Chapter 4

Carter dragged me down to the parking garage.

The brand-new Porsche was parked in the most prominent spot. Its glossy paint reflected the overhead lights, making my eyes ache.

"You're acting less and less like yourself lately," Carter sighed, looking exhausted.

"You used to be so mature. So cool."

He thought for a second. "You never used to sweat the small stuff with Clara."

Small stuff.

My mug was small stuff.

My bed was small stuff.

My perfume and my dress were all "small stuff."

The moment Clara laid her hands on them, they became insignificant details I was supposed to ignore.

I looked at him. "Then tell me, Carter. What *is* big stuff?"

Carter fell silent for a moment. "Our future."

When he said those words, his expression was genuinely earnest.

If this were a few months ago, my heart would have softened.

He always did this—giving me a crumb of false hope right when I was at my breaking point.

"We were planning to get engaged by the end of the year. I’ve already been looking at townhouses."

Carter's voice softened. "If you transfer to LA now, you're throwing our future away just to throw a tantrum."

I looked at the luxury car behind him. "Whose name will be on the house deed?"

His brow twitched. "I'm paying the down payment, so obviously it’ll be in my name first."

"And the renovations?"

"We'll split that 50/50," he said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "Didn't you always want to design our home?"

"And who gets the final say on the design?"

Carter was growing impatient. "Clara took some interior design classes. She has great taste. We can just have her help us out."

I laughed out loud.

In his "future," there was his house, my 50% contribution to the renovation bills, and Clara's taste.

There was absolutely no room for me.

Carter stared at me, then suddenly spoke up.

"I didn't buy this car *for* Clara."

I stopped in my tracks.

Carter seemed to be explaining it to me, but it felt more like he was trying to convince himself.

"She just got back to the States and her job situation isn't stable yet. I'm just letting her borrow it. The title is under my name. It's not a gift."

"Stop looking at her Instagram and overthinking everything."

I nodded. He looked visibly taken aback.

He wasn't used to my silence. He expected me to argue, to scream, to demand answers.

My utter calmness made him uncomfortable.

Suddenly, Carter’s phone buzzed. It was Clara.

"Hey, what's wrong?" he answered.

He listened to the other end for a second. "I'll be right up."

After hanging up, he turned to me, back to his usual tone.

"Clara has a stomachache. I'm taking her to the urgent care."

He unlocked the Porsche, but stopped before getting in.

"Don't worry about the medical bill this time. I’ll cover it myself. Clara is tight on cash since she just moved back."

I kept my eyes on the concrete floor of the garage.

A few months ago, my chronic gastritis flared up so badly I couldn't even stand up straight.

Carter had driven me to the clinic. But at the billing counter, he handed the invoice straight to me.

"Pay it first, and we'll split it on Venmo later."

The bill that day was $237.60.

He made me Venmo him exactly $118.80.

But now, because Clara had a simple stomachache, he told me "not to worry" because he would cover it himself.

I finally understood. He wasn't incapable of being generous.

He just only applied his strict calculations to me.

After Carter drove off, I walked out of the garage alone.

A light drizzle was falling. My phone buzzed.

It was a photo from Clara. Carter was kneeling on the floor in front of her, tying her sneaker laces.

*“With my favorite guy here, I have nothing to fear,”* her caption read.

I locked my phone.

The rain fell on the back of my hand, feeling icy cold.

When I got back to the apartment that evening, the living room was packed.

Several of Carter’s friends were over.

Zach saw me walk in and waved cheerfully.

"Hey, Chloe! You're back just in time. Clara wanted to celebrate her return, so Carter is personally cooking tonight!"

On the dining table sat a massive pot of Slow-cooked Beef Bourguignon.

It was my absolute favorite dish.

Whenever I had begged Carter to make it for us in the past, he always dismissed it, saying it took too much prep work.

Clara was sitting at the table, kicking her legs back and forth.

"Carter is literally the best cook ever. I used to eat this all the time when we were kids."

One of the guys teased, "Man, Carter, you really spoil your little sister, don't you?"

Carter smiled gently. "She’s a picky eater."

I paused while changing my shoes. Zach seemed to notice something was off.

"Hey, Chloe, you look a bit pale. You okay?"

Clara immediately chimed in. "Oh, does Chloe not like having people over? I can tell everyone to leave if you want."

Carter set down a fruit platter. "Don't ruin the mood."

I knew exactly who that comment was directed at.

During dinner, Clara took a bite of the beef and frowned slightly.

"Hmm, it's a bit too sour for me."

Carter immediately tasted it. "I'll add some sugar."

Zach laughed. "Wait, doesn't Chloe love it on the sour side?"

Carter's hand paused mid-air.

Clara lowered her eyes. "Oh... so this is how Chloe likes it? Then don't change it. I'll just eat less."

Carter picked up the pot and headed back to the kitchen.

"I'll make a fresh batch."

I stared at the piece of beef in my bowl.

It was steaming hot.

But suddenly, I couldn't swallow a single bite.