His 99th Excuse, My Empty Aisle

"Keep the engine running," I instructed the driver, stepping out of the black sedan.

"Miss, this is a loading zone. I can only wait five minutes."

"I will pay you triple your hourly rate. Do not move this car."

"Yes, ma'am."

I pushed through the revolving glass doors of the luxury high-rise. The lobby concierge, Gerald, stood up immediately from his polished brass podium.

"Miss Vance?" he asked, his eyes widening at the sight of my ruined white gown. "Shouldn't you be at the church?"

"I need the elevator, Gerald. Now."

"Right away." He swiped his master keycard against the security panel.

The heavy oak door of the penthouse shut behind me with a hollow thud.

My phone buzzed instantly. Harper’s name flashed across the cracked screen.

I swiped to answer. "I am inside."

"Lock the deadbolt," Harper demanded through the speaker. "Did you see his car in the garage?"

"His parking spot is empty."

"He is still with her. Unbelievable."

"It gives me time."

"Take the espresso machine. You bought it."

"He can keep it. I do not want anything he touched."

I bypassed the expansive living room entirely. I dragged my silver hardshell suitcase from the hall closet. The wheels scraped harshly against the imported marble tile.

"Did anyone follow you from the church?" Harper asked.

"Liam tried. I lost him at the intersection."

"Good. Liam is Julian's lapdog. Did you check the joint accounts?"

"I will handle the bank tomorrow morning."

I pushed into the master bedroom. The faint scent of Julian's expensive cologne lingered in the air, instantly turning my stomach. I grabbed my passport, birth certificate, and social security card from the wall safe. Next came the heavy black laptop.

"Do you have the case drafts?" Harper pressed. "Do not leave your intellectual property in that apartment. He will use your research for his own promotion."

"The laptop is packed."

I ripped my clothes off the racks. I shoved a handful of silk blouses and trousers into the suitcase. I did not fold a single garment.

"His mother is doing damage control at the reception hall," Harper said, her tone sharp. "She is telling the guests you had a nervous breakdown."

"Let her spin her fairy tales."

"Hazel, you need to clear out the jewelry box. Take the tennis bracelet he bought you for your birthday."

"I am only taking what belongs to me."

A sharp beep interrupted our call. I pulled the phone away from my ear.

Julian’s contact photo stared back at me.

"He is calling," I told Harper.

"Do not answer that bastard."

"I have to."

I tapped the screen, switching the line. "Julian."

"Hazel, where the hell are you?" His voice echoed slightly, layered over the hum of a car engine. "My mother is in tears. She says you abandoned the church."

"I went home."

"Why? I specifically texted you to push the ceremony back two hours."

I zipped the suitcase shut. "I do not follow your schedule anymore."

"Stop acting insane. Chloe’s airbag deployed. She was bleeding from her forehead."

"Did you stitch her up yourself?"

"She was having a severe panic attack!" Julian shouted. "She begged me to stay until the ambulance arrived."

"And you held her hand."

"I am her emergency contact, Hazel. I could not just leave her on the side of the road."

"You left me at the altar instead."

"You know she has no one else," Julian argued. "Her family is in Seattle."

"She has a phone. She could call a friend."

"She called me."

"Exactly. She called the groom on his wedding day."

"It was a reflex, Hazel."

"It was a test. And you failed."

Silence stretched across the cellular connection. I dragged the luggage into the study.

"I am driving back to the church right now," Julian finally said, his tone shifting to a commanding register. "Put your dress back on. We can still make the reception."

A dry, unexpected laugh escaped my throat. The sound was entirely void of humor.

"You think I want to dance?" I asked.

"I think you are overreacting to a medical emergency. I am trying to be a decent man."

"You are a coward."

I stopped in front of his massive mahogany desk. A thick, cream-colored parchment sat perfectly centered on the leather blotter. *Chief Attorney Appointment.*

"Hazel, be reasonable. We have two hundred guests waiting. My partners are in the front row."

"Send them home."

I grabbed my left hand. My fingers clamped down on the three-carat diamond ring.

"Do not do anything stupid," Julian warned, his voice dropping an octave.

"I already did. I put on a wedding dress for you."

I twisted the platinum band. It stuck against my knuckle, resisting the removal. I yanked it upward with brutal force.

The sharp, pointed edge of the diamond setting sliced directly across my skin.

A bright, stinging pain flared. A thin red line opened on my finger.

"That ring cost me forty thousand dollars," Julian snapped through the speaker.

"Then you can use it to pay for Chloe's hospital bill."

"You are acting like a jealous teenager."

"I am acting like a woman who just realized her worth."

"Hazel, answer me. Are you listening?"

"I am leaving your ring on the desk."

"Stop this nonsense right now."

I slammed the diamond down. It landed with a sharp clink, resting perfectly in the center of the gold foil seal on his promotion letter.

A single drop of warm blood welled up from my knuckle. I did not reach for a tissue. I let gravity take it.

The crimson droplet fell, smearing a dark, jagged trail against the polished edge of the solid wood desk.

"The wedding is canceled," I stated.

"You cannot throw away five years over one afternoon!"

"Watch me."

I ended the call. I tossed the phone into my purse.

Grabbing the suitcase handle, I marched toward the entryway. The heavy drag of the luggage grounded me.

Right beside the front door, a silver-framed photograph rested on the console table. Julian and I, smiling in Paris. His arm wrapped tightly around my waist.

I swung my purse outward. The leather strap caught the edge of the frame.

It plummeted to the hardwood floor.

The glass shattered instantly, sending jagged pieces scattering across the entryway rug.

I did not step around the mess.

I planted my stiletto directly onto the largest shard. The sharp heel ground the glass into fine, sparkling dust against the wood planks.

I reached for the brass doorknob.

Before turning the latch, I cast one final glance over my shoulder.

The master bedroom door stood completely wide open, exposing the interior.

Inside the massive walk-in closet, my side was completely bare. All that remained was a single, unbroken row of lonely black velvet hangers, swaying slightly in the silent draft.