Ella Rosales's POV:
I returned to the apartment, and the silence felt heavier than usual.
My eyes involuntarily fell on a garment bag hanging in the closet. Inside, my wedding dress was carefully preserved.
I had bought it a year ago, a simple yet elegant ivory gown.
The dress was custom-made and non-refundable.
I unzipped the bag, took the dress out, and laid it on the bed.
I grabbed a pair of scissors from the drawer and started cutting. First the delicate straps, then the bodice, the lace, and the flowing skirt.
I only packed a few personal items—my laptop, passport, and a small duffel of clothes.
Everything else—the furniture, the art, and all the expensive gifts Holden had given me over the years—I left behind. I didn't want to leave any lingering attachments.
The note I left was brief, simply stating he could do whatever he wanted with the apartment and everything in it. It was all his.
I booked a red-eye flight to Los Angeles.
My best friend, Carly Koch, had moved there after getting married a year ago. She was my rock, my fiercely loyal and brutally honest confidante. I needed her.
