He Thought I’d Beg, Until I Cancelled Our Engagement Chapter 05

I looked around the table.

“My engagement to Ethan is over.”

Dead silence.

Then I picked up the platter of roasted sea bass, the dish I paid for myself, and smashed it on the

floor.

Porcelain shards flew. No one dared make a sound.

I turned and walked out.

Ethan didn’t follow. He just called after me, exasperated.

“Get it out of your system. Everyone’s coming tomorrow, so don’t actually skip dinner. We’ll talk

afterward.”

Just before the door closed, I heard his sister mutter, “What if she really doesn’t marry you?”

Ethan laughed.

“She can’t bring herself to leave. She just wants me to sweet–talk her.”

The door shut behind me.

He had no idea my flight to Pittsburgh left at seven the next morning.

I didn’t look back.

The night air was cool as I stepped out of the hotel.

I called Mr. Parker.

“Please cancel my private dining room for tomorrow night.”

He checked twice. “Are you sure? That’s our large room with the view. If you cancel now, you won’t

get another reservation until after Christmas.”

“Cancel it.”

On the cab ride home, Ethan sent one last text.

[Let me know when you get home. Remember to get to the Whitmore early tomorrow to coordinate

the appetizers.]

He still assumed that once I got this out of my system, I’d show up the next night to run everything.

At five the next morning, I wheeled out the suitcase I packed the night before and closed the

apartment door.

I reached Pittsburgh at nine thirty that morning. Someone from the branch’s HR team met me at

the airport.

“Claire, this project’s a tough one. We might need you to jump right in.”

“No problem.”

At noon, I sat in my temporary apartment and opened my laptop.

Outside the window was an unfamiliar river.

First, I signed into the county clerk’s website and canceled our courthouse wedding appointment.

The page refreshed. The appointment status changed to [Canceled].

Then I opened a new email and entered Ethan’s work address.

The body was one line.

[We’re done. Don’t contact me.]

I sent it, shut the laptop, silenced my phone, and collapsed into bed to catch up on sleep.

Thanksgiving, six that evening.

The Whitmore’s lobby buzzed with voices.

Ethan gathered his entire family and Natalie in the lobby.

He wore a new custom suit. Natalie wore the engraved bangle and linked her arm through his

mother’s.

“Ethan, where’s Claire? She isn’t still mad, is she?” Natalie asked softly.

One relative complimented her bracelet. “That engraving really suits you.”

Ethan’s mother beamed. “Ethan helped pick it out.”

“Don’t worry about her. She’ll be here when it’s time. She’s more afraid of a scene than anyone.”

As Ethan spoke, he opened his work email.

Then he saw my email with the subject line [We’re Done].

He stared at the screen and stopped dead.

His mother hurried him along. “Ethan, what are you staring at? Get everyone into the dining room! People are hungry.”

He frowned, assuming I deliberately picked that moment to cause trouble.

He shoved his phone into his pocket. “I know. Let’s eat. I’ll deal with her when I get home.

He led everyone to the front desk.

“Hi. My fiancée, Claire Bennett, booked the large private dining room with the view. Party of

fifteen.” His tone was easy and familiar.

The receptionist checked the system and looked up. “I’m sorry, sir. Ms. Bennett canceled that

reservation at nine thirty last night.”

He froze. “Canceled? That’s impossible!”

“Yes, sir. The cancellation is confirmed. We gave the room to another party on the waitlist.”

“Can’t you squeeze us in somewhere? We’ll pay whatever it takes!” His mother stamped her foot in frustration. “And Claire chooses now to disappear on us!”

“I’m sorry, but we’re fully booked tonight. There isn’t even a table available in the main dining

room.”

Natalie went pale. “Ethan, why don’t we eat upstairs in the suite? I booked it, remember?”

“The suite is for overnight stays. It doesn’t have a dining table, and we can’t serve a dinner for fifteen there,” the receptionist explained.

Every member of the family turned to Ethan.

The relatives started whispering. His mother’s face went rigid with anger.

He whipped out his phone and called me.

Once. Twice. Three times.

Each call got the same automated response: “The person you are calling is unavailable.”

The fall wind blew in through the hotel doors.

He stood there, still clutching the seating chart.

Fifteen names. Not one left out.

And now there wasn’t a seat for any of them.