Chapter 2

"Chloe, what on earth is wrong with you? Logan told me you want to cancel the wedding?"

At seven the next morning, before I could even finish my first cup of warm water, Logan’s mother called.

"Mrs. Vance, I'm not throwing a tantrum. The wedding is officially off."

"Why?"

"Didn't Logan tell you?"

"He said he used the house to get some cash to help a friend in need, and you got mad. Is that really it?"

"Mrs. Vance, he mortgaged our wedding home for six hundred thousand dollars. And he gave it to a woman named Hailey—"

"I know all about Hailey," Eleanor cut me off, her tone suddenly turning stern.

"Years ago, when Logan got into that horrible car crash, he lay on the side of the road for almost half an hour. It was Hailey who carried him on her back for an entire mile to get him to the hospital. Logan is only alive today because of Hailey. What is a house compared to a life?"

She paused, then added a sharp jab: "Chloe, don't be so petty."

I gripped my mug so hard my knuckles turned white.

"Mrs. Vance, I acknowledge that Hailey saved Logan's life. But I’ve been with him for five years. I put all of my life savings into that down payment—"

"Once you marry into our family, all of that money belongs to the family anyway. The fact that he can make big decisions shows he is a real man. You should be proud of him."

"Mrs. Vance, I’ve already canceled the marriage license appointment—"

"You did what?" Her voice shrieked through the speaker.

"Chloe! How could you do that without consulting me first?"

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

"Mrs. Vance, Logan and I are not a good match."

Eleanor scoffed. "Not a good match? You didn't realize that for five years, but now you do because of a house? Let me tell you the hard truth, Chloe. With Logan's status and career, he isn't lacking women who want to marry him. If you want to walk away, go ahead. Just don't come crawling back crying later."

She slammed the phone down.

I thought she was just venting.

But at two in the afternoon, my best friend, Mia, sent me a screenshot.

"Look at what Hailey's brother posted on his Instagram. It was posted at two o'clock this morning."

In the photo, Tyler was draped over two heavily made-up girls in a VIP booth at a nightclub, raising his glass with a smug, wide grin. Half a dozen empty premium champagne bottles littered the table.

The caption read: [Shoutout to my bro for sponsoring tonight. We drinking till we drop! 🍾]

Two in the morning—the exact same time Logan told me Tyler had "totaled a Porsche and needed $600,000 to stay out of jail."

And there Tyler was, partying his mind off.

Not a single scratch on him. Not in custody. Not a care in the world.

Mia quickly texted another message: "I had a friend look into it. There hasn't been a single accident report involving a Porsche filed with the local police precinct in the last three days."

I stared at the screen, a chill running down my spine.

It wasn't even about the $600,000 anymore. The entire excuse, from start to finish, was a complete lie.

I dialed Logan’s number.

He picked up on the first ring, sounding incredibly relieved. "You finally decided to answer my call—"

"You said Hailey’s brother hit a Porsche. Which intersection? What’s the owner's name? Which police precinct did you go to?"

"Why are you asking all this?"

"Tyler was partying at a nightclub at two o'clock this morning. There is no police report. Where did your six hundred thousand dollars actually go?"

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

Then, he said something that completely shattered whatever respect I had left for him.

"Chloe, what’s the point of digging into all this? The money is already gone. What does it change even if you find out?"