Clementine Azrael's POV
Eight weeks before my wedding, I caught my fiancé cheating in a bridal boutique.
Jarrod had a woman pinned against the fitting platform, kissing her deeply, his mouth moving from the corner of her lips down to her collarbone.
The cruelest part was that she was wearing my wedding dress. The custom gown I had ordered two weeks ago.
Half of the lace skirt had been pushed up. The veil hung crooked, sliding from her hair. That once pure, sacred dress had been ruined into something messy and shameful.
Through the mirror, the woman looked straight at me.
She didn’t panic. Instead, she smiled. “Jarrod,” she asked sweetly, “who looks better in this dress? Me, or your fiancée?”
“You, of course,” he answered without hesitation.
He had no idea I was standing outside the door.
In that moment, my breath stopped. My throat tightened, and my fingertips went cold and numb.
Seven years.
From the days when we squeezed into a tiny studio with no heat and split one sandwich between us, to founding Vanguard Industries and fighting our way to the top of the industry.
So this was what my seven years of love had become.
My heart, and even the wedding dress made just for me, had become a toy for another woman to please him.
My eyes burned. I bit down hard on my lower lip until the taste of blood spread across my tongue. Only then did I force back the sob rising in my chest.
A filthy man.
A filthy promise.
Neither was worth keeping.
I turned and walked away.
“Ms. Azrael? Your fitting room is ready,” the consultant at the front desk called after me.
I didn’t stop.
I walked out of the salon as fast as I could. The autumn wind hit my face, and only then did I realize my legs were weak. My back was soaked through with cold sweat, chilled to the bone.
Once I got into my car, the control I had held onto for so long finally cracked.
I bent over the steering wheel, my shoulders shaking beyond my control. Tears fell silently onto the leather, leaving dark wet marks.
Was I not good enough?
Was I too strong? Too focused on work?
Was that why he had changed?
My phone screen lit up, cutting through my breakdown.
It was a message from my sister, Catherine.
Catherine: Our family won't be attending your wedding to Jarrod. I love you, Clementine, but I won't watch you hand your life to a man who doesn't deserve it.
So everyone had seen it.
Everyone except me.
I was the only one trapped in seven years of obsession, lying to myself.
With shaking fingers, I typed back.
Me: I'm calling it off too.
The typing bubble appeared, disappeared, then appeared again.
After a long pause, Catherine finally replied.
Catherine: Come home to Aldenmoor within a month. If you do, I'll know you mean it. If you stay in that toxic mess, I can't keep watching you destroy yourself.
I stared at the screen as fresh tears blurred the words.
Me: Okay.
One month.
That was enough time to pull myself free.
The garage door of the villa was rising when Jarrod came home.
He wore a black shirt with two buttons casually undone, looking completely calm. As if nothing had happened.
“Going out?” he asked casually.
I didn’t look up.
I didn’t answer.
He bent down to kiss me.
His familiar cedar cologne mixed with a strong, sweet, unfamiliar perfume. Nausea rose in me at once. I turned my head away.
His kiss landed on empty air.
He reached for my waist, his voice soft. “Who upset my girl?”
“The wedding is off.”
I pulled away from him. My voice was so calm it surprised even me.
The tenderness on his face vanished in an instant.
“Clementine, the company is in the middle of a critical funding round. You’re a co-founder. You know how fragile investor confidence is. Do you understand how serious the consequences would be if we cancel the wedding now?”
My heart went colder.
Even now, all he cared about was the company. The money. The benefits.
His tone turned accusing.
“I’ve been on a business trip for days, barely sleeping, and you don’t even ask if I’m tired. You just open your mouth and try to destroy everything we spent seven years building?”
I got out of the car and walked toward the bathroom.
He followed quickly and hugged me from behind. This time, his grip was so tight I couldn’t break free. His voice softened on purpose.
“I’m sorry, baby. I’ve been under too much pressure lately. I neglected you. I’ll clear my schedule for the next few days and spend time with you, okay?”
“No need.”
The moment I said it, his phone rang.
It was a love song that had been popular on TikTok lately.
I remembered the early days of the company, when I had suggested we use matching couple ringtones. He had flatly refused, saying it was childish and would make him look unprofessional when dealing with clients.
So it wasn’t unprofessional.
I just wasn’t worthy.
He glanced down at the screen, then quickly ended the call. For a second, panic flashed across his face.
“Spam call.”
I ignored him.
His phone rang again.
He silenced it.
When it rang for the third time, he finally stepped outside and answered in a low voice.
His tone was gentle.
So gentle it felt like a voice I had never heard before.
A dozen seconds later, he hung up and grabbed his coat.
“There’s an emergency at the office. I’ll sleep there tonight. I’ll have the bridal salon arrange your fitting tomorrow morning. Just go straight there. Don’t wait for me.”
The door clicked shut.
I stood in front of the sink, raised my hand, and wiped the dampness from the corner of my eye.
Then I took out my phone and searched the contact name I had glimpsed.
181 Seconds.
The search result popped up.
Every word cut into me.