My Fiancé Took Her on Vacation Instead of Marrying Me? I Married WAY Better Chapter 03

My Fiancé Took Her on Vacation Instead of Marrying Me? I Married WAY Better Chapter 03

With that, I picked up my box and walked out without looking back.

Lisa grabbed my arm, her eyes red.

“Serena, you’re really just leaving like that?”

“Isn’t that letting them win?”

Before I could answer, a saccharine voice cut through from behind.

“What does Lane mean by ‘letting them win,’ exactly?”

I turned around.

Mira clicked over in her heels, her tone dripping with barely concealed triumph.

“Serena’s head was full of nothing but getting married. She didn’t care about the company’s future at all.”

“Ethan hates women who can’t see the big picture. She played her hand this badly—she has no one to blame but herself.”

Lisa’s face went dark. She rolled up her sleeves and stepped forward.

“Who can’t see the big—”

I stopped her with a hand on her arm.

“Forget it.”

The private elevator chimed open.

“Mira, the car’s waiting outside. Let’s go.”

Then he glanced my way.

His gaze lingered for only a second, cold and distant—like I was just another ex-employee.

No explanation. No goodbye. Not even a hollow platitude.

Lisa muttered under her breath, “What a goddamn waste.”

But I felt oddly calm.

Funny how when your heart dies all the way, even the pain goes quiet.

The sky outside went dark without warning.

A crack of thunder rolled through, and then the rain came down in sheets.

The security guard had already pulled the car up to the curb. He jogged over with an umbrella.

Ethan took it—and instead of looking at me, he tilted his head toward Mira.

“Come on. Don’t get wet.”

The guard opened the door for them.

But Mira didn’t get in the back. She slid into the passenger seat like she owned it.

That seat. The one with the hand-embroidered lumbar cushion I’d spent nights stitching for him because his neck was always bad.

She ran her fingers over it, then deliberately rolled down the window and beamed at me.

“Serena, this cushion is so soft.”

“You’re leaving anyway, so you don’t mind if I keep it, right?”

Ethan settled into the driver’s seat, one hand on the wheel. He didn’t even turn his head—just glanced at me through the rearview mirror.

“It’s just a cushion.”

“Keep it if you like.”

One sentence. Eight years of my love, dismissed like trash.

The window rolled up, sealing me out.

The black sedan hit a puddle and pulled away without hesitation.

Its taillights disappeared into the rain.

I stood there for a long time, watching.

Until even that last flicker of hope in my chest drowned in the downpour.

Eight years. That was all it was worth.

The rain was pouring down, and he didn’t even bother to ask how I’d get home.