"Well, I showed her. A pretty-boy son-in-law who can't do a damn thing around the house? Give me a man who can cook any day."
"And let me make one thing clear—stay away from your aunt from now on. That woman has never had your best interests at heart."
I murmured a few vague agreements, enough to keep her temper from flaring again.
That was when Rhys's message popped up on my screen.
You broke up with me just so you could marry some old man?
Wait—was it the cooking? Irene, your taste gets more "unique" by the day. Congratulations on finding yourself a live-in father figure.
The softest, most guarded place inside me—the part I never let anyone near—was shredded to ribbons.
Rhys was everything. Too good. So good I never felt worthy of standing beside him.
I had clung to every smile he gave me, hoarded every moment of warmth like a beggar counting coins.
But the longer we were together, the more terrified I became.
Between us lay a chasm I could never cross, and it left me no choice but to tear myself away.
Now I couldn't even bring myself to explain. Not a single word.
I deleted his contact immediately.
Because if I replied—even once—I knew I'd never be able to let go.