The Ring He Was Putting on My Finger, the Money He Was Sending to Her Chapter 08
I moved into a small studio apartment.
My new life was simple and full. I poured all my energy into my upcoming solo design show.
I tried to block out the gossip from my old circle, but some of it still got through.
I heard that the night I moved out, Tiffany found out and ran straight to a bar.
She wobbled in on her heels, surrounded by her trashy friends, trying to drag a blackout-drunk Dylan out to
claim her spot as the main woman.
“Dylan, stop drinking,” she whispered in his ear. “Claire doesn’t get you. I’m the only one who knows how hard
you worked to get here.”
She tried to put his arm over her shoulder.
The alcohol was pounding in Dylan’s head.
He opened his blurry eyes and looked at the face he’d once wanted so badly-and now only felt disgust for.
Depression? Scared of being alone?
Please. She was just latching onto his success.
And for that pathetic ego and bitterness, he’d burned down the only home he ever had.
Dylan pushed Tiffany away, cold as ice.
He pulled out his phone, right there in front of everyone, and called his assistant.
“Shut down every one of Tiffany Morgan’s authorized user cards,” he said, not even bothering to sound angry. “And send a team to take back Hillcrest Manor. I don’t want her in Riverside by tomorrow.”
Tiffany screamed and collapsed to the floor.
“Dylan! You can’t do this to me! You promised to take care of me!”
“You’re cutting off my lifeline! How am I supposed to survive?”
He didn’t give her another look.
Starting that day, Dylan showed up outside my new office building every day.
He didn’t say anything. He didn’t come close. He just stood there at a distance.
Just stood there. Silent. Motionless.
For days of heavy rainstorms, he didn’t even bring an umbrella.
He stood there in his thin shirt, getting soaked through, shivering.
Rain ran down his nose and blurred his eyes-or maybe that wasn’t just rain.
He thought that punishing himself like this would make me feel sorry for him one more time.
Just like when he waited for me in the rain years ago, and I stayed up all night making him ginger tea.
At dusk, I walked out of the building with my umbrella.
The moment he saw me, his eyes lit up. His purple, frozen lips parted. “Claire…”
I walked right past him, my umbrella straight ahead.
My heels splashed through a puddle, slinging muddy water onto his trousers.
I didn’t glance sideways. I didn’t slow down.
I didn’t even tilt my umbrella toward him.
I walked into the rain and left him there in that muddy day.
