After Seven Years, I Chose Leave, He Begged Too Late

The next morning, I was jolted awake by pounding on the door.

Drew Simmons burst into the room and pulled me into his arms.

A hug that used to mean nothing—and now it made my stomach turn.

"Willow, I couldn't reach you. You scared me half to death."

"I sent you a hundred messages, called you a hundred times, and you were just gone."

"Willow, don't do this. Don't shut me out."

The whole devoted-boyfriend act—I didn't know whether to laugh or gag.

I pushed him away without letting my face betray anything. Every point of contact between us made me feel sick.

"Willow, just let me explain—"

Crack.

My hand was already across his face, a red mark blooming on his cheek.

"Why did you lie to me, Drew?"

"You're the richest family's only son, and you played poor to trick me. Did you think I was stupid?"

He reached up to wipe my tears, and only then did I realize they were already streaming down my face.

"You got Zelda Harding pregnant. Why did you keep coming back to me?"

"I scrimped and saved every cent so we could get married sooner, and you made me look like a fool!"

I was shaking with rage.

The tenderness in Drew's eyes vanished. What replaced it was cold, flat impatience.

"Willow, when I first saw you, you were busing tables in the cafeteria. You really think I could tell my friends I was into the lunch lady?"

"And if I'd walked up as who I actually am? You and your pride—you would've turned me down on the spot."

"I lowered myself for you, Willow. The least you could do is be grateful."

"You have no idea how hard it was to choke down those disgusting street-stall meals and the spinach noodles you made."

"I ate every bite. Because you liked them."

So everything I'd treasured as romance was just something he'd forced himself to stomach.

"What am I to you, Drew?"

"A toy? Entertainment for you and your friends?"

He grabbed my wrist hard enough that I couldn't pull free.

"Don't say that about yourself. Seven years, Willow—you really can't tell that I meant it?"

Real. Nothing about it was real. All of it was a lie.

"If it's real, then break off your engagement with the Hardings. Marry me."

His hand went rigid. His eyes turned cold.

"Willow, why can't we just leave things the way they are? I'll give you money. Nothing has to change."

So that was it. He just wanted to keep me tucked away where no one could see—his hidden woman on the side. And who knew how many others there were.

I let out a bitter laugh. "And if I refuse? What if I tell Zelda Harding everything?"

Every last trace of pretense left his face.

"Know your place, Willow."

"A girl from some dirt-poor mountain village—how exactly do you see yourself as my wife?"

"Don't make a scene in front of Zelda. It won't look good for anyone."

I had laid every ugly, painful thing about my family bare for him, and now he was throwing it back in my face. He had never once looked at me as an equal. Not from the very start.

I wrenched my arm free with everything I had, so hard he stumbled back a step.

The red marks his grip left on my arm burned, but the cold inside me was worse.

I wiped the tears from my face. The shattered look in my eyes slowly steadied into something still.

"You're right. I come from the mountains. My family is poor. I'm not worthy of the richest man's only son, and I'm certainly not worthy of being Mrs. Simmons."

Each word fell separate and deliberate, quiet but absolutely sure.

"But I'm not cheap enough to be your mistress in the shadows."

His brows knotted tighter, the impatience on his face sharper now.

He stepped toward me again, his voice carrying one last half-hearted attempt at coaxing:

"Willow, stop being stubborn. I can give you money, give you a life a hundred times better than killing yourself at some job. I'll handle things with Zelda. You won't be mistreated."

"She runs the house. You stay outside it. Nobody crosses the line."

I laughed. At myself, for being so blind.

"What I want, you can't afford."

Drew said nothing. He walked to my nightstand and laid a bank card down like he was settling a tab.

"Think it over. There's three million on that card. Once you've come around, I'll give you the PIN."