.

Incorrect.

Our anniversary.

Still incorrect.

Frowning, my dad pulled out his phone and dialed Chloe.

It rang twice before she declined the call.

He dialed again, and it went straight to voicemail.

Mom panicked, banging hard on the door.

"Chloe! Chloe, open the door!"

Footsteps shuffled from inside.

The sound of slippers dragging across the hardwood floor grew closer and closer.

The door clicked open.

It wasn't Chloe. It was her mother.

Chloe’s mom was wearing loungewear.

Seeing us, she didn't look surprised in the slightest.

In fact, there was a smug smirk playing on her lips, as if she had been waiting for us all along.

"Oh? Look who's here."

My mom tried to push past her. "My son's belongings are inside. Let us in to pack."

Chloe’s mom didn't budge. Instead, she pulled the door narrower, blocking the entrance with her body.

"Pack what belongings?"