Chapter 1

This was the seventh time, Sarah Miller counted, the seventh time Ethan Bishop had dangled a future in front of her, only to snatch it away.

Seven times he'd talked about Napa weddings, picket fences, or at least a goddamn lease with both their names on it, and seven times Olivia Hayes had wafted back into San Francisco, a ghost in expensive perfume, and Ethan would suddenly need "space" or declare it was "bad timing."

Her parents, a retired history teacher and a nurse, had stopped asking about Ethan after the fourth implosion, their worried glances saying more than words ever could.

They just wanted their daughter happy, not perpetually waiting for a man who treated her heart like a revolving door for his ego.

This time, it was supposed to be different, he'd sworn it, his hand over hers at their favorite Italian place, "Once this funding round with Olivia's firm closes, Sarah, we're getting that little house in Mill Valley, I promise."

The promise felt as thin as the cheap napkin he'd scribbled his latest startup idea on.

Olivia Hayes, the venture capitalist, Ethan's college "one that got away," was considering a major strategic partnership with his perpetually "next big thing" tech company.

It was the biggest carrot Olivia had ever dangled.

So, when Ethan came home buzzing about a "critical pre-meeting dinner" with Olivia, Sarah didn't scream, she didn't cry, not like the other times.

She simply went to the hall closet and pulled out a dusty cardboard box.

Inside, she'd already packed every gift, every letter, every stupid, hopeful trinket from their years together.

She placed it at his feet.

"What's this?" Ethan asked, his smile faltering, genuinely surprised by her silence, her lack of tears.

He was used to a fight, to her pleading.

"It's yours," Sarah said, her voice flat, devoid of the usual tremor.

"I'm done, Ethan."

He blinked, then gave a short, almost condescending laugh, "Okay, Sarah, dramatic much?"

"We'll talk after this Olivia deal closes, alright?"

"Don't be like this."

He clearly thought this was just another bid for attention, another storm he could weather with a few well-chosen apologies later.

He picked up his briefcase, "Gotta run, Olivia's waiting."

He didn't even look at the box again.

Sarah remembered the third breakup, the tech conference in Vegas.

Ethan had just secured a small seed investment, not from Olivia, but from a firm that knew her.

He'd been so proud, preening.

Then Olivia had shown up, unannounced, at the conference.

Sarah had tried to talk to her, woman to woman, just to understand.

Olivia had looked her up and down, a small, pitying smile on her face, and said, "Oh, you're Ethan's... current enthusiasm."

Ethan had appeared then, seen the tension, and instead of defending Sarah, he'd pulled Olivia away, murmuring apologies about Sarah being "a little overwhelmed" and "not used to this world."

He'd told Sarah later she'd almost "ruined everything" by making Olivia "uncomfortable."

The humiliation had burned for months, a public stripping of her dignity while Ethan prioritized Olivia's professional comfort.

That memory, and six others like it, were why the box was already packed.