On our fifth anniversary, I had planned to tell my boyfriend the truth: I was the sole heir to the Sinclair family, one of the world's wealthiest financial dynasties.

I came home brimming with anticipation, only to freeze outside the front door. Voices drifted through the thin wood.

"Harry, Emma's flying back to London next week. What's the plan with the cheap substitute?"

Emma?

The first love whose name Harry mumbled every time he got blackout drunk?

A careless, mocking laugh slipped from Harry's lips.

"What do you think? I'm dumping her."

"Five years, man. What was even the point?" Tom asked, sounding genuinely confused.

"She's quiet. Low-maintenance. Saves me a fortune," Harry scoffed.

"Just make sure you clean it up nicely. Don't let her cause a scene."

"Don't worry about it."

I didn't kick the door down. I didn't scream. The pride and breeding carved into my bones refused to let me act like some hysterical, scorned woman.

I walked to the end of the dim hallway, pulled out my phone, and dialed a number that had been on 'Do Not Disturb' for years.

"That arranged marriage? I'm in."

~~~~~

"Finally woke up? Did that broke piece of trash touch you?" Arthur's voice instantly dropped to a lethal chill.

"No. I just realized... I'm done playing house." I swallowed hard, fighting the sting in my eyes. "You can arrange the marriage with Duke William. Whenever you need me to cooperate, I'll be there."

"Good. William is ruthless, but he's a perfect match for this family."

Arthur paused, his tone softening. "As long as you're willing to come home, I promise you, no one in all of London will ever dare make you suffer the slightest grievance again. I'll send a car for you tomorrow."

"No. Give me a few days. I want to end this myself."

I hung up and looked down at the document in my hand. It was supposed to be Harry's anniversary surprise.

Now, it was just the biggest joke in the world.

I folded the papers in half and shoved them into the deepest pocket of my bag.

Right at that moment, the apartment door swung open.

Harry stepped out, holding two bags of trash. When he saw me standing in the shadows, he froze. Guilt and sheer panic flashed vividly across his face.

"Selena? Hey—how long have you been standing there?"

He stuttered, nearly dropping the garbage on the floor.

I stared at the face I had loved for five years. Suddenly, he looked terrifyingly like a stranger.

"Long enough," I said, my face a blank mask.

Harry scrutinized my expression, desperate to gauge if I had heard anything. Finding nothing but my usual calm, he immediately slipped his five-year-old mask back on.

"Why are you standing out here? It's freezing."

He set the trash by the door and opened his arms, stepping forward for his usual hug.

"It's our five-year, baby. I cut out of work early to take you to that spot you like."

His tone was flawlessly gentle. If I hadn't heard the truth with my own ears, I would have fallen for it all over again.

I didn't step back. I just watched him approach.

But as his arms were about to close around me, a thick, cloying wave of perfume hit my face.

It was an aggressive, expensive women's fragrance. Nothing like the cheap supermarket sprays I used.

My eyes trailed the scent down to the slightly open collar of his sweater.

Right below his collarbone, glaringly obvious against his skin, was a fresh row of teeth marks.

And a smudge of lipstick he hadn't bothered to wipe away.

My stomach violently lurched. The nausea clawed at my throat.

He hadn't even bothered to clean up his mess.

One second, he was laughing at me with his friend. The next, fresh out of another woman's bed, he was standing here pretending to care if I was cold.

"What's wrong, baby? Spacing out?"

Harry smiled, reaching for my waist. "What do you want to eat tonight? Whatever you want, it's yours."

The second his fingers brushed my coat, I shoved him away like he was radioactive.

I pushed so hard he stumbled backward, his spine slamming against the hallway wall.

"Selena?" He looked stunned. His brows furrowed, a flash of genuine irritation breaking through his facade.

I swallowed the bile in my throat and stared at him with dead eyes.

"I'm sick. Stomach. I'm staying in."

Without waiting for his response, I walked past him and into the cramped rental apartment.

As I shut the door, I caught a glimpse of Harry through the narrowing gap. He was already turning away.

He didn't chase after me. He didn't ask what was wrong. He just muttered a curse under his breath, grabbed the trash, and headed downstairs.

I leaned against the cold door, and the last trace of warmth in my eyes completely died.