Before His Wedding, the Good Girl He Used Quietly Vanished Chapter 01

Before His Wedding, the Good Girl He Used Quietly Vanished Chapter 01

Everett Sterling had a thing for bringing home good girls.

And every time, he’d spin the narrative until I bought it.

“I can’t help it. I see a girl getting mistreated, and I have to step in.”

“Don’t be jealous, Willa. Yeah, I have a soft spot for good girls, but you’re the one I come back to.”

That excuse worked on me every single time. Right up until tonight, when he brought someone new.

She was tucked against his side, shy and small.

Everett looked at her the way he used to look at me. Soft. Patient. Like she was something worth protecting.

“She’s not like the rest of you. She’s fragile. She needs extra care.”

“Sleep in the guest room tonight. Let her have our bed.”

My fingers went entirely numb. I nodded anyway.

His friends thought it was hilarious.

“Willa’s the perfect girlfriend. Sweet, easygoing, never makes a fuss. Exactly the kind of girl guys like.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t stay with Everett for three years unless you know how to keep things easy.”

I didn’t argue. I handed the new girl a pair of pajamas.

On my way past the living room, I heard one of them ask, “But seriously, Everett. Your family’s pushing you into an arranged marriage, and Willa’s always been so good to you. You’re really willing to let her go?”

Everett just swirled his wine, not even bothering to look up.

“Girls like her are a dime a dozen. Take away the obedience, and there’s nothing left.”

“But I’ll hold on to her a bit longer. Someone’s gotta show the new girl the ropes.”

“Don’t bring up the marriage thing around her. I don’t need the headache.”

I stopped listening.

That was the moment I decided to pack everything I owned and walk out without a sound.

Everett would understand. Good girls didn’t make things complicated.

He had his upcoming wedding to deal with anyway. I was just getting out of his way.

Dad had called earlier, telling me to come home and marry whoever he chose. So that’s what I would do.

…

Back in the guest room, the new girl’s eyes welled up the second she took the pajamas from my hands.

“Willa, I’m not trying to take your place.”

“I know.” I turned on the shower, checking the water temperature. “Just do what he says, and you’ll be fine. He’s good to girls who don’t push back.”

I stepped out of the bathroom and just stood there for three seconds.

Something finally clicked in my head.

Three years ago, Everett had brought me home the same way.

…

I rounded the staircase landing. They were still drinking.

Nolan Beckett had the whole table cracking up over some joke.

Everett sat at the center, smirking.

I wheeled my suitcase out the back door.

Walter Keene, the driver, froze when he saw me under the streetlight. “Miss Hart, it’s the middle of the night…”

“Mr. Keene.” I managed a smile. “Can you take me to the train station?”

We were almost two miles down the road before he spoke. “Miss Hart, does Mr. Sterling know you’re leaving?”

“He’ll understand.”

“Maybe… you should still let him know?”

“Mr. Keene.” My voice barely held. “Good girls don’t make trouble. Once I’m gone, that’s one less thing on his plate.”

The car sped up. Streetlights smeared into blurry streaks against the window glass.

I kept thinking about three years ago, the night Everett rescued me from that corporate party.

“You’re really this easy to push around?” He’d tilted my chin up, smiling. “Someone forces a drink on you, and you just take it?”

“Stay with me. You won’t have to deal with that anymore.”

Funny how he was the one I ended up running from.

…

The estate shrank in the rearview mirror.

Then the trees swallowed it whole.

My phone kept lighting up. My best friend Celeste Warren.

[Willa, have you lost your mind?? Three years and you’re just walking away??]

[You’re not even gonna fight for him?]

Fight for what, exactly?

I was raised to behave.

Dad told me to know my place. Mom told me not to be selfish.

Everett told me to stay. But he never told me I was allowed to stop being good.

Something in my chest loosened when I walked into the station.

I boarded the train, leaned back, and closed my eyes.

I woke up just after one a.m.

I checked my phone. No missed calls.

I didn’t know what I felt. All I could hear was what he’d said earlier, that he’d keep me around a little longer.

Keep. What a clinical word.

Like I was a houseplant he kept on the windowsill.

Water it when you remember. Neglect it, and it silently withers.

A houseplant doesn’t argue. Doesn’t make a scene.

Even when it dies, it dies quietly.

I was that houseplant.

The train kept moving. Outside, the dark was absolute.

I wondered what Mr. Westbrook’s son looked like. Tall? Short? Glasses?

The longer I sat with it, the more absurd I felt.

It was all just a transaction anyway.

Dad wouldn’t steer me wrong, right?