Chapter 1

The five hundred and twentieth flight touched down. My boyfriend, who had never once picked me up from the airport, was waiting for me.

He stood there holding Blue Moon roses flown in on the same cargo hold. The diamond sat in its velvet box, and the light hit it hard enough to blind me. When he dropped to one knee, everyone around us sucked in a breath.

Ten years together. Five hundred and twenty flights. And this was the first time he'd ever said he wanted to marry me.

I pulled in a breath. Slid the ring onto my finger.

"Hunter, are we really—"

He smiled. Glanced sideways. The corner of his mouth hooked up.

"See? Told you she'd say yes. You bet against me. Hand it over."

I froze.

Behind me, laughter. Ugly. Gleeful.

A pack of trust-fund heirs stepped out of the shadows. Leading them was Quinn—Hunter's former arranged match. She was laughing so hard tears ran down her face.

"I never got how she lasted this long with you. If I had a dog that obedient, I wouldn't kick it to the curb either."

"Heard you actually grew a spine this time. Moved out of the estate. Then Hunter crooked his finger and you came running."

One of them shoved a camera into my face.

"Look at her. She actually thought it was real. She's crying."

"Hunter, I think she's gonna cling to you now. Demand you take responsibility."

Hunter swept a look across them. Silence. He offered an explanation. Rare, for him.

"My grandfather's turning eighty. I hadn't found the right gift."

"Quinn picked up a landscape last week. Grandfather likes that sort of thing. We made a bet."

"You said yes to my proposal. The painting's mine."

A bet.

It was all a fucking bet.

The ring was cold. Loose on my finger. Too big. My knuckles ached from holding everything in.

I looked down at my hand. My fingers were clenched. The joints bone-white. No blood in them.

And then I just… let go.

Metal hit marble. A light, brittle sound.

The clearest thing I'd heard in ten years.

Hunter stopped turning that painting in his hands. His brow pulled tight.

Before, if he frowned, I'd swallow my feelings. Know my place. Stand down.

Not this time.

In the thick silence, Quinn's voice cut through.

"Can't take a joke, then leave. You're making me look like the villain. It was a joke. Is it that serious?"

"Hunter, let's go. Didn't you book the private club for dinner?"

"Why are you all even looking at her? She always comes crawling back."

The first time I heard words like that, I was terrified.

I apologized with cake smeared across my face. Convinced myself I'd overreacted. I had no right to be mad.

Even after I had to cut my hair short. The frosting was too caked in to wash out.

The group brushed past me. I bent down, grabbed my luggage, and walked the other way.

I went back to the estate. Packed up everything I hadn't taken last time. Asked the butler to mail it. Then I sent Hunter a message. It was over.

I looked up. The old butler's face was troubled.

"Miss Aria. You're… not coming back?"

"I can tell Mr. Kensington treats you differently."

"He and Miss Quinn. They only grew up together. Childhood friends. That's all."

He didn't know what happened at the airport. Thought I was still angry about moving out last time.

I wasn't angry. Not anymore.

In ten years with Hunter, Quinn lit the fuse on nearly every fight.

When it got heated, he'd toss out a "think whatever you want" and disappear.

No texts. No calls.

The only way I knew where he was—Quinn's social media.

Every cold war ended with me crawling back. Begging.

Today at the airport was the first time he ever came to me first after a fight. So even with a dead heart, I felt something stir.

Turns out—

I didn't answer his question. "I'll trouble you to handle these."

I walked out. My eyes landed on the swing under the eaves. Crooked planks. So clumsy it was almost funny.

And just like that, tears cut down my face.

He built it for me. The third year.

Hunter was stubborn with words. Never said he liked me. I chased him. I confessed first. All of it was me.

Over time, that hollowed me out.

That period, he vanished all day. No one knew where. I never saw him.

I sat with it alone. Broke down one night.

He was always so cold. But that night, he looked flustered. Rare. He brought me to the estate. Showed me the swing he'd built with his own hands.

Because I'd wait for him by the front gate. Crouch there until my legs went numb. A few days before, I'd stood too fast and fallen hard.

He didn't comfort me. Just said, cold, that I didn't need to wait.

But the woodworking cuts on his hands—those were the first glimpse I ever got of what he almost never showed.

I touched the knot on the right rope.

I'd laughed at him then. Told him the ropes were wrong. Left short, right long. Said I'd fall.

Later, when I wasn't looking, he'd tied another knot. In secret.

The swing sat steady.

The butler wasn't wrong. The Hunter from the beginning—he treated me differently.

But that was before Quinn came back.

My phone buzzed. Hunter had finally replied.

**Whatever.**