chapter 3

"This is our tenth anniversary," I said. "We have less than an hour of it left."

"Rosé—"

"I've gotta head back to the office." I cut him off, the statement clean, final.

The company was as much mine as his.

Omnity Partners was born from Scott's sleepless nights, but forged in the marrow of my labor.

I remembered the stack of business cards, the phone pressed to my ear until my voice frayed and my lips cracked. I built our foundation call by call.

But for the wedding, I had stepped back recently.

His mother Barbara once took my hand, her grip firm. "Oh, Rosé, honey, you've been working so hard. Once you and Scott are married, you can finally relax and focus on starting a family and have a little one. Those early years are so precious—you won't want to miss a moment. Scott's career is on such a wonderful trajectory—let my son take care of the rest."

I refused. I wouldn't cage myself for a child. The company was my child—the one I chose, the one I bled for.

So why was I exiling myself from my own creation for a love that had already rotted?

"I need to get back to work." This time, it was a calm notification.

Scott shot to his feet. "Why, Rosé?"

He met my gaze, and something in my eyes must have unsettled him. He quickly added, "We still haven't even planned the wedding. Can you just… stay? We should do it together."

"I'm done putting my work on hold for a wedding." A deep weariness settled in my bones. I rubbed the bridge of my nose. "This isn't a request. You don't get to stop me."

He paced, a caged rhythm. "But it's our wedding! We waited ten years! You said you had to oversee every detail!"

He stopped, his voice dropping. "Rosé, are you really walking out on us?"

The words hung there, absurd. For a second, I almost believed I was the one who shattered everything.

"Scott." I stood and moved past him toward the guest room. "I love that patisserie. Funny—I was going to pick up a cake from there, too."

He understood. Of course he did.

He stood frozen as the realization dawned. By the time he found his voice, I had already turned the lock.

"Rosé, listen to me. It's just—"

He cut himself off. He didn't know how much I had seen. He didn't know how much I knew.

I lay on the guest bed.

The sheets were the set we'd chosen together on a day we almost raced to the courthouse—back when Scott insisted I deserved a grand wedding first.

Thank God for that.

Divorce would have been so much messier than a breakup.

The ceiling stretched blank above me, the light painfully bright. I stared until my eyes burned.

Every object here held a memory. What was once sweet had curdled.

I didn't know when the rot began—only that I'd been eating from a spoiled fruit for far too long.

The thought turned my stomach.

I expected to lie awake, but I didn't.

The tension that had gripped me since that afternoon finally snapped. Speaking the truth had been a release.