Chapter 2

"Logan, what on earth are you doing? Chloe said you want to cancel the wedding?"

At seven o'clock the next morning, before I could even finish a glass of warm water, Chloe's mother called.

"Mrs. Davis, I'm not making a scene. It's really canceled."

"Why?"

"Didn't Chloe tell you?"

"She said she mortgaged the house to get some money to help a friend in need, and you got mad. Is that it?"

"Mrs. Davis, she mortgaged our wedding house. For $600,000. For a guy named Ethan Vance—"

"I know about Ethan."

Mrs. Davis cut me off, her tone suddenly becoming stern.

"When Chloe was in that car accident years ago and lay by the road for nearly half an hour, it was Ethan who carried her on his back for a mile to the hospital. “

“Chloe is only alive today because of him. What is a house compared to a life-saving favor?"

She paused, then added coldly, "Logan, you shouldn't be so petty."

I gripped my glass, my knuckles turning white.

"Mrs. Davis, I acknowledge that Ethan saved Chloe. But I've been with her for five years, and I poured all my savings into that down payment—"

"Once you marry Chloe, that money belongs to one family. The fact that she can make this decision shows she is responsible. You should be happy about it."

"Mrs. Davis, I have already canceled the marriage license appointment—"

"You canceled it?"

Her voice shrieked.

"Logan! How dare you cancel it without consulting me first?"

"Go fix it right now! If you can't do it today, do it tomorrow!"

"Mrs. Davis, Chloe and I are not right for each other."

Mrs. Davis snorted. "Not right? You didn't realize that for five years, and now you do because of a house? Logan, let me tell you the truth. “

“With Chloe's looks and background, she has no shortage of pursuers. You can leave, but don't come crawling back crying later."

She slammed the phone down.

I thought she was just talking out of anger.

At two in the afternoon, my best friend Tyler Hayes sent me a screenshot.

"Take a look at Ethan's sister's Instagram. She posted this at two o'clock this morning."

In the photo, Hailey Vance was hugging two flashy-looking guys in a VIP booth at a nightclub, raising her glass with a smug, wide-toothed grin.

Five or six empty bottles of expensive champagne sat on the table.

The caption read: [My friend's treat tonight, drinking till we drop! ]

Two o'clock this morning—the exact same time Chloe told me Hailey had "crashed a Porsche and needed $600,000 in damages."

Hailey herself was partying at a club.

No injuries, no accidents, no police station.

Tyler immediately sent another message: "I had a contact check. The local police department hasn't received any accident reports involving a Porsche in the last three days."

I stared at the screen, my fingertips turning cold.

It wasn't even about the $600,000 anymore. The entire story, from beginning to end, was probably made up.

I dialed Chloe's number.

She picked up instantly, her tone sounding relieved. "You're finally willing to take my call—"

"You said Ethan's sister crashed a Porsche. Which intersection? What's the owner's name? Which police station?"

"Why are you asking all this?"

"Hailey Vance was clubbing at two o'clock this morning. There is no accident record at the police station. Where exactly did your $600,000 go?"

The other end of the line went dead silent for a long time.

Then, she said something that completely froze my heart.

"Logan, what's the point of investigating this? The money is already gone. What difference does it make even if you find out?"