He Thought I’d Beg, Until I Cancelled Our Engagement Chapter 10

Six months later, the Pittsburgh project won a major annual industry award.

The day after the celebration dinner, headquarters sent my formal promotion letter.

I was fast–tracked to regional director. My salary doubled.

No one treated me like someone else’s accessory anymore.

As we left, Daniel handed me the schedule.

“The Chicago summit’s next month. Three days. I booked the same flight.”

He paused, then added, “Don’t read anything into it. It’s for work.”

“I wasn’t.”

He smiled. “Good.”

We stayed somewhere between coworkers and friends.

No one pushed me toward something new. No one tried to send me back.

During that time, bits of news from Chicago reached me.

My sister always told me to be the bigger person and stop making a fuss. Her husband secretly moved their assets, then asked for a divorce.

She called me dozens of times, crying and asking to borrow money. I didn’t answer once.

The Coles fell apart, too.

Before Ethan went bankrupt, Natalie kept maxing out credit cards on luxury goods to keep living like a spoiled rich girl.

After the company collapsed, his mother took all her anger out on Natalie. The gloves came off, and

she kicked her out.

Now she was deep in debt, hiding from the collection agencies hounding her.

Then there was Ethan.

Without me working around the clock to bring in business, front the cash, and keep clients happy, his company ran out of cash in three months. Bankruptcy and liquidation followed. Even his car and

the last of his assets were seized.

I heard he came to Pittsburgh a few times after that.

Sometimes he stood on the corner across from the branch office.

Sometimes he waited outside my apartment building and left breakfast with the doorman.

I told the doorman to give it all back.

After a few tries, he stopped leaving anything.

That spring, headquarters hosted an industry summit in Chicago.

I was invited as an executive and led my team back to headquarters for the meetings.

After the meetings, Daniel and I headed downstairs on our way to that evening’s thank–you dinner.

The wind was strong as we stepped through the revolving doors.

Across the intersection, a man in a cheap vest bent toward passersby, offering them flyers.

Ethan.

He looked more than ten years older than he did six months earlier. His back was slightly hunched, and gray showed in his windblown hair.

The watch was gone from his wrist.

He froze when he saw me step out of the building. The stack of real estate flyers fell from his hands

and scattered across the ground.

He instinctively took two steps toward me, his dry lips moving.

“Claire…”

His eyes were pleading. He still clung to one last hope.

My gaze rested on him for less than a second. A stranger.

I kept walking, ignoring his reaching hand.

As I passed, he murmured an apology, but traffic drowned it out.

The car pulled smoothly away.

In the rearview mirror, the man who once looked down on me crouched in the dirt, picking up the

trampled flyers one by one.

We passed a hotel with a wedding welcome sign outside.

I looked at it for a moment, then turned away.

Ten minutes later, our town car stopped outside Chicago’s most exclusive restaurant.

The Whitmore. The same place where I canceled that Thanksgiving dinner the year before.

The dining manager came out himself to greet me with a deferential smile.

“Welcome, Ms. Bennett. Your large private dining room with the city view is ready on the top floor.”

I nodded and followed him inside.

Chicago glittered beyond the enormous floor–to–ceiling windows.

Around the large round table, executives from Pittsburgh and Chicago stood to greet me

“Have a seat, Claire.” Daniel pulled out my chair.

It was the central seat of honor, with the best view in the room.

I took off my coat and sat down, completely at ease.

I lifted my cup of hot tea, the city’s lights reflected in its depths.

This time, there was no seating chart.

And no one could take away my seat again.