I Was the Bride They Voted Out Chapter 04

I Was the Bride They Voted Out Chapter 04

When I stepped out of the office, I nearly walked straight into the glass door.

If I lost my job, I could always find another one.

But my documents, my contracts, the old metal box my parents left behind—they were still in mine and Ryan’s home.

I had to get them.

As the elevator doors opened, I heard the sound of cardboard boxes scraping across the floor inside.

The living room was full of people.

Olivia Brooks. Rachel Sullivan. And Claire Whitmore in a white dress.

Movers were shoving my clothes into black trash bags.

Olivia held my gray scarf between two fingers with obvious disgust.

My voice came out raw, barely mine.

“Who told you to touch my things?”

Claire turned, eyes red-rimmed.

“Ms. Bennett, don’t misunderstand. Ryan said you’ve been upset lately. I just wanted to help you pack.”

She gently rested her hand on the back of the sofa.

“I’ll be living here from now on. I can’t keep your old things around forever.”

The words hit me like a punch to the chest.

Every lamp, every cup in this place—Ryan and I had picked them out together, piece by piece.

I thought this was home.

Turns out I’d just stayed too long and forgotten the owner could replace me whenever he wanted.

Olivia sneered, tossing the scarf into a box.

“Nina Bennett, you didn’t actually think this was your home, did you?”

“Did you really think we were your family?”

That hit me like a fist. My vision went black for a second.

I was fourteen, standing at my parents’ grave. Same cold.

I remembered standing at my parents’ graves when I was fourteen.

I’d felt that same freezing emptiness.

I grabbed the shoe cabinet, nails nearly digging into the wood.

“Put my things down.”

No one listened.

Rachel frowned.

“Nina, don’t be difficult. Claire’s being kind enough to help you pack.”

Claire suddenly pulled the old tin box from a drawer.

“What about this?”

My pupils shrank. I rushed toward her.

“Don’t touch that!”

Inside were my parents’ photos, their household registration page, and the last birthday card my mother ever wrote me.

Olivia blocked me, sneering.

“They’ve been dead for years. Why keep this unlucky stuff around?”

In the struggle, the box hit the floor.

Photos scattered everywhere.

Someone stepped on my mother’s face.

My mind went blank.

I shoved Olivia aside and dropped to my knees to gather them.

Claire let out a soft gasp, stumbling back against the glass coffee table—a cut opening on her arm.

Footsteps pounded from the entrance.

Ryan burst in. His eyes went straight to her blood.

“Claire!”

He scooped her up, voice shaking.

“Does it hurt?”

I knelt in broken glass and scattered photos, my own fingers sliced open.

Blood dripped onto my parents’ picture.

I looked up at him.

“They’re throwing my things away.”

Ryan glanced at me.

There was nothing in his eyes except disappointment.

“They were just helping you move.”

“Nina, why do you have to push everyone this far?”

I opened my mouth. No sound came out.

Claire buried herself against his chest, trembling.

“Ryan, it’s okay. Ms. Bennett has every right to hate me.”

Ryan held her tighter, then turned to me.

“The internet has gotten completely out of control. I need you to post a statement.”

“Tell everyone we’d already broken up. Say you misunderstood Claire because you lost control of your emotions.”

I laughed suddenly. It hurt my chest.

“You want me to admit I’m the ex who’s been obsessed with you?”

He paused.

“Just for now.”

I picked up each photo, one by one, tucking them back into the box.

My hands were numb with pain. My chest was hollow.

“Fine.”

Everyone froze.

I hugged the box and stood up.

“I’ll move.”

“And I won’t want you anymore.”

Rain poured outside.

The movers stacked my boxes downstairs.

The top one didn’t close properly, and the wind blew it open.

A family photo rolled out, skidding toward the street.

I ran after it.

Ryan instinctively reached for me.

Behind him, Claire suddenly cried out, “Ryan, my arm hurts so much!”

His footsteps faltered.

Just for that one second.

And I suddenly thought—maybe if I’d never met him at fourteen, I’d be better off.

Blinding headlights cut through the rain.

Brakes screamed against the pavement.

I clutched that soaked family photo as my body was hurled into the air.

I thought I heard Ryan scream my name.

“Nina!”