The Ring He Was Putting on My Finger, the Money He Was Sending to Her Chapter 10
Three years later.
At Paris Fashion Week, I wore a red gown of my own design and took home the award for Best Emerging
Designer.
After I came back, I held my first solo exhibition at the city’s main art museum.
Time passed. The crowd in my old circle had completely turned over.
At the occasional cocktail party, I’d hear whispers about the past.
Word was that after Tiffany got kicked out of Riverside, she borrowed a ton from a loan shark to keep up her
rich-girl act.
Now with interest piling up, she’d been forced into hiding in some foreign slum, washing dishes in a kitchen
and living in fear every day.
And Dylan? They saved his life in the ICU.
But he was a ghost now.
He resigned from everything in his company, sold all his shares, and gave the money to charity.
Then he locked himself inside the apartment we used to share, holding onto my old clothes that I’d left
behind, sitting in the dark all night, his face a hollow shell.
The celebration party was on the museum’s rooftop terrace.
Stars in the sky. Beautiful people everywhere.
My boyfriend, Evan Bennett-an architect-came over with a glass of champagne.
He leaned down and gently tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. The gesture was so natural, so sweet.
“Tired? Want to go rest for a bit?” he asked softly.
I smiled at him, my eyes crinkling. “No, I’m really happy tonight.”
And then I felt it. A stare. Heavy and intense.
I followed the feeling and looked over, casually.
In the darkest corner of the party, in the shadows, stood a stooped, skeletal figure.
Dylan wore an old, faded shirt that didn’t fit him anymore.
His hair was gray. His cheeks were sunken. There was nothing left of the powerful man he’d once been.
He was staring at Evan and me, his eyes burning red.
In his hand, he was clutching a crumpled piece of paper-a half-finished design sketch I’d done on a napkin
years ago.
He stood in the shadows, his whole body shaking.
When he saw me look at him, he flinched like he wanted to hide. Then he took a shaky step toward me, forcing himself to move.
If I’d shown even a flicker of surprise or emotion, he might have lunged for me.
But I didn’t.
My gaze swept over him the same way it swept over the potted plants and the decorations.
No disgust. No surprise. Just complete, absolute indifference.
Right then, Evan set down his glass and pulled out a small velvet box.
He dropped to one knee, and as people gasped and clapped around us, he slid a sparkling diamond ring onto
my finger.
“Claire, marry me,” Evan said, looking up at me with stars in his eyes.
I looked down at the ring on my finger and laughed until tears came. “Yes.”
In the shadows, Dylan’s legs gave out completely.
I raised my champagne glass and, from fifty feet away, across three years of time, without any feeling at all, I gave a little toast in the direction of that dark corner.
A toast to a complete stranger.
I took Evan’s arm and turned back toward the bright center of the party.
Behind me, in the unlit shadows that no one was watching, a heavy thud hit the floor.
Dylan clutched his chest and slowly slid down the cold wall.
His mouth opened wide. He gasped and gasped, struggling for air, but not a single sound came out.
On this glittering, noisy, beautiful night, no one paid attention to the miserable man in the corner.
He was left to swallow his lifelong regret alone.
