Chapter 3

Haven Holden POV:

Bree' s expression was one of pure, theatrical surprise, but her eyes held a glint of cruel amusement. She was enjoying this. She was expecting a scene, a repeat of the countless times I had broken down in the past, my composure shattering at the sight of her and Ewing together.

I thought of all the moments he had chosen her over me. My college graduation, which he missed because Bree needed a ride to the airport. Our fifth anniversary, which he cut short because Bree had a fight with her on-again, off-again boyfriend. The countless nights I had lain awake, waiting for him to come home from "cheering her up."

Each time, I had confronted him. My voice would rise, thick with tears and accusations. "Why is she always more important than me? Do you even love me, Ewing?"

And he would always respond with the same cool, detached patience. "Don' t be ridiculous, Haven. She' s my best friend. You' re being insecure."

He made me feel like I was the crazy one, the demanding one. And I, desperate for his love, had always, eventually, backed down.

Looking at them now, in this restaurant he had refused to bring me to, a cold realization washed over me. He didn' t want to come here with me because this was their place. A place he was saving for her.

My pain was invisible to him because he simply didn' t care enough to see it. And my hysterics only served as entertainment for Bree.

Not this time.

I took a deep breath, stood up, and walked over to their table. A placid smile was fixed on my face.

"Hi," I said, my voice light and pleasant. "Looks like you' re having a great time. Did you want me to take a picture for you both?"

Ewing froze, a piece of shrimp halfway to his mouth. The color drained from his face, his embarrassment quickly morphing into a flash of anger. He looked cornered, like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Haven? What the hell are you doing here?" he hissed, his voice low and furious. "Are you following me? This is exactly what I' m talking about. You' re so suffocating."

He slammed his chopsticks down on the table. "Is this why you sent that ridiculous text? To guilt-trip me? I can' t even have a meal with a friend without you making a scene. No wonder I need space."

The sheer hypocrisy of his words was breathtaking. He was the one who abandoned our Thanksgiving for this "friend." He was the one sitting in a romantic booth, sharing food in the most intimate way possible. And I was the one making a scene?

"I' m just here to eat dinner, Ewing," I said, my voice still calm. The steadiness of it seemed to unnerve him more than any shouting would have.

"And we are broken up. Remember? What you do, and who you do it with, is none of my business."

Bree' s perfectly made-up face registered a flicker of surprise. This was not the reaction she had anticipated. She quickly recovered, pasting on a concerned expression.

"Haven, don' t say that," she cooed, her voice dripping with false sympathy. "You' re just upset. Ewing was just keeping me company because I wasn' t feeling well. He was worried about you the whole time."

It was the same manipulative, saccharine performance she always gave. The damsel in distress who just happened to need my boyfriend' s constant attention. I used to agonize over her words, trying to decipher their hidden meaning. Now, they just sounded pathetic.

I ignored her completely. My business was with Ewing, and that business was finished.

"Enjoy your meal," I said, turning away from them. I walked to an empty table across the room and sat down, my back to them.

In the past, I would have stormed out, blinded by tears. I would have spent the night replaying the scene in my head, dissecting every word, every look, torturing myself. But tonight was different. I wasn' t in the wrong. I just wanted to eat my damn dinner.

The waiter came, and I ordered with a newfound sense of freedom, choosing all the dishes I truly loved without a thought for anyone else' s preferences. The food arrived, and it was glorious. Spicy, flavorful, and all mine. I savored every bite, a small, genuine smile on my face. I had denied myself so much for so long. No more.

As I ate, their conversation drifted over to me.

"She' s never been like this before," Bree said, her voice a stage whisper. "You' re not very good at handling her anymore, Ewing."

I could imagine the pout on her face, the subtle challenge in her tone.

"When you used to come to me, upset about some girl who had a crush on you," she continued, her voice laced with nostalgia, "you would just buy her a little gift, say a few nice words, and she' d be happy again. You' ve lost your touch."

There was a long pause. I held my breath, waiting for Ewing' s defense.

"She' s not them," he said finally, his voice low and tight. "You can' t compare Haven to them."

A fork clattered against my plate. The spicy chili sauce suddenly felt like fire on my tongue, and my eyes began to water. I quickly took a sip of water, trying to swallow the lump that had formed in my throat.

Seven years. Seven years of devotion, of sacrifice, of unconditional love, and all it earned me was that. A backhanded compliment that still placed me leagues below her.

I had spent so much of our relationship wondering what was wrong with me. Why wasn' t I enough? Was I not pretty enough, not smart enough, not interesting enough? I tried so hard to be the perfect girlfriend, hoping that one day he would finally see me, truly see me, and choose me without reservation.

Now I knew. It was never about me. It was never my fault.

His heart had been given away long before I ever came into the picture. I was just trying to fill a space that was never meant for me.

The realization was a bitter pill, but it was also liberating. The addiction I had to his approval, the constant craving for his affection-it was over.

I was finally free.