Chapter 1The second before our engagement party—my fiancé bailed—because of ONE CALL.
He was a doctor. I figured it had to be an emergency surgery, so I didn't blame him. I apologized to every guest myself.
When I finally dragged myself home, I saw a picture his ex posted on Instagram.
Under string lights at the pier, Delphine Cross's face was lit up—and he was smiling in a way I'd never seen before.
So I left.
I thought I'd never see him again.
But then, in some hospital hallway in Paris, I looked up... and there he was.
The same man I once loved—beaten down, desperate, voice barely steady.
"Everly, please come home with me."
----
The second before our engagement party—my fiancé bailed—because of ONE CALL.
He was a doctor. I figured it had to be an emergency surgery, so I didn't blame him. I apologized to every guest myself.
When I finally dragged myself home, I saw a picture his ex posted on Instagram.
Under string lights at the pier, Delphine Cross's face was lit up—and he was smiling like she was his whole world.
I had never seen Thorne look so gentle.
Five years ago, when we first met, he was my mother's cardiologist.
He told me Mom's condition was critical. That she might not survive the month.
I broke down right there in his office.
Thorne didn't comfort me. Didn't even hand me a tissue.
I thought he was heartless.
But I was wrong.
When I left to grab food, Thorne would peel fruit for my mom. Fill her water pitcher. Check her vitals.
During night shifts, he'd pass by Mom's room every twenty minutes, glancing through the window.
He even noticed my wrist tendonitis from sleeping in hospital chairs. Left a tube of ointment on the side table without saying a word.
After we got together, nothing changed.
He didn't talk much. But he cared in his own quiet way.
He remembered what I was allergic to. Knew my cycle better than I did. Surprised me with tickets to musicals I'd mentioned once, months before.
So when Raven questioned whether he actually loved me, I defended him instantly.
"Thorne just doesn't do emotions. He might not smile, but he cares."
She shook her head. "Everly, when someone loves you, you see it in their eyes. But Thorne's eyes are empty when he looks at you."
I brushed her off—until I saw that photo today.
Only then did I understand what she meant.
In the picture, Thorne was still wearing the blazer I'd draped over his shoulders when he rushed out of our party.
But his eyes weren't empty anymore.
They were full of something I'd never seen before.
Just not for me.
I turned off my phone, trying to breathe through the crushing weight in my chest.
Thorne didn't come home until dawn.
When he saw me still sitting on the couch, still in my red dress, he froze.
"You've been here all night? Why didn't you change?"
I looked up at him, exhausted. "You left without a word. No calls. Nothing. How was I supposed to sleep?"
Six months ago, there was a massive wildfire in the next county.
Thorne was deployed to help with emergency medical response. He left so suddenly I didn't even get a text.
For a week, I heard nothing. Barely slept until he finally called to say he was safe.
After that, he promised he'd always tell me where he was going.
Now, he couldn't meet my eyes.
"There was an emergency surgery. I didn't have time to call."
The lie was so clumsy it hurt worse than the truth.
But I didn't challenge him. Just nodded.
"Okay. As long as you're safe."
I stood and headed for the stairs.
But the moment I passed him, I caught it.
Vanilla and amber.
A perfume I've NEVER used before.
Chapter 2
After my shower, I replied to an email—a recommendation from my mentor for a visiting artist position at the Sorbonne in Paris.
It was the kind of opportunity that came once in a lifetime.
Back then, I'd picked love over everything else.
But Thorne had thrown it back in my face.
This time, I filled out the application, hit send, and crashed.
When I woke up, it was already dark outside.
Thorne was standing at the mirror, fixing his tie.
He had on that black coat he never wore, and there was this little smile tugging at his mouth.
"Going somewhere?" I asked.
He froze. The smile dropped. "Last-minute thing. College reunion. Didn't get a chance to cook. Got you Thai on the way home. It's in the fridge."
He snatched his keys and walked out.
I just sat there, staring at the door.
By 11 p.m., he still wasn't back.
My phone lit up—another post from Delphine Cross.
"First love gave me a ride home and his car died. Universe really out here playing matchmaker ?"
In the photo, Thorne stood beside his car in that black coat, phone pressed to his ear.
Their college friends were losing it in the comments.
"Sera and Thorne were LEGENDARY. Ten years later and they're back??"
"Remember when he stood outside her place in the pouring rain for HOURS begging her not to leave? That was insane."
"Real ones always circle back."
"True love wins!"
Someone dropped a Reddit link to an old thread about their relationship.
I clicked it. Read every word about Delphine and Thorne's three-year love story.
They'd been rivals first—med school classmates constantly neck-and-neck for top marks.
Somewhere along the way, the rivalry turned into something else.
For four years, they were untouchable.
But after graduation, Delphine took a fellowship overseas.
The day she left, Thorne showed up outside her building and stood in the rain all afternoon, begging her to stay.
She got on the plane anyway.
I couldn't wrap my head around it.
That version of Thorne—desperate, emotional, raw—felt like a completely different person.
I locked my phone, chest aching.
No wonder he never talked about his past.
How do you love someone new when you'd already loved someone like that?
I thought about the way he'd smiled at himself in the mirror, and that old saying came to mind: "If I'm meeting you at four, I'm already smiling at three."
My phone rang.
Caspian Vale. Thorne's best friend.
I picked up. He was wasted, words all over the place.
"Dude, FINALLY! You got Sera back! I knew you'd been holding out for her this whole time—"
The front door opened.
Thorne walked in, kicked off his shoes, and spotted me with the phone.
"Who's that?"
I didn't say anything. Just tapped the speaker button.
Caspian kept going, oblivious. "Come on, man. You never married Everly 'cause you were waiting for Sera to come back. Now she's here. Don't screw it up again. Go get her before someone else does.
"And hey—when you two finally tie the knot, I'm calling dibs on best man. We made that deal years ago, you still remember that, right?!"
When he finished, I looked at Thorne.
Calm. Steady.
"Your buddy was trying to reach you. Guess he hit my number by accident."
Chapter 3
The room went dead silent.
Thorne's jaw tightened. He crossed the room, took the phone from my hand, and hung up.
"He's wasted and talking out of his ass. Ignore him."
"Is he though?" I asked quietly. "Who's Delphine?"
Thorne went still for a few seconds. "Ex from med school. She just transferred to our hospital from overseas. Caspian heard some gossip and ran with it.
"Ancient history. Don't read into it."
I looked down, thinking bitterly: An ex he ditched our engagement party for. An ex he pushed back our wedding for. And he wants me to believe it's ancient history.
Is he lying to me, or to himself?
I didn't say another word. Just walked past him toward my studio.
"Everly?"
I stopped and turned.
"When did we move the wedding to?" he asked.
Almost on autopilot, I gave him the date. "November third."
Then it hit me—that was the day I'd be boarding a plane to Paris.
I opened my mouth but didn't correct myself.
Maybe it was better if Thorne showed up to an empty venue and figured it out himself.
The next morning, when I left the studio, the sun was just coming up.
Thorne had already left for the hospital.
Breakfast was waiting on the kitchen counter with a sticky note beside it.
"Microwave it first."
Five years together, and he'd always been like this.
Thoughtful in all the small ways.
But there was always something missing. Something I couldn't name.
I'd never understood what it was before.
Now I did.
His silence wasn't some deep, brooding personality trait.
It was just that he had nothing to say to me.
All those excuses I'd made for him felt ridiculous now—after he'd abandoned me at our own engagement party to chase after Delphine.
I set the note down.
My phone rang.
It was my agent, Delphine Moreau.
"Everly, you free today? Someone's dead set on buying the centerpiece from your show. Can you swing by?" she said the second I picked up.
I paused.
The centerpiece was the first painting I'd ever done of Thorne—just his back, walking away.
I'd told Delphine before the exhibit that I wouldn't sell that one. Only that one.
But now? Keeping it felt pointless.
"Just sell it," I said. "Actually, sell everything I did of him."
Delphine sounded stunned. "Wait—what? First the wedding gets pushed, now this... Did you two get into it?"
I gave a hollow laugh.
"No. I just finally see it for what it is. The things I thought mattered never did."
At least, I never did. Not to Thorne.
I didn't say that part out loud.
Delphine was quiet for a beat. "Okay. Got it."
After we hung up, the doorbell rang.
Our wedding photos had arrived from the studio.
I opened the box and pulled them out.
Thorne stood there in his black suit, expression cold and flat.
I was in my white dress, beaming, arm looped through his.
Only now did I see it—there wasn't even a hint of a smile on Thorne's face.
He didn't look happy at all.
The irony was brutal.
So this was what it looked like when a man married the wrong woman.
I left the photos in a corner and went back to my studio.
The room was packed with sketches and paintings of Thorne.
A half-finished drawing still sat on the easel.
Every single image felt like a weight pressing down on my chest.
Now I finally got what my professor had warned me about—never paint someone you love.
Because what you think is a portrait of them is really just a reflection of your own heart.
My hands shook as I gathered every drawing I'd made of him.
The last one was from his birthday last year.
I carried the stack out to the backyard and struck a match.
The flames caught the paper, burning away his face and what was left of my heart.
"Goodbye, Thorne," I whispered to the fire, tears slipping down my cheeks.
My phone buzzed. A text from Thorne.
"Emergency surgery. Won't make it home. Eat without me."
I stared at the screen and didn't reply.
Delphine called again, sounding frantic. "Everly, my kid's sick. I have to get to the ER. But the buyer needs the painting tonight.
"Can you drop it off? I'll text you the address."
I looked at the dying fire. "Yeah. I'll handle it."
I put out the ashes, drove to the gallery, grabbed the painting, and headed to the address Delphine sent.
I knocked, the canvas heavy in my arms.
A woman's voice called from inside.
"Thorne, can you grab that? Must be my painting."
I froze.
Before I could move, the door swung open.
Thorne stood there in a henley and jeans.
Not scrubs.
