Not long after, another message came in. Not Marco this time—Anastacia. His mother.
I managed to convince him to actually go through with the wedding tomorrow. Maybe that would make you stay. If not… then at least let me help you leave. For all the things my son has done, let me be the one to make it right.
I stared at the message until my vision blurred. My chest tightened, not with love, but with the cruel ache of wasted years. Anastacia was trying to clean up the wreckage Marco left behind, but it was too late.
The cake, the wedding, his sudden desperation—it was all nothing but ashes.
Tomorrow, I will walk away. Not just from Marco, not just from Camille, not just from this house that had been both a palace and a prison. But from the girl who once believed in promises that turned to poison.
Tomorrow, I will leave everything.
I typed back with trembling fingers.
Nothing could change my mind anymore. I’m sorry, but thank you…
For a long time after pressing send, I just sat there, staring at the screen, waiting for the impossible. Waiting for him to walk through the door, waiting for footsteps that never came.
The hours dragged. Midnight came and went. Still, no Marco.
My phone lit up at dawn. A message from him.
Camille needed me. She fractured her legs while cleaning and moving things. Don’t worry, tomorrow we’ll see each other at the civil registry for the wedding. I’ll make it up to you on the honeymoon.
I didn’t even realize I was laughing until I felt the burn of tears on my cheeks. Camille was always the reason. Always her pain, her needs, her place beside him—while I was left with promises as brittle as glass.
That afternoon, the butler arrived at my door, holding a white box. He placed it gently on the table and bowed. “From Sir Marco, Madam.”
My heart stuttered. For one foolish second, I thought maybe—just maybe—he remembered. That he had listened. That he had brought my real favorite because he remembered us. Because he remembered me.
I opened the box. The scent hit me instantly. Blueberry.
I froze. My throat tightened as the truth sank in. He hadn’t remembered me at all. I had always been allergic to blueberries. It was Camille who loved blueberries. Camille who devoured it every chance she got.
I just told him in case… hoping. But I stood there, staring at it, the final nail in the coffin of our years together. That was the last straw. Whatever hope still lingered inside me shattered clean through.
My phone buzzed again. This time, it wasn’t Marco.
“Shania,” my uncle’s deep, steady voice came through. “Everything is ready. I’ll be waiting at the airport. Don’t be late.”
I closed my eyes, inhaling slowly as if to anchor myself. My hands trembled, but not from fear—from resolve. The chains Marco bound me with had finally snapped.
“Alright,” I whispered into the phone, my gaze fixed on the untouched cake. “I’ll be there.”
The next morning, as I prepared to leave, I heard voices in the hall. The butler again—this time whispering hurriedly into his phone.
“…Yes, Sir Marco is planning to propose to Miss Camille later this evening. Everything is ready. And make sure that Miss Shania would never know about this. After all, their wedding at the civil registry is gonna be fake.”
My breath hitched, then escaped in a sharp laugh. A bitter, broken sound that echoed off the walls.
So this was it—every promise, every vow, every touch, all lies. The civil wedding, the future he painted, nothing but a performance while he gave his heart to someone else.
A hollow ache spread in my chest. Fool—that’s what I’d been. Twenty years wasted on love that never existed. I should have left long before Camille, before betrayal carved me hollow.
But now… I wasn’t broken. I was free. Once everything turns to ashes, there’s nothing left to fear.
I walked out of that house—my prison, my battlefield, my graveyard—and didn’t look back.
At the gates, a voice called out. One of Marco’s old friends, the kind who had always hovered at family dinners and parties, suddenly appeared, rushing toward me.
“Where are you going, Shania? Wait, are you leaving? I thought today would be your special day with Marco. That is why he asked me to come…” He looked stunned, as though he couldn’t quite believe I was truly leaving.
“Actually, it’s his special day with Camille as I am marrying someone else.”
His eyes widened. “You’re really marrying someone else? Does Marco know? Wait, what is happening?”
At the mention of Marco, my smile faded. The ache in my chest threatened to crush me, but I shook my head. “No. He won’t know. ” I glanced at the time. “It’s late. I have to leave now. Tell Marco my greetings.”
I slid into the car, closed the door, and as it pulled away, the manor shrank behind me.
Just as we reached the gates, another car passed ours. For the briefest moment, I saw Marco’s silhouette behind the wheel. He was gripping something small in his hand—something that gleamed faintly in the morning light. A ring box. It seems a proposal for Camille as I would be left alone for the third time. But I refused.
I turned my head away, pressing my palm to my stomach as if to hold myself together.
He and Camille would never be separated again… as I finally have my freedom.
