Chapter 8

Graham shoved the umbrella into my hand, a frantic gesture, before spinning on his heel and sprinting towards his car. He didn' t wait for my response, didn' t glance back. The black car roared to life, tires squealing as it sped away, disappearing into the rainy London street.

I stood there, alone, the umbrella useless in my numb hand, the cold rain plastering my hair to my face. The weight of the engagement ring in my pocket felt heavier than ever, a cruel joke. I started walking, the rain soaking through my clothes, chilling me to the bone. Each step was a leaden dragging, my heart a hollow echo in my chest.

Suddenly, a shadow loomed beside me. A hand clamped over my mouth, another yanked my bag. I choked, terror seizing me. Instinctively, my trembling fingers fumbled for the quick-dial button on my phone, programmed for emergencies. It was supposed to be 999. But in my panic, my thumb slipped.

It dialed Graham.

Through the muffled terror, I heard his voice, harsh and impatient. "Katelyn, what is it now? I told you I'm busy! I'm on my way to-"

"Graham!" I screamed, my voice raw with terror, the mugger' s hand still clamped over my mouth. "Help me!"

A rough hand ripped the phone from my grasp, sending it clattering to the wet pavement. A searing pain exploded across my cheek as a brutal slap sent me sprawling to the ground. My ears rang, a high-pitched whine that drowned out the world. I lay there, dazed, tasting blood.

Then, a hand gripped my hair, yanking my head back, excruciatingly. "Walk, bitch!" a guttural voice snarled. I was dragged across the wet pavement, my body scraping against the rough concrete. The mugger was trying to pull me into a dark alley, a gaping maw of shadows and unknown horrors.

I kicked, I screamed, I clawed at the hand in my hair, but it was useless. He was too strong. Despair, cold and absolute, washed over me. I closed my eyes, bracing for the inevitable.

Then, a chorus of shouts. "Hey! Leave her alone!"

A group of students, their voices loud and fearless, emerged from the rain-swept darkness. The mugger hesitated, then cursed, shoving me violently to the ground. He snatched my bag and sprinted away, disappearing into the maze of alleys.

The students rushed to my side, their faces filled with concern. "Are you okay? Did he hurt you?" A kind voice, soft and worried.

The dam broke. My body trembled uncontrollably. I lunged forward, clutching onto the nearest student, burying my face in their shoulder, sobbing violently. The terror, the humiliation, the profound betrayal – it all erupted, a torrent of raw grief.

He hung up on me. He was with her. He let this happen. The thought sliced through my mind, clear and sharp through the haze of tears. The Graham I loved, the one who would protect me, was truly gone. He was a phantom, a figment of my imagination. My love for him, painstakingly built, had finally died, suffocated by his indifference.

The students helped me back to the hotel. After another long, hot shower, I started packing my bag. My movements were calm, deliberate. I wasn' t leaving London for Berlin anymore. I was leaving London for good.

As I carefully folded my clothes, my hand brushed against something hard in my pocket. The velvet box. The engagement ring. I pulled it out, staring at the glittering diamond, the symbol of a future that would never be. A twisted, bitter smile touched my lips. Some things, I realized, were simply not meant to be carried forward. This ring, this ghost of a promise, belonged here, in the ashes of our broken love. A sharp pang of loss, raw and unexpected. But this time, it was for the person I thought he was, not for the man he truly was.

I placed the ring carefully on the bedside table. I wouldn't need it.

I walked to the front desk, my heart surprisingly light. "I'd like to check out, please," I said, my voice clear and steady.

The kind night clerk from before smiled softly. "Leaving us so soon? Here, have a coffee for the road. Safe travels."

"Thank you," I replied, a genuine smile gracing my lips. "And you, too."

I turned, leaving the hotel, leaving London, leaving Graham behind. Forever.

Graham Ellison POV:

"Damn it, Britney, I'm trying to leave!" I snapped, pulling my arm away from her. We were in front of her apartment, the cold air stinging my face. She had her usual helpless look, feigning a shiver.

"But Graham," she whined, clutching her thin sweater, "it's freezing! Don't you want to come inside for a bit? I'm so lonely tonight."

I hesitated. A flicker of guilt, a familiar pull towards her manufactured vulnerability. But Katelyn's distressed scream on the phone echoed in my mind. Something was wrong.

Just then, my phone buzzed violently. A news alert. My eyes quickly scanned the headline: "Mugging attempt in London's West End, young woman assaulted." Below it, a grainy, shaky video. A familiar figure, struggling. My blood ran cold.

I zoomed in, my heart hammering. The hair. The jacket I' d given her. It was Katelyn. My Katelyn. My stomach dropped. I remembered her frantic call, her scream. My dismissive tone. "I'm busy!" I had said. I was busy comforting Britney.

A cold sweat broke out on my forehead. My hands began to tremble. No. No, it couldn't be. This wasn't real.

I immediately called her. The phone rang once, twice. Then, a chilling, automated voice informed me: "We are sorry. The number you have dialed is not in service. Please check the number and dial again."

Not in service. My world went silent. The words slammed into me, knocking the air from my lungs. It couldn't be. Katelyn. Gone.