It was the first time Ethan Carter had ever snapped at Sophie Green.
Scolding her was no different from striking me—it stung all the same.
He was so harsh, most likely out of guilt, afraid I might reveal something he didn’t want others to know.
Just last year, on my birthday, Ethan and I were still inseparable—two lifelong singles who spent nearly every day together.
He had held my hand and made a wish with me.
“Claire, may we share this moment year after year, forevermore.”
That night, drunk and unguarded, he said if we both reached twenty-five without finding someone, we’d go get our marriage license.
I had agreed, looking forward to my twenty-fifth birthday with anticipation.
But when the day came, instead of a surprise, he brought Isabella Moore to my party.
And I was left the fool, still expecting something from him.
Sophie had witnessed the entirety of my feelings for Ethan, and now stood frozen, stunned by his outburst.
Everyone else looked at me nervously, expecting me to lash out in defense of her.
Instead, I took Sophie’s hand and calmly broke the tension:
“Everyone’s mistaken. Ethan and I are just like brother and sister. Now that he’s found me a sister-in-law, I couldn’t be happier.”
I spoke with sincerity, but no one believed me.
I didn’t care to explain further. I had no desire to stay any longer, and I rose to leave.
But Isabella suddenly blocked my way.
“Claire, the party’s still going—how can you just leave? Don’t forget, you’re the guest of honor tonight!”
“Or is it that what everyone just said is true? You and Ethan…”
Her eyes welled with tears as she glanced at Ethan, painting herself the victim.
The alcohol seemed to vanish from Ethan’s system as he shot Sophie a furious glare, then hurriedly pulled Isabella into his arms to comfort her.
And in front of everyone, he scolded me harshly:
“Claire Adams, I arranged this celebration for you, and this is how you repay me—by letting your assistant spout nonsense and upset Isabella?”
“Whatever your intentions, it doesn’t change the fact that I’m going to marry Isabella. Perhaps I was too close to you before and made you misunderstand. From now on, I’ll keep my distance, and I hope you’ll do the same.”
The tenderness in his gaze when he looked at Isabella turned to icy disdain the moment it landed on me.
“Fine.”
My response was sharp and decisive.
That only seemed to anger him more. He demanded Sophie and I drink three glasses each to apologize to Isabella.
He knew very well we were both allergic to alcohol, that we couldn’t drink.
Sophie bristled, ready to lash out, but I stopped her.
I picked up the glass myself, lifted it high, and spoke softly:
“It’s my fault Isabella’s unhappy. I’ll take three drinks as punishment—and as my early blessing for you both. May you have a joyful marriage and a lifetime together.”
I downed the three glasses in one go, then took Sophie’s hand and left.
As I passed Ethan, I whispered:
“I’ll grant your wish and step aside. But keep your woman in check—tell her never to do something as low as planting needles in my dance shoes again.”
Ethan froze, bewildered, but Isabella’s face turned ashen.
She understood. That was enough.
On the way home, Sophie bought me medicine for the allergic reaction, struggling to hold back words.
I knew what she wanted to say, so I spared her the effort:
“Sophie, I was obsessed before.”
“From now on, I’ll never love him again.”
Her eyes filled with tears as she hugged me tightly, crying for the secret love I had never spoken aloud.
In that moment, by all rights, I should have been crying my heart out as well.
But there was nothing left in me to cry.
When Sophie saw my dry eyes and steady expression, she finally believed I had truly let go.
Back home, my father, Richard Adams, had just returned from overseas. He pulled me into a warm embrace.
The moment I felt his familiar arms around me, my tears finally broke free, unstoppable.
