Cayla Cherry POV:
I pulled the IV needle from my arm, a sharp, cleansing pain. I was done with hospitals, done with waiting. Done with him. I dressed quickly in the clothes I' d arrived in, each button a definitive closure.
When I got back to the apartment, the air still hung heavy with the scent of his cologne and her faint floral perfume. I walked straight to his laptop. He' d closed it, but the recent activity log was damning. A new chat window was open, a frantic exchange between him and Kallie. Her messages were a desperate torrent. "You have to choose, Griff! It's me or her!" He hadn't replied to her last five messages. Read receipts were on.
My heart hammered. He was finally seeing her for what she was, I thought, a flicker of something close to triumph mixed with the bitter dregs of my pain.
Just then, his key turned in the lock. He walked in, his face drawn, looking like he hadn' t slept. He spotted me immediately, standing by the laptop. His eyes darted from me to the screen, then back to me. A slow, agonizing flush crept up his neck.
"You're awake," he said, his voice flat. "Did you… did you see?"
"See what, Griffith?" My voice was calm, too calm. "That Kallie gave you an ultimatum? Or that you're about to propose to me, so casually, like it's a doctor's appointment?"
He flinched. "I was going to. Tonight." His eyes pleaded for understanding, but I saw no remorse, no genuine love. Just a man cornered.
He walked over to the dining table, pulled out a small velvet box from his pocket. He didn't kneel. He didn't even look at me. He just opened it, revealing a diamond ring that gleamed mockingly under the harsh kitchen light. "Marry me, Cayla. We'll get married. Soon. Next month."
My stomach lurched. Was this it? The grand gesture, devoid of any genuine feeling? "Next month?" I echoed. "And what, after that, we'll start trying for a baby? Is that the timeline you've mapped out for our lives, now that Kallie is causing you trouble?"
His jaw tightened. "We've been together ten years, Cayla. It's time. My parents are asking. We're not getting any younger." He spoke of it like a chore, a box to be checked off.
A cold rage, unlike anything I' d ever felt, began to burn inside me. My hands clenched into fists. "Time? Parents? Is that why you want to marry me, Griffith? Because it's 'time'? Where's the romance? Where's the proposal I dreamed of, the one where you actually want to marry me?"
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I don't have time for grand gestures, Cayla. You know how busy I am. It's unnecessary. We know how we feel about each other."
Unnecessary. The word echoed in my mind. Unnecessary for me, but not for Kallie, was it? I remembered the expensive gifts he' d bought her, the late-night drives to pick her up, the carefully chosen pet name. All the romantic flourishes he refused to give me, he lavished on her.
He pulled out his wallet, extracting a stack of crisp hundred-dollar bills, then several credit cards. He laid them on the table next to the ring. "This is a down payment for the new apartment. And this is for your wedding dress, your honeymoon, whatever you want. Just tell me what kind of wedding you want, and I'll make it happen. Is that enough?"
I stared at the money, then at the ring, then at his impassive face. He looked like a stranger. This wasn't the man I loved. This wasn't the man I'd spent ten years with. This was a hollow shell, offering me money and obligation instead of love.
I thought about the countless nights he'd spent patiently explaining his architectural designs to me, his eyes alight with passion. I thought about the first time he told me he loved me, his voice trembling with sincerity. Where was that man? What had happened to him?
Had I been so focused on my career, on proving myself, that I'd let him slip away? Had he felt neglected, unappreciated? Was this all my fault? I searched desperately for a reason, a justification for his betrayal that would somehow make me less broken. No. My ambition didn't excuse his deceit.
"Griffith," I said, my voice dangerously soft. "Do you still love me?"
He hesitated. A long, agonizing pause. He looked away, then back at me, his eyes clouded. "Of course, Cayla. You're... you're my life." The words were rehearsed, devoid of warmth. His gaze still flickered, a tell-tale sign I now recognized as a lie.
"No, you don't," I whispered, the realization a fresh stab wound. "You don't love me. And it hurts, Griffith. It hurts more than anything." Tears welled in my eyes, not of sadness, but of a profound, shattering clarity.
"Don't be dramatic, Cayla," he snapped, his patience wearing thin. "You're always so emotional. Just accept the ring. Let's move on."
Something inside me snapped. I pushed him, hard. "Move on?! You think this is moving on?! You think I'm some prize to be claimed, a duty to be fulfilled?!"
My voice rose, raw and trembling. "I'm not marrying you, Griffith. Not like this. Not ever."
