Maybe because a tiny, traitorous part of me wanted him to show up anyway. To argue and ask me to stay. Even when I told him not to.
But Worth Miller is nothing if not a man of his word. I asked to end the deal, and he’s… ending it.
I still remember exactly where I was sitting when the world tilted.
Nadine’s terrace was glowing in candlelight, the ocean was humming behind us, Bri was stealing roasted potatoes off my plate, and I was thinking,Okay. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I can do this.Then I got a text from Seraya saying, “Oh my God, is this real?”
My name. My face.Broke gold digger.Business arrangement.Custody ploy.
I saw Worth get up right before, phone to his ear, jaw tight. I knew something was wrong.
I didn’t even read the whole thing. I didn’t need to. The headline alone felt like someone cracked my rib cage open and poured salt straight into my insecurities.
I ran.
I ran choking on a sob, half blind from tears, Amira calling my name. I shoved clothes into my carry-on, grabbed my laptop, and booked the next flight out of Nantucket.
Worth called and called. But I couldn’t answer.
Not because I didn’t want to, but because if I had heard his voice, I would’ve stayed. And I couldn’t stay. Not with his whole family looking at me like I was a fraud.
When I landed in Seattle, I drove straight to my parents’ house, mascara streaking down my cheeks, hair in a sad bun, eyes swollen. My mom opened the door, and I broke. Knees-gave-out, ugly-sobbing broke.
She dragged me to the couch, wrapped me in a blanket, and made tea I didn’t drink.
“Tell me,” she said.
So I did. All of it. The fake marriage. The deal. The custody battle for Brianna. The way I fell in love with a man I wasn’tsupposed to. The article and the shame. The fear that everyone would think I was exactly what they wrote. Thathewould, too, even if he said he didn’t.
Mom listened to the whole thing without interrupting. Then she did what she always does and pulled my grief up to the light.
“You’re doing the same thing you’ve been doing since your father died,” she said quietly. “You’re leaving before you can be left.”
I wiped at my face. “That’s not it.”
She gave methatlook. “Mya.”
“What was I supposed to do?” I snapped, the humiliation still raw. “Stand there while his whole family looked at me like I used their son? Let the Internet call me a gold digger? LetBriannasee that?”
“She saw you run, though, sweetheart,” Mom said.
And that hurt worse than the article.
She smoothed my hair back. “This man didn’t leave you. You left him because you wanted control over the ending.”
“You don’t understand,” I whispered. “It started off fake.”
“Lots of things start one way and become another,” she said. “That doesn’t make them less real.”
I cried for hours. Since Dad died, I haven’t cried like that—full-body, hiccuping, throat-burning crying. My mom just held me tighter.
We watched the sun come up. By morning, I’d decided on two things: 1) I wasn’t going to hide, and 2) I wasn’t going to stay in a marriage that started with a lie—even if somewhere along the way the lie turned into everything I wanted.
I sent Worth a text asking to start annulment proceedings that same day.
Now, I’m at my desk, weeks later, acting like my insides aren’t shredded.
Which is why I asked Griffin to put me on the new Paris project W.H.M. acquired. I leave in two weeks—perfect timing. I get to disappear for a few months, pour myself into work, be an ocean away from the drama and from the man I love but can’t choose yet. Paris can be my reset button.