On the day I was supposed to get engaged to my childhood sweetheart, Clark Davenport, I chose to disappear.
I cut off all contact with him and even had my lawyers seal my trust fund.
Six years later, I was forced to return to the source of my heartache—a place that reeked of sea salt and lies—to handle the sale of my family's Newport estate.
In the estate's empty hall, I stumbled right into Clark's arms.
He grabbed my wrist, his bloodshot eyes staring at me. "Why did you run away?" he demanded, his voice hoarse.
He had grown much thinner, his jawline taut. His eyes held a deep, inescapable gloom, as if the night itself had consumed him.
"Because I didn't want to marry a man I didn't love," I replied, looking him straight in the eye.
He staggered back, as if the ground had vanished from beneath his feet.
"Let go. Is there anything else?" I asked.
He stood frozen, silent. I waited a moment, then strode past him without a backward glance.
I wasn't lying. My love for him had burned to ash in the fire six years ago.
————————
1
Just as I reached the estate's gates, a familiar, powerful hand gripped my wrist again.
Clark had chased after me and now stood before me, eyes bloodshot, his chest heaving.
"Cassidy, we need to talk. I've been out of my mind for the past six years."
"We have nothing to talk about, Mr. Davenport," I cut him off coldly, wrenching my hand from his searing grasp.
His fingers curled in mid-air for a moment before dropping limply to his side.
"Cassidy, how dare you come back?"
Just then, a hostile voice rang out. It was Clark's best friend, Miles Archer, striding toward us from the side of the driveway, his face a mask of fury.
"Don't you think you've hurt Clark enough? Did you hear he's about to marry Ashley and come back just to cause trouble? I'm telling you, swallow that pathetic pride and get the hell out of Newport."
I had no desire to be dragged into this ridiculous drama. I turned to leave.
But Miles, livid, shot out an arm to block my path and gave me a hard shove. My heel caught on the pavement, and I stumbled, crashing to the ground. Sharp pain lanced through my elbow and knee.
An instant later, Clark instinctively took a step forward, his hand outstretched as if to help me up.
His brow was tightly furrowed, his eyes holding a flicker of pain I couldn't decipher.
"Don't touch me." I pushed his hand away and scrambled to my feet, brushing myself off.
Clark's hand hung suspended in mid-air, all the color drained from his face.
"Clark," a delicate voice, as fragile as glass, called from a short distance away.
I looked up to see Ashley Finch approaching from a red sports car.
At the sound of her voice, Clark took a step back, creating an invisible wall between us.
Then, he walked over to Ashley and draped his suit jacket over her slender shoulders.
"You shouldn't be out here. It's windy. Your lungs... you know you have to be careful. You've always been so delicate."
The gesture was so practiced, so easy, it was jarring.
Ashley nestled naturally into his embrace.
"You spoil me too much. The doctor said walking more is better for my health. Besides, I missed you. I want to be with you."
When Ashley's gaze fell on me, a triumphant blush colored her cheeks.
"Oh my god, you're finally back, Cassie," she said, covering her mouth theatrically.
I ignored her performance and raised my phone to call an Uber.
As I opened the car door, Clark called out with a hint of concern, "Cassidy! Where are you going?"
But I didn't look back, slamming the car door shut.
