Chapter 3

When I ended the call, Ryan was standing in the doorway, his arms crossed. "Who was that? What contracts?"

"That was my cousin," I said, meeting his gaze. "And those were your company's contracts. The ones you're about to lose."

He stared at me, his expression shifting from anger to disbelief. "What the hell are you talking about, Stella? You're going to sabotage my work because you're in a bad mood?"

"This isn't a mood, Ryan. It's a conclusion," I said calmly. "We're done. The wedding is off. I want you to pack your things and leave."

The shock on his face was almost comical. He truly didn't see it coming. For nine years, I had been the understanding one, the one who smoothed things over, the one who accepted his divided loyalties. He never imagined that my patience had a limit.

"You're breaking up with me?" he sputtered. "After nine years? Over a slice of pie and a conversation I had with my dad? Stella, that's insane! You're being completely unreasonable."

"Am I?" I asked, my voice dangerously quiet. "Or have I just finally stopped being a doormat?"

I walked past him to the built-in desk in the corner of the living room, where my laptop was open. I needed to see the numbers, to ground myself in facts, not emotions.

"I want my down payment back," I stated, pulling up the property records. "The house has appreciated by thirty percent since we bought it. I want my initial investment plus my share of the appreciation. That comes to two hundred and sixty thousand dollars."

Ryan scoffed, a harsh, ugly sound. "You're dreaming. I don't have that kind of money."

"Then you'll have to sell the house," I said simply. "You wanted to give it to Nicole, anyway. Now you can give her the proceeds after you pay me what you owe me."

His eyes darted to my laptop screen, trying to find some leverage, some weakness. And then they landed on an open email. It was a baby registry confirmation.

"Wait," he said, his tone shifting abruptly. He took a step closer, his face a mask of sudden, dawning comprehension. "Are you... are you pregnant?"

The email was for my best friend, Clara, who was due in two months. I had just ordered her a gift. But in that moment, I saw the thought process flicker across Ryan's face. The mood swings, the "irrational" anger, the sudden talk of ending things. It all clicked into place for him in the most condescending way possible.

A slow, placating smile spread across his lips. "Oh, baby. Okay, I get it now. It's the hormones. They're making you emotional. We don't have to break up. We're having a baby! This is great news!"

He reached for me, his hands outstretched as if to soothe a hysterical child.

The condescension, the sheer arrogance of him assuming my entire identity and my legitimate anger could be reduced to a hormonal imbalance, was the final, definitive nail in the coffin of our relationship.

I took a step back, my expression turning to ice.

"There is no baby, Ryan," I said, my voice devoid of all warmth. "And even if there were, a child deserves better than a father who thinks so little of its mother. Now get out of my house."

His smile faltered. The reality that I was serious, that this wasn't some hormonal whim, finally began to sink in. His face hardened again, the anger returning full force. "You're making a huge mistake, Stella."

"No," I said, turning away from him. "My mistake was thinking you would ever choose me."