Chapter 6

Summer's POV

I didn't go back to the flower shop after leaving the hospital. I went straight to the house where I had lived for three years.

It was big and empty and had never felt like a home. The whole place ran cold.

I pushed the door open and stood there looking at the living room, all black and white and grey, minimalist to the point of sterility, and felt suddenly like I couldn't breathe.

For three years, I'd tried to make this place feel like home. I'd brought in warm-toned throw pillows, a hand-woven rug, a dozen different green plants full of life.

Ethan had taken one look and said it annoyed him. He had the housekeeper throw everything away.

I was the clown in a beautiful cage, performing a one-woman show for an audience that had already left.

I went to the guest room, pulled out a large suitcase, and started packing.

There wasn't much, honestly. The card Ethan had given me access to over these three years, I had barely touched it. My clothes were all simple, comfortable, cheap.

Once I had packed my things, I walked into Ethan's study.

In the corner there was a large storage box. It was full of five years' worth of gifts I had given him.

A cashmere scarf I had knitted by hand. He said the fibers irritated him. Never wore it once.

A limited-edition pen I had had a friend bring back from overseas. He said the grip felt wrong. Tossed it aside.

A three-dimensional architectural model I'd stayed up for several nights building piece by piece. It was covered in dust.

I stood there looking at it all and smiled a little.

I found some large black trash bags and started putting everything in. One by one, every last thing I'd given him with everything I had.

No hesitation. No grief.

I was about to drag the bags downstairs when the front door opened.

Ethan walked in, expression dark.

He stopped when he saw me, suitcase at my feet, trash bags in both hands.

"What are you doing?"

His eyes landed on the luggage.

"Moving out," I said flatly. "We signed the papers. There's no reason for me to stay."

Ethan crossed the room in a few quick strides and tore open one of the black bags.

Things spilled across the floor.

"Why are you throwing all of this away?"

"It's clutter. And you love things clean, don't you? I'm just helping."

My tone was mild.

Ethan's gaze swept over the pile. And then something shifted in his face.

He dropped to his knees and started digging through the trash bag frantically.

His pristine suit jacket picked up dust and grime. Those hands of his, the ones he sanitized if anyone so much as breathed on them, were plunging into garbage without a second thought.

"Where is it? Where's the box?"

His voice was fast, edged with something almost panicked.

I watched him lose it. I didn't move.

Then he shot to his feet, eyes bloodshot, locked on me.

"The pen Wendy gave me. Where is it? What did you do with it?"

I went still for a moment.

Then I remembered. An ordinary Parker pen, the barrel slightly chipped. Wendy had given it to him before she left for abroad. Ethan had kept it in his desk drawer like it was a relic.

He wasn't looking for anything I'd given him. He was looking for her broken little keepsake.

"I didn't touch it."

I almost wanted to laugh.

"Maybe the housekeeper threw it out by mistake."

"You're lying!"

He completely snapped. He closed the distance between us in two steps, grabbed my wrist and caught the injured arm.

I sucked in a sharp breath. The color left my face instantly. The wound split open. Blood soaked through the white gauze.

"Let go! I told you I didn't touch it!"

I pulled hard.

Ethan looked at the blood spreading through the bandage. And didn't let go.

He actually laughed.

"Save the act, Summer. You make me sick."

He shoved me away.

I couldn't catch my balance. I stumbled back into the display shelf behind me.

The shelf shook hard. Something on the top fell.

It hit the floor with a clean, sharp crack.

Everything stopped.

I forgot about my arm. I stared at what was on the floor.

Broken glass. And inside the ruins of it, a single dried rose.

My grandmother had made it for me. Before she died, she spent her last good days building that glass dome by hand, a preserved red rose inside. Her final gift to me. Her blessing.

It was the most precious thing I owned in the world.

And now it was gone.

Glass and dried petals mixed together on the floor, the same way my five years of love had been crushed and scattered without a second thought.

Ethan blinked. Then his expression hardened.

"It's just a glass case. It broke. I'll have my assistant order you ten more tomorrow. Now tell me where Wendy's pen is."

I got up slowly from the floor. I didn't look at him.

I crouched down and started picking up the pieces with my good hand.

The glass cut my fingers. Blood dripped onto the withered rose petals. It was almost too vivid to look at.

"Ethan."

I didn't raise my head.

"We're done now."

You broke what mattered most to me. I don't owe you anything anymore.

I stood up, picked up my suitcase, and walked out into the rainy night without looking back.