Chapter 14

I answered the call. ‘Louisa…’ I sounded sheepish, even to myself. I could ghost Rhys with no regrets, but Louisa was a different story. She’d always treated me like family—sometimes more than my actual family did—and I couldn’t bring myself to be cruel to her. If she was calling now, she probably already knew about the split. Either Rhys had miraculously grown a pair and told her, or he’d been his usual cowardly self and she’d sensed something was off. ‘Mira.’ She cleared her throat like she was bracing herself. ‘I know Rhys has been a complete idiot, but you’ve been engaged for two years. The wedding’s next month, sweetheart. This isn’t the time to throw a tantrum.’ So he did tell her. Colour me shocked. Or maybe Catherine was the one who pushed him into it, like she did with everything else. I didn’t want to upset Louisa. I really didn’t. But there were some hills a girl had to die on, and this particular hill had ‘no to marrying a man who drools over his ex’ spray-painted all over it. ‘Louisa, I think you already know what went down between Rhys and Catherine,’ I said, voice as even as I could manage. ‘They’re perfect for each other. Honestly. He’s always had a thing for her. It’s best to let them get on with it.’ ‘Mira, don’t be like this. I know you love Rhys.’ Her voice was soft, almost pleading. ‘I’ll give him a proper talking-to, get him to end things with… with that woman. Sweetie, I know you’re hurting—’ That cracked something in me. Just a little. I swallowed hard, eyes stinging. I’d been braced for Louisa to tear me a new one—for ruining the Granger name, for embarrassing Rhys in front of Skyline City’s upper crust, for not playing my part as the dutiful almost-daughter-in-law. But instead of going full Cruella, she’d said I was hurting. That she understood. And somehow, that made it worse. I let out a long, tired sigh. This wasn’t our first breakup rodeo. Back in the day, whenever Rhys and I hit a rough patch, Louisa would swoop in with homemade cookies and guilt-trips, and I’d melt faster than ice cream at a barbecue. I couldn’t ever stay mad when she looked at me like I was already part of the family. And maybe that’s what made me stick it out with Rhys for so long. I wasn’t just trying to make it work with him—I was trying to honour her. But this time, I’d had enough of bending backwards just to keep everyone else comfortable. ‘Louisa, this isn’t some one-off,’ I said, voice steady even though my heart felt like it was chewing itself apart. ‘Rhys never really let go of Catherine. Not then, and not now. It’s only gotten worse. I’m done pretending I’m okay with it.’ There was a pause. Then her voice came back, thinner, raspier. ‘Marriage isn’t some joke, Mira. I’ve always seen you as my daughter-in-law. I mean that. I’ll talk to Rhys. I will. I’ll make sure he cuts ties with that woman. Please, darling, just give him one more chance. Even if it’s just for me.’ I could visualise her through the phone—perched on her white leather sofa, the one she jokingly claimed was ‘Italian but secretly from IKEA’, hair in its usual glossy helmet, pleading like her entire life hinged on this conversation. And for a second, I wobbled. Just a little. Then I looked up. The apartment was full of half-packed boxes. My jewellery tools were stuffed into a cardboard wine case, and my coat was still hanging off the door like it hadn’t decided whether to stay or bolt. I remembered exactly why I was moving. I remembered my mother threatening Yvaine’s family business just to shove me into a forced engagement, while treating Catherine like the second coming of Beyoncé. And suddenly, I wasn’t wobbly anymore. If I caved now, I’d lose every shred of self-respect I had left. ‘I mean it this time, Louisa,’ I said slowly, each word deliberate. ‘This isn’t a tantrum. It’s not a bluff. I’m not marrying Rhys, I’m sorry.’ There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end. ‘But—but you and Rhys were fine just a few weeks ago. What happened? Are you seriously calling off the wedding?’ Her voice was shaking. ‘I’ve made up my mind. I’m not doing this out of spite, Louisa. It’s not a phase. I’m done.’ ‘Mirabelle!’ she cried, as if saying my full name would magically change my mind. ‘I can’t accept—’ BANG. A deafening crash burst through the phone speaker. I heard metal screaming against metal, the sound of everything going sideways in a split second. ‘Louisa?! What the hell—Louisa?!’ I gripped my phone so hard my hand went numb. There was more chaos—shouting, screeching, static—then the call cut out. My stomach did a nosedive into my boots. ‘Louisa?’ I called again, voice shaking. Nothing. The line was dead. I redialled Louisa—no answer. Tried Rhys—nothing. Even called Clive Granger, Louisa’s husband—voicemail. The silence on the other end wasn’t just eerie. It was wrong. Really bloody wrong. Heart thudding like a drumline on Red Bull, I grabbed my bag and phone and bolted. Smashed my phone against the doorframe on the way out—cue a loud ‘shit!’—then managed to drop my purse on top of it. ‘Damn it!’ I crouched down to scoop everything up, hands shaking like I’d just downed five espressos. The call had ended way too suddenly, too violently. That crash—it didn’t sound like bad signal or a phone dropped on the floor. Was Louisa hurt? Was anyone with her? Had someone called emergency services? My brain spun itself into a meltdown spiral while I tried—and failed—to shove my lip gloss, keys, and everything else back into my bag. I was so caught up in my internal catastrophe I didn’t notice the lift ding or the footsteps approaching. Not until someone knelt in front of me and placed steady hands on my trembling shoulders. ‘What’s wrong?’