Chapter 25
LYNDA
I felt betrayed, hurt, and deeply humiliated by the man who once gave me hope that we could become more than friends, more than convenient partners.
For two years, I believed in the agreement we made.
A marriage of convenience, he called it.
One year only. Yet I committed myself fully, standing beside him, playing the devoted fiancée for the sake of his image and his company.
I was the one who convinced him to extend the charade.
People had begun to believe in us, and ending it too soon would have raised questions.
His board trusted him. The mayor entrusted him with community development projects.
His company flourished beyond what his late father ever achieved.
He was respected, admired, untouchable. And I was right there beside him, holding his hand for the cameras, whispering encouragement behind closed doors.
Somewhere along the way, comfort blurred into hope.
When I suggested that we explore the possibility of becoming real, he did not say no. He did not object. He stayed silent. I mistook that silence for permission and moved forward with the wedding preparations, believing we were finally on the same page.
I was wrong. He had already been planning to end everything in the cruelest way possible.
For days, I hid inside my house, shutting out the world. My phone buzzed endlessly with messages from friends who had heard whispers of the broken engagement. It was not public yet, but it would be soon. News like that never stayed buried for long.
I never admitted it, not even to myself at first, but I had fallen in love with him.
Back in high school, when he dated Bailey, I hated him.
I hated how my best friend suddenly had less time for me, how she became the girl everyone talked about once their secret relationship was exposed.
Admiration turned into judgment overnight.
And I was left standing in her shadow, watching her life take a turn I could not follow.
I also hated him for what his family represented.
I grew up in a trailer on the outskirts of town.
His father’s company pushed families like mine off the land in the name of development.
We lost our home, then our stability. My father broke under the weight of it all and turned to alcohol.
The Miller name became synonymous with everything that ruined us.
So when Ashton left town for college and left Bailey behind, vulnerable and exposed, I seized the opportunity. I told myself I was protecting her. I told myself she deserved better.
The day she cried in the rain, telling me she thought she was pregnant and that Ashton’s cousin was harassing her, she was already drowning.
The town was whispering. Her family was falling apart.
When she wanted to call Ashton, I stopped her.
I pressed her with fear, with shame, with the weight of rumors she was already suffocating under.
I told her she was too young, that a baby would destroy her life, that abortion was the only solution.
I took her to the clinic myself.
Now I knew she had run away instead and chosen to keep the child. Soon after, Bailey and her mother left town. My plan worked. Their perfect love story collapsed. I lost my best friend, but watching Ashton fall apart filled me with a twisted sense of satisfaction.
Fate, however, was not finished with me.
Three years later, I ran into him in another town. At first, I wanted revenge. I wanted him to be miserable. I wanted him to know Bailey had moved on without regret. He was angry and broken, and I was there to calm his storm. One night of too much alcohol led to a mistake.
I learned him then. His silence, his darkness, the rare moments of gentleness he showed only when he thought no one was watching. I let myself fall deeper until I confessed that I liked him and asked for something real.
That was when he pulled away.
“Ashton, I like you,” I said, staring at the glass in my hands. “A lot more than I planned to.”
He went still.
“Lynda…” he started, then stopped.
“I am not asking for forever,” I rushed on. “Just try. Just be honest with me.”
He exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his face.
“I cannot give you what you want.”
“You did not even ask what I want,” I whispered.
He finally met my eyes, pain flickering there.
“I am broken,” he said. “And I will break you too.”
“I am already here,” I replied. “Does that not count for something?”
He looked away.
And in that moment, I knew I had already lost him.
He became distant, full of excuses. Then he disappeared entirely. Months later, he contacted me only to say he had left town and was not ready for a relationship.
I refused to let him be the end of my story.
I worked. I rebuilt myself. I vowed never to be the girl from the trailer again. When I heard he had returned to our hometown, I knew fate had handed me one last chance, and I vowed not to let him slip through my fingers again.
Until now, everything I built had come crashing down.
*********************
I sat in my car across the street from my ex fiancée’s office, staring at the entrance as if it might give me answers.
I told myself I was only there to talk. To be seen.
To hope he had cooled down enough to look at me without anger.
I would have done anything for us. Even start over as friends, if that was all he was willing to give.
Then the door flew open.
Bailey stormed out of the building, her face tight with fury.
Ashton followed, his long strides closing the distance between them as he called after her.
From across the road, I watched them argue openly, voices sharp, gestures wild.
They looked like quarreling lovers who had forgotten the world existed around them.
Bailey whirled on him, threw something I could not hear, then marched toward her car. She drove off without a second glance, leaving Ashton standing there, hands clenched at his sides, anger written across his face.
My fingers ached before I realized how tightly I was gripping the steering wheel.
My heart bled at the sight of them together. And then it bled again. Because seeing them like this felt painfully familiar, just like high school. Just like before everything fell apart.
No matter how far I ran, no matter how much I built, I was always standing on the outside, watching them belong to each other.