That night, my parents took me home.
When the house fell silent, I went to the bookshelf and pulled down twelve photo albums.
Jeydon and I had grown up together.
I used to cheer for him at every basketball game, vote for him in every debate competition, and even learned photography just to capture every radiant moment of his youth.
He never lacked admirers, but after every game, he would only take the bottle of water I offered. After every victory, he only accepted the bouquet from my hands. And the photos he shared online—every single one was taken by me.
Back then, I believed I was capturing love through my lens.
Now I realized, I was only doing what a well-trained maid might do for her master.
I gathered all those photos and the engagement tokens his family had given, packed them carefully, and decided to return them myself the next morning.
In three days, I would be marrying another man. Before that, I needed to sever every tie with the Crawford family.
"Woof!"
The soft yelp of a puppy froze me the moment I stepped into Crawford residence.
Jeydon was crouched on the lawn, cupping a tiny white puppy in his hands while Krisha played with it.
The scene looked warm and domestic beneath the sunlight—yet my fingers tightened on the cardboard box until the edge split.
Not long ago, this same man had killed my dog in one of his cold rages. Now, he was gifting another to Krisha like a treasure.
The puppy suddenly shuddered and vomited.
Krisha gasped, grabbed a blue scarf from the dog's bed, and began to wipe it.
The sight hit me like a blade. That was the scarf I had stayed up three nights knitting for Jeydon's birthday.
When I'd shyly given it to him, he'd said, "I love it. I'll keep it safe."
I had never seen him wear it. But I had often seen Krisha's gloves on his hands.
So this was where my scarf ended up—a rag in a dog's bed.
Then Jeydon suddenly reached for Krisha's wrist. My heart clenched.
"Let the maid handle it," he said in a tone of practiced gentleness. "You shouldn't touch filthy things."
I stood frozen, feeling my blood running cold.
"Cheska?" He finally noticed me, instinctively pulling Krisha behind him as if to shield her. "What are you doing here?"
Krisha peeked out from behind his shoulder, feigning innocence. "Miss Meyer, don't misunderstand. I forgot that scarf was yours. Jeydon told me I could take anything from his closet, so I just... grabbed it by accident."
I ignored her, my eyes fixed on Jeydon. "I came to return something."
I placed the box on the ground. "The engagement token and your photos are all here. I told you before—I'd let you go. Let's call off the engagement."
For a split second, surprise flickered in his eyes. Then he chuckled.
"Stop joking." He walked closer, arrogance curling around his words. "Marrying me has been your lifelong dream, hasn't it?"
He tapped my forehead lightly, as if scolding a stubborn child. "Let's forget the past. Take these back."
I stepped back. "If you won't accept them, I'll just throw them away."
"Suit yourself," he scoffed. "If you can bear it, go ahead."
Without a second's hesitation, I lifted the box and poured the photos onto the ground.
His face finally changed—something strange flickering behind his calm.
Could it be... she really mean it?
No. Impossible!
"Cheska!" He reached for my wrist, but I shook him off.
Then I took out a lighter.
In the next moment, twelve years of love went up in flames.
The fire burned bright and fierce, and for the first time, I could breathe.
'Jeydon—when this fire dies, the ugliest chapter of my life will end with it.'
