I didn't sleep that night.
Even after Ethan left—after his lips brushed my forehead like some twisted promise—I lay awake, eyes wide open in the dark, trying to remember who I used to be before him.
Before the lies.
Before the betrayal.
Before the obsession.
What was I doing?
What had I become?
When I looked in the mirror, I didn't see the Vanessa I used to know. I saw a woman caught between survival and surrender.
That morning, I called in sick to work. Turned off my phone. Shut down the noise. I needed space—not just from Ethan, but from myself.
I walked for hours. No destination, no direction. Just the cold air, the city's pulse, and the ache in my chest I couldn't seem to silence.
I loved him.
God help me, I did.
But I didn't trust him.
And that terrified me more than anything else.
Later that night, I finally returned to my apartment. The silence was heavier than usual. As if the walls were holding their breath, waiting for me to crack.
Then I saw it.
A box on my doorstep. Wrapped in black paper. No note.
My stomach twisted.
I brought it inside, hands trembling, and opened it.
Inside was a velvet jewelry case.
And inside that… a ring.
Not just any ring—his mother's ring. I'd seen it once in a photo on his desk. An antique, rare, passed down through the Hart family for generations.
I stared at it like it might explode.
My phone buzzed.
Ethan: If I asked now, you'd say no. So I won't ask yet. But I will.
My breath caught.
This wasn't a proposal. It was a warning.
A promise.
A claim.
He wasn't going to let me go.
He was going to wait for me to convince myself it was love.
And the worst part?
A part of me wanted to wear that ring.