Love After Years of Pain

The Sterling Foundation Gala at the Hamptons was a glittering spectacle of wealth and prestige. Under the soft glow of crystal chandeliers, New York's elite mingled and laughed, champagne flutes clinking like wind chimes in a gentle breeze. I stood alone near a marble column, my father's vintage watch—the last piece of him I had—wrapped securely around my wrist. Its familiar weight was comforting, a small anchor in this sea of people who looked through me as if I were made of glass.

I'd become skilled at making myself invisible in these circles. Three years of practice had taught me how to exist on the periphery, how to smile politely when necessary, how to disappear when Ryan paraded Isabella before his colleagues. Tonight was no different, except for the hollow ache in my chest where Jake's memory now lived.

"Chloe Sterling, hiding in the shadows as usual."

Isabella's voice sliced through my thoughts, sharp as a blade. She approached with the confidence of someone who knew they belonged, her crimson dress flowing behind her like spilled wine. Ryan wasn't with her, which was unusual—and concerning.

"It's still Matthews," I corrected quietly, though I knew it didn't matter. In their world, I was Ryan's unfortunate mistake, nothing more.

"Not for much longer, from what I hear." Her smile was all teeth. "Ryan tells me you're finally doing something sensible for once."

I didn't respond. Engaging with Isabella only ever ended one way—with me nursing new wounds in private.

Her gaze dropped to my wrist, and something predatory flickered in her eyes. "What a curious little relic you're wearing."

Before I could step back, her fingers closed around my wrist, nails digging into my skin as she examined the watch. "Vintage Patek Philippe? How... quaint."

"Please let go," I said, trying to pull away, panic rising in my throat. "It was my father's."

"Oh, was it?" Her grip tightened as she unclasped the watch with practiced ease. "Well, now it's a conversation piece."

I lunged for it, but Isabella stepped back, holding the watch aloft like a trophy. Several heads turned our way, curious eyes taking in the unfolding drama.

"Isabella, please," I whispered, conscious of the growing audience. "That's all I have left of him."

"You should be thanking me," she said, loud enough for nearby guests to hear. "It's terribly outdated. Ryan would be embarrassed to see his wife—even his soon-to-be-ex—wearing something so... common."

She turned, weaving through the crowd toward the garden tents set up on the manicured lawn. I followed, heart pounding, ignoring the whispers that trailed in our wake. The scent of roses and jasmine filled the air as we moved from the main house to the illuminated tents outside, but all I could focus on was my father's watch dangling from Isabella's fingers.

"Give it back," I demanded, my voice stronger now that we were away from the main crowd. "It's not yours to take."

Isabella's laugh was musical, cruel. "Oh, but taking things that don't belong to me is what I do best, isn't it? Just ask your husband."

She examined the watch under the warm light of the tent, turning it over in her hands. "It doesn't even work properly. The craftsmanship is mediocre at best."

"It doesn't matter. It's mine."

"Actually," she said, her voice dropping to a theatrical whisper, "I think Ryan gave this to me as an early wedding present. Something old, something borrowed..."

With deliberate slowness, she dropped the watch onto the stone patio and brought her heel down on it. The crack of glass and metal breaking sent a physical pain through my chest.

"Oops," she said, not bothering to hide her satisfaction.

I fell to my knees, gathering the broken pieces. My fingers trembled as I picked up the shattered face, the bent hands, the cracked crystal. But it wasn't just the watch that was broken—the impact had popped open the small locket I kept attached to the band, the one containing the only photograph I had of my father.

The tiny picture lay torn on the ground, my father's smiling face split in two.

"Look at you," Isabella said, standing over me. "Pathetic. Crawling around picking up garbage. This is why he never loved you, you know. This is why he'll always choose me."

I looked up at her through a veil of tears, something cold and hard crystallizing in my chest. In that moment, with my father's broken memory in my hands and Jake's absence an open wound in my heart, I made a decision.

I was done being broken. I was done being their victim.

Tomorrow, I would be gone.