Chapter 3

Liam's words hung in the air, thick and ugly. "If you refuse, you can crawl out of here," he added, his voice low enough that only I could hear.

I looked at him, at the cruel smirk on his handsome face. I looked at his friends, watching me with hungry, mocking eyes. Then I looked at the piano.

Without a word, I walked over to it. I sat down on the polished bench, my back straight. The low chatter in the restaurant died down as people turned to watch.

I placed my fingers on the keys. And I began to play.

It was "Für Elise." A simple, beautiful piece. The first song Liam had ever taught me, back when we were teenagers and I still believed he had a heart. I' d spent weeks practicing it, just to see the rare, fleeting smile of approval on his face.

The notes filled the room, each one a memory, each one a nail in the coffin of the girl I used to be. I played it perfectly, flawlessly, with a cold, mechanical precision that stripped the song of all its warmth. When I finished, there was a moment of stunned silence, then scattered, polite applause.

I stood up, not looking at Liam, and walked toward the exit.

Before I could reach the door, he grabbed my arm. His grip was like iron. "Where do you think you're going?" he hissed.

He didn't wait for an answer. He dragged me out of the restaurant, ignoring the stares of the other patrons. He pushed me into his car and drove, fast and reckless, to his penthouse.

The apartment was exactly as I remembered leaving it. Filled with my things. My favorite throw blanket on the couch. My collection of art books on the coffee table. The scent of the vanilla candles I loved. Every touch was mine, a testament to years of one-sided devotion. It made me sick to my stomach.

He shoved me inside and slammed the door. "Take your bag," he ordered curtly, pointing to the designer purse I'd told him to throw away. It was sitting on the entry table. Then he turned and went to take a shower, as if I wasn't even there.

While the water was running, I worked quickly. I grabbed the purse. Then I went through the apartment, my movements swift and efficient. I gathered every single thing that belonged to me. My clothes from the closet, my toiletries from the bathroom, the spare key I kept in a drawer. I even took the stupid framed photo of us from the bedside table, the one where he was barely smiling and I was looking at him with adoration.

I packed it all into a couple of tote bags I found in the hall closet. When he came out of the shower, a towel slung low on his hips, I was standing by the door, ready to leave.

He froze, seeing the bags at my feet. "Scarlett, what are you doing?"

I met him at the elevator. He blocked my way, his wet hair dripping onto his broad shoulders.

"I'm leaving," I said simply.

"You're making a scene," he bit out, his eyes flashing.

"No, I'm just taking my things. You said to take my bag, so I did. Along with everything else."

He let out a short, sarcastic laugh. "You know how ridiculous you look? Being so stubborn?"

I just looked at him, my expression blank.

"I used to be naive," I said, my voice quiet but clear. "I was always bothering you. But I've had a lot of time to think these past few days. And I've realized that we're not..."

His phone started ringing, cutting me off. The ringtone was a specific one he used only for her. Bethany.

He glanced at the screen, and for the first time, he hesitated. He didn't answer it. Instead, he leaned in closer to me, his voice dropping to an intense whisper. "We're not what? Scarlett, keep talking."

His sudden interest was jarring. It was a game to him. He was enjoying my distress.

I took a small step back, putting distance between us. "You should answer that," I said gently. "Bethany's new to the country. I'm sure she's lonely and needs company."

His eyes searched my face for a moment, looking for a crack in my composure. Finding none, he finally turned away and answered the phone, his voice instantly softening.

"Hey, Bethany... sorry, I've been busy... No, don't cry. You know that breaks my heart."

I watched him walk away, talking in low, soothing tones into the phone. He didn't look back. I pressed the elevator button and left.

Two days later, the O'Connell and Hayes families gathered at the most exclusive private club in the city. The purpose of the dinner was to finally set a wedding date for Liam and me. It was what our families, especially his grandmother, had wanted for years.

I arrived early with my parents. I was laughing and joking with my father at the door to the private dining room, and one of the Hayes family uncles teased me. "Look at Scarlett, can't wait to see Liam, can you?"

I just smiled.

A few minutes later, Liam arrived. And he wasn't alone.

Bethany Miller was clinging to his arm, looking fragile and beautiful in a white dress.

The room fell silent.

Liam led Bethany straight to his grandmother, the matriarch of the Hayes family. They both knelt down in front of her chair.

"Grandma," Liam said, his voice clear and steady. "I've proposed to Bethany. We're getting married."

The room erupted in shocked gasps. My mother gripped my hand, her knuckles white.

Bethany started to cry, her shoulders shaking. She looked up, her tear-filled eyes finding mine across the room. "Scarlett," she sobbed, her voice full of fake vulnerability. "I know I promised I would stay away from Liam. I know I hurt you. But I can't control my feelings. For Liam... for love... I have to be brave today."

I watched her performance, the way she clung to Liam, the picture of a timid girl forced into a difficult situation. But I saw something else. In the brief moment her eyes met mine, I saw a flicker of triumph, a sharp, knowing glint.

It was a look I recognized. A look of someone who knew more than she should.

In that instant, I knew. She was reborn, too.

Grandma Hayes slammed her hand on the table, her face red with anger. "Liam! Have you lost your mind? After everything this woman did..."

She was about to expose Bethany's past, all the lies and manipulations. But I couldn't let that happen. Not now.