Chapter 3 3

"Austin?" I repeated, the name tasting like freedom on my tongue. "Are you serious, Bree?"

"Deadly serious," Bree said. "My cousin, Maya. She's cool. Graphic designer, like you. Place is decent, rent's not Savannah-scam level. You could use a change of scenery. And a Rhett-ectomy."

A hysterical laugh bubbled up. A Rhett-ectomy. Perfect. "Yes," I said, the word firm, definite. "Yes, I want to go."

The relief in Bree's voice was palpable. "Good. It's about damn time you put yourself first, Scarlett."

"Maya will be thrilled," Bree continued. "She's been complaining about talking to her cat too much. And who knows, maybe you'll meet a nice, normal guy in Austin. One who doesn't own half the city and have the emotional range of a teaspoon."

A nice, normal guy. The thought was almost revolutionary. After Rhett, "normal" sounded like a dream.

"One step at a time, Bree," I said, but a small smile played on my lips.

"Yeah, yeah. Step one: escape the clutches of the Southern Gothic nightmare you've been living in."

"I'll start packing mentally," I told her.

Hanging up, a sense of purpose settled over me.

Austin. A blank slate. No history, no expectations, no Rhett Beaumont.

I would take this second chance and build a life I actually wanted, not one dictated by a teenage crush or societal pressure.

This time, I'd listen to my own instincts, trust my own strength.

The Scarlett who died in that hospital was gone. The Scarlett standing here now was a survivor, armed with the terrible knowledge of what could have been.

No more being a victim. Time to be the architect of my own life.

A few days later, I was at my small apartment, sorting through my graphic design portfolio, deciding what to take, what to leave behind.

My resignation was already typed up for the small firm I worked at. My father would be disappointed, but he'd get over it.

A knock on the door made me jump.

I wasn't expecting anyone.

I opened it to find Rhett Beaumont standing there, looking impossibly handsome and entirely unwelcome.

My stomach clenched. "Rhett. What are you doing here?"

His eyes scanned my face, a flicker of something I couldn't identify in their depths. Concern? Suspicion?

He filled my doorway, a dark, imposing figure against the bright afternoon light.

"I came to see you, Scarlett." His voice was smooth, a carefully constructed melody. "You've been... distant. Since the gala."

He stepped inside, uninvited, his presence immediately shrinking my small living room.

"You pushed me towards Caroline that night," he continued, his gaze sharp. "An interesting tactic. What was that about?"

"Tactic?" I feigned innocence. "I just thought you two should talk. It's obvious you still care about each other."

He took another step closer. I stood my ground, refusing to be intimidated. Not anymore.

"Don't play games with me, Scarlett."

"No games, Rhett," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. "I genuinely think you and Caroline are good together. And frankly, I'm... not interested. In you. Anymore."

The words hung in the air. It felt good to say them. Liberating.

His eyebrows shot up. A flicker of disbelief, then something harder, crossed his face.

He was used to women fawning over him, not dismissing him. Especially not me, his quiet, adoring shadow for years.

"Not interested?" He almost scoffed. "After all these years?"

"People change, Rhett," I said quietly. "Feelings change."

He let out a short, humorless laugh. "Oh, I see. This is one of those 'treat 'em mean, keep 'em keen' things, isn't it? You think playing hard to get will finally make me chase you?"

His arrogance was astounding. The sheer, narcissistic conviction that my entire world still revolved around him.

"You're trying to make me jealous by pushing me towards Caroline, aren't you? It's a bold move, Scarlett, I'll give you that. But a little transparent."

My temper, usually so placid, flared. "You really think everything is about you, don't you?"

I stalked over to a bookshelf, pulled down a small, velvet-lined box.

Inside were all the silly mementos of my Rhett obsession: a dried corsage from a dance he'd chaperoned, a napkin with his carelessly scribbled initials, a blurry photo of him at a charity fun-run.

I strode to the kitchen, Rhett watching me with a perplexed frown.

I opened the trash can and dumped the entire box inside. The items clattered softly against the plastic liner.

"Does that look like a tactic, Rhett?" I asked, my voice tight.

It was a small act, but it felt monumental. A literal discarding of my foolish past.

The cheap glitter on the corsage mocked me from the bin.

Rhett stared at the trash can, then back at me, his expression unreadable.

He finally shook his head, a condescending smile playing on his lips.

"Cute, Scarlett. Very dramatic. You always were a romantic."

He still didn't believe me. Or refused to. His ego wouldn't allow it.

"You can throw away a few trinkets," he said, his voice low and patronizing. "But you can't throw away years of devotion that easily."

His blindness was infuriating. His utter conviction in his own irresistibility.

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to remain calm. Arguing with him was like arguing with a brick wall.

"Believe what you want, Rhett," I said, my voice even. "But I'm moving on with my life. A life that doesn't include you. Or your drama with Caroline. Or anything to do with you, period."

I walked to the door and opened it pointedly. "I'm busy packing. So if you don't mind..."

He stood there for a long moment, his eyes searching mine, perhaps finally seeing a hint of the steel that my ordeal had forged within me.

Then, with a curt nod, he turned and left.

I closed the door, leaning against it, my legs suddenly weak. But I had done it. I had faced him, and I hadn't backed down.