Through the peephole, I saw him holding white roses—my favorite, or at least what he thought were my favorite. They had been my favorite when I was twenty-two.
I was twenty-eight now.
He had not noticed I had stopped buying them years ago.
“Lena,” he called softly. “I know you’re inside.”
I opened the door but kept the chain on.
He looked terrible. His expensive coat was wrinkled, and shadows sat under his eyes. For the first time since I had known him, Ethan Blackwood looked like a man whose last name could not save him.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
I waited.
“I should have stopped her,” he continued. “I froze. It happened so fast.”
“She slapped me twice.”
His face tightened.
“I know.”
“She called me a beggar.”
“I know.”
“She threw me out of our engagement party.”
“I know.”
“And you stood there.”
His mouth trembled.
“I was in shock.”
“No,” I said quietly. “You were obedient.”
That struck him harder than anger would have.
He lowered the roses.
“My mother has controlled things my whole life. You don’t understand what she’s like.”
“I understand exactly what she’s like.”
“She’s losing everything,” he said. “My dad may have to sell assets. The company might not survive. She’s humiliated.”
“Good.”
He looked startled by how calm I sounded.
Ethan stepped closer.
“Lena, please. I’ll move out. I’ll cut her off. We can still get married.”
For a second, I almost felt sorry for him.
Almost.
