His First Love or Me—Who Will He Choose? I Refuse Chapter 02
I saw the guests out politely, took care of the venue bill, and dragged myself back to the house we shared.
The smart lock lit up. I scanned my fingerprint.
Same as always.
[Guest Lydia, welcome home.]
A pair of white heels sat by the entryway.
Damp rain spots mottled the white leather.
The air smelled like gardenias.
Fred never liked perfume. I hadn’t worn any for nine years.
Turns out he didn’t hate perfume. He just hated mine.
The master bedroom door was half open.
His voice came through.
“Stop it. Let me grab the ointment.”
Tina’s soft laugh. “You still get so worked up.”
I pushed the door open.
Tina sat on my side of the bed. Her ankle was slightly red.
Fred crouched in front of her, rubbing medicine into her skin.
Our framed photo still sat on the nightstand.
When he saw me, his brow furrowed.
“What are you doing here?”
I shot back. “This is my house. Why can’t I be here?”
Tina jumped up immediately. “Miss Jones, don’t misunderstand. I just twisted my ankle, and Fred…”
“Shut up.”
I cut her off.
Tina’s eyes went red instantly.
Fred’s face darkened. “She’s hurt, Lydia. What’s your problem?”
I pointed at the bed. “So you brought her into our bedroom?”
“The guest room isn’t ready.”
“She can’t walk? No hotels in this city?”
Fred slammed the medicine bottle onto the nightstand.
“She got caught in the rain! This was the closest place. I was just letting her clean up.”
I laughed bitterly. “You let her clean up sitting on our bed?”
His expression got colder. “Haven’t you caused enough trouble tonight?”
“Humiliating me at the engagement party. Now you’re home having a meltdown.”
I looked at him. “Humiliating you?” My voice shook.
“Your phone only recognizes her face. Your house calls her the owner!”
“You walked out of our engagement party with her in your arms. Now you’ve brought her into our bed.”
“Fred, tell me. Who exactly is humiliating the other?”
He was quiet for a second.
“Lydia. There’s nothing going on between Tina and me.”
“Then what am I?”
I stepped closer. “Who am I to you, Fred?”
He didn’t answer.
I asked again.
“Am I your fiancée? Or just a long-term guest in your house?”
Tina wiped her eyes. Fred glanced at her. His voice got harder.
“Don’t make me fight with you tonight.”
There it was — the same old cycle, repeated for nine straight years.
When he didn’t want to explain, he stayed quiet.
When he didn’t want to take responsibility, he said I was making a scene.
When he didn’t want to face the truth, he told me to be like an adult.
I finally said, very softly.
“Okay.”
“No more fighting.”
I walked into the walk-in closet and pulled out my suitcase.
Fred stood at the door, watching me coldly.
“Running away?”
“You’re twenty-nine, Lydia. Don’t pull that little girl act.”
I packed my ID, my bank cards, my laptop.
His voice came from behind me.
“The wedding is in seven days.”
“Walk out if you want. But you’d better be back by then. Don’t be childish about this.”
I zipped my suitcase shut, calm and steady.
“I’m ending this. We’re done.”
