“You scratched me last night when you turned over,” she said lightly. “I need to get back at you for that.”
She turned, reaching out to tickle me, like she always did when things got tense. However, when I didn’t react, didn’t even crack a smile, she hesitated. Her hands dropped, her expression faltering for just a second before she forced a laugh.
I stared at her, realizing—maybe for the first time—what it felt like to be toyed with, to be on the other side of someone else’s game.
She turned and walked out the door, her steps quick, as if she couldn’t leave fast enough. I let her go. Didn’t stop her. Didn’t call her name, I just packed my bags.
By the time I walked out, I left behind everything that belonged to the Nash Family. And then, I boarded a plane alone.
Before I even landed, my mother, who never missed a chance for drama, had already contacted the press. She wanted the world to know.
Meanwhile, Yvonne was leaving the office when she found herself swarmed by reporters. “Sorry, I don’t do interviews,” she said smoothly, trying to brush past them.
But they didn’t back down. “Miss Nash, what do you think about your fiancé’s wedding?”
Yvonne froze mid-step. For the first time, her composure cracked. She turned around so fast that the reporters barely had time to react, her face suddenly pale. “What did you just say?”
