Chapter 4 I stared blankly at the withered leaves drifting outside the window.
Finally unable to hold back, I crouched down and sobbed into my hands.
One last time…
This was the last time I would cry over Ryan
That afternoon, Ryan posted on Instagram.
It was a 9–photo collage.
The photos showed different corners of a house.
The caption read: “Every room, every piece of furniture, every decoration here was carefully chosen by me. I just want to give my baby a warm
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and comfortable home.”
Many people offered congratulations in the comments.
“Congrats to Mr. Brown on becoming a father so soon!”
“So you and Aria are having a shotgun wedding! Congratulations!”
“The bride is so lucky to have such a good husband in Ryan. So envious!”
“I wouldn’t miss your wedding in three months for a billion–dollar deal.”
Just as the comment section was buzzing with well–wishes, Chloe suddenly chimed in: “Please don’t misunderstand, everyone. This isn’t Ryan’s marital home, it’s my house.”
The comments section instantly fell into awkward silence.
I was the first to break it, posting: “Three’s a crowd. I’m out. Wishing you two happiness.”
With that, I couldn’t be bothered to see what else they might say.
I directly deleted Ryan and Chloe from my friends list.
Within minutes, Ryan called me.
“Aria Young, have you had enough of this tantrum?”
I calmly replied: “I’m not throwing a tantrum.”
Ryan fumed. “That comment you left on my Instagram was clearly trying to smear dirt on Chloe.”
“Do you have to paint her as the other woman to be satisfied?”
“If you keep slandering her, we can just call off the wedding!”
I listened to his cold, heartless accusations, my heart as still as dead water, unmoved.
“Ryan Brown, what makes you think I’d still want someone’s sloppy seconds?”
I hung up the phone.
Perhaps the words “sloppy seconds” stung him. He called me countless times after that.
When the calls wouldn’t go through, he bombarded me
with messages.
I ignored them all.
In ten days I would be marrying Sean.
These people would all become part of my past.
I had hoped to spend the remaining days coexisting peacefully with them, but I never expected Chloe to knock over my father’s urn.
The ashes scattered on the floor.
Not only did she show no remorse, she even let her pet cat urinate on them.
Then she looked at me with glee.
“Sis, look! The ashes can even be used as kitty litter for my cat!”
In that moment, the grief and rage I had been suppressing exploded.
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