Abandoned In Paris, Reborn In London

For three years, I played second fiddle to my boyfriend' s "childhood friend," Eve.

When Damion finally whisked me away to Paris to rekindle our dying spark, I thought things might change.

Instead, the moment we arrived, he abandoned me in the hotel lobby without my passport because Eve called with a "crisis."

I spent my first night in Paris stranded and penniless while he rushed to comfort her.

When he finally returned the next morning, he didn't apologize.

He flew into a rage because I' d sought safety in an old college friend' s room, accusing me of cheating while he still smelled like her cheap perfume.

He actually punched the only man who helped me, screaming that I was the toxic one.

The gaslighting was the final straw. I didn't feel anger anymore, just a cold, liberating indifference.

While he begged on his knees, quitting his job and promising to cut Eve off forever, I simply walked away.

I boarded a plane to London for a promotion I' d once turned down for him, leaving him with nothing but his regrets and the "friend" he chose over me.

Chapter 1

Charlotte Head POV:

He was watching me again, that familiar, almost possessive stare burning into my back from across the crowded gallery. I didn't need to turn around to know it was Damion. The air always felt thinner, sharper, when he was near. Three years. Three years of this. My heart, once a frantic drum whenever he entered a room, now beat with the slow, steady rhythm of a metronome set to indifference.

"Charlotte." His voice, smooth as always, sliced through the low hum of conversation.

I turned slowly, a practiced, blank smile plastered on my face. "Damion."

His eyes narrowed slightly. He hadn't expected that tone, that distant politeness. He was used to my warmth, my concern, my exasperation. Not this quiet void. "You're here." It wasn't a question, but an accusation.

"Last I checked, I was allowed to attend gallery openings," I said, my voice flat. My gaze swept over the art, lingering on a particularly vibrant abstract piece. It was so alive. So unlike me, these days.

"I called you," he pressed, ignoring my deflection. "Several times. You didn't answer."

A faint hum of annoyance vibrated in my chest, a residual echo of old hurt. I remembered the days I'd clung to my phone, desperate for his calls, for any sign he remembered me when he was with Eve. He' d called me "controlling," "needy," for wanting basic communication. Now, he wanted it. What a cruel joke.

"Phone was on silent," I lied, effortlessly. "Busy admiring the art."

"Charlotte! You made it!" Liam, my colleague from the marketing firm, draped an arm over my shoulder, pulling me slightly away from Damion. He gave Damion a cool nod. "Didn't expect to see you here, Gillespie. Last time I checked, modern art wasn't your thing."

Damion's jaw tightened. "Just supporting a friend's exhibit." He gestured vaguely towards a corner. "Eve's here. She knows the artist."

Of course Eve was here. Eve was always here. Everywhere. Always a presence, a shadow, a priority. I felt nothing at the mention of her name. Not anger, not jealousy, just... nothing. A quiet emptiness.

"Well, you two enjoy," Liam said, his grip on my shoulder a comforting anchor. "Charlotte and I were just discussing the merits of chaotic brushstrokes over structured realism. Much more stimulating conversation than... well, you know." He winked, subtly implying Damion's usual brand of superficiality.

Damion bristled. "Charlotte, we should talk," he insisted, stepping closer, trying to reclaim my attention. "I tried to reach you all week. I left messages."

A memory surfaced, sharp and clear: "Can you stop blowing up my phone? I' m busy. It' s smothering, Charlotte. I need space." He'd said that after I'd called him twice in an hour, worried because he was supposed to be home for dinner and hadn't replied to my texts for five hours. He was with Eve then, too. Always Eve.

"Did you?" I asked, my voice devoid of curiosity. "My phone's been a bit unreliable." Another effortless lie. The truth was, I'd simply stopped looking. Stopped caring what he had to say.

Eve, slender and ethereal in a flowing white dress, materialized beside Damion, her eyes wide and innocent. "Damion, darling, is everything alright?" She looked at me, a flicker of something unreadable in her gaze. "Oh, Charlotte! I didn't see you there. You look... different."

"I'm fine, Eve," I said, my voice as flat as the gallery wall.

"You two should really catch up," Eve chirped, her arm sliding through Damion's. "Damion was so worried about you. He was saying he couldn't get a hold of you, and he always worries when you're not around."

I almost laughed. Worried? He worried about his possessions, not about me. I glanced at Damion, who looked uncomfortable but didn't pull away from Eve's touch. "I'm sure he was," I murmured, my eyes returning to the abstract painting. The vibrancy of the colors mocked my own emotional palette.

Damion cleared his throat. "Look, Charlotte, can we just... go somewhere quieter? We can talk. I've been thinking, maybe we could go to that new Cajun place you always wanted to try. The one that opened downtown."

The Cajun place. My favorite. My stomach, which had been a tangled knot for so long, felt nothing. Another memory, vivid and painful: "That smell? Absolutely not, Charlotte. It' ll stink up the whole apartment for days. You know I can' t stand strong smells. You can indulge in that when I' m out of town." I' d given up my love for spicy seafood boils for him, for his pristine, scent-free apartment, for his comfort. Just like I' d given up so much else.

"The Cajun place?" I repeated, my voice still bland. "Oh, right. That one. Sure, Damion. Whatever."

A flicker of relief crossed his face, quickly replaced by a possessive smile. He reached out, his hand grazing my lower back, as if to guide me. "See? I knew you'd come around."

I flinched, almost imperceptibly, pulling away from his touch as if burned. The skin where he' d touched felt cold, alien. He didn't seem to notice, or chose not to. He just smiled, a flicker of triumph in his eyes. He thought he had me, still. He thought I was still the girl who would drop everything for a crumb of his attention.

He was wrong.

It was late, the city lights a blurry mosaic outside the cab window. The ride home was long, silent, and heavy with Damion's unspoken expectations. When we finally reached our apartment, the familiar silence of the hallway pressed down on me. I fumbled for my keys, exhausted down to my bones. The thought of collapsing into bed was the only thing keeping me upright.

The moment I stepped inside, the lights flickered on. Damion stood in the living room, arms crossed, his pristine white shirt a beacon in the cool light. He had been waiting.

"Where have you been, Charlotte?" His voice was cold, accusing, devoid of any genuine concern. It was the tone he used when I'd disrupted his carefully ordered world.

I didn't have the energy for this. Not tonight. Not ever again, probably. My shoulders slumped. "Out. With Liam. At the gallery."

"Until past midnight?" He scoffed, his eyes raking over me as if searching for evidence of wrongdoing. "What were you doing all this time?"

"Admiring art. Talking. Living my life," I retorted, the words flat and lifeless. I walked past him, heading straight for the bedroom. All I wanted was to crawl under the covers and disappear.

He moved faster, stepping in front of me, blocking my path. His presence felt like a wall. "Don't you think that's a bit much? You know I worry. And going out late like this without even a text? It's disrespectful."

Disrespectful. The irony was a bitter taste in my mouth. I just stared at him, my gaze empty. There was no anger left, just a vast, echoing weariness.

He saw my blank stare and his expression softened slightly, morphing into a practiced charm. He reached into his jacket pocket. "Look, I know you were upset earlier. About Eve. And about... my busy schedule." He pulled out a small, velvet box. "I got you something. A peace offering."

He opened it, revealing a delicate silver necklace with a tiny, sparkling charm. It was pretty, in a generic sort of way. A generic apology for a generic problem he didn't truly understand.

"You're being a little childish, you know," he continued, a patronizing smile on his face. "Overreacting. Eve's just a friend. You need to trust me. When are you going to grow up and realize I only have eyes for you?"

I didn't even bother to look at the necklace properly. I just took the box from his hand, my fingers brushing his, and tossed it carelessly onto the console table by the door. It landed with a soft thud. The sound was swallowed by the sudden silence.

He blinked, his smile faltering. "Charlotte? Aren't you going to... try it on?"

I didn't answer. I just pushed past him, my feet dragging. The bed was a sanctuary. I collapsed onto it, fully clothed, and closed my eyes. Sleep claimed me instantly, a deep, dreamless oblivion. I didn't hear Damion's frustrated sigh, or the quiet click of the bedroom door closing. I didn't feel his lingering presence, or the weight of his disappointment. I felt nothing at all.