My Fiancé Let Me Rot in Jail

The pounding on my door started at 9:43 p.m.

I was sitting at the kitchen table. Cup of tea in front of me. Cold. I'd made it an hour ago and forgotten to drink it.

The pounding came again. Harder.

I stood up. Walked to the door. Opened it.

Colton pushed past me before I could speak. His face was wrong. Red. Twisted. I'd never seen him look like that.

He grabbed my shoulders. Slammed me against the wall.

The impact knocked the air out of my lungs.

"You killed him," he said.

His voice was raw. Shredded.

"You killed the only person who mattered. The only person who—"

He couldn't finish. His hands were shaking on my shoulders. His whole body was shaking.

I looked at him. Didn't speak.

"He trusted you," Colton said. "He welcomed you into this family. And you destroyed him."

I felt the bruises on my ribs. The ones from the fourth night. They pressed against the wall.

"The investigation," Colton continued. "The arrest. The shame. It killed him. Do you understand that? His heart couldn't take it. You—"

"I didn't do it," I said.

My voice was quiet. Steady.

Colton stared at me. His eyes were red.

"Don't," he said. "Don't lie to me. Not now."

"I showed you the evidence. The timeline. The access logs. You chose not to believe me."

His grip tightened. "The board—"

"The board saw what you showed them. You buried the rest."

Something flickered across his face. He let go. Stepped back.

I stayed against the wall. Didn't move.

"You let them arrest me," I said. "You signed the complaint. You knew the evidence was fabricated and you let it happen anyway."

"I had to—"

"You had to protect Oakley."

His face went white.

"Don't," he said again. Quieter this time. "Don't say her name."

"She did this. All of it. And you let her."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"I know exactly what I'm talking about."

I pushed off the wall. Walked past him to the kitchen table.

The ring was still on my finger. I looked at it for a moment. Three years. A three-year obligation.

I pulled it off.

Set it on the table.

The sound it made was soft. Final.

"I'm done," I said.

Colton stood in the doorway. Staring at the ring.

"Scarlet—"

"I loved you for ten years," I said. "I gave you everything. My career. My time. My dignity. I asked for nothing."

I looked at him.

"And you gave me less than nothing."

He opened his mouth. Closed it.

"Your grandfather was kind to me," I said. "He was the only person in your family who ever saw me. And I'm sorry he's gone. I'm sorry you're in pain."

I walked to the bedroom. Pulled my suitcase from the closet.

"But I didn't kill him. Oakley did. And you helped her."

I packed methodically. Three pairs of pants. Four shirts. Underwear. Socks. My laptop. The external drive with my files.

Colton appeared in the doorway.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

His voice was different now. Smaller.

"New York."

"You can't—"

"I can."

I zipped the suitcase. Pulled out my phone. Opened the airline app.

One-way ticket. JFK. Departing 6:20 a.m.

I booked it without sitting down.

Colton watched me. His hands hung at his sides. Useless.

"Scarlet," he said. "Please."

I looked at him.

The word sounded wrong in his mouth. Like a language he'd never learned to speak.

I picked up the suitcase. Walked past him.

In the kitchen, I stopped. Looked at the ring on the table.

It caught the overhead light. Glinted.

I thought about the woman who'd worn it. The one who would have forgiven anything. Who would have stayed.

She was gone.

I walked to the door. Put my hand on the knob.

"Goodbye, Colton," I said.

I didn't look back.

The door closed behind me with a soft click.

I took the stairs. Didn't wait for the elevator.

Outside, the air was cold. It was raining again.

I stood on the sidewalk. Pulled out my phone. Called a cab.

While I waited, I looked up at my apartment window. Fourth floor. The lights were still on.

I wondered if Colton was still standing in the kitchen. Looking at the ring.

I wondered if he'd move it. Or leave it there.

The cab pulled up.

I got in.

"Airport," I said.

The driver nodded. Pulled away from the curb.

I watched the building disappear in the rearview mirror.

Then I turned forward.

Didn't look back again.

Three weeks later, Colton Knight sat in his office at Knight Industries.

The ring was in his desk drawer. He'd taken it from Scarlet's apartment the morning after she left. Put it in his pocket. Brought it here.

He opened the drawer sometimes. Looked at it.

Never touched it.

His assistant brought him lunch. He signed papers she placed in front of him. He attended meetings where people spoke and he nodded at appropriate intervals.

At night, he went home to the family estate. Sat in his grandfather's study. Stared at the empty chair by the window.

Harold brought him dinner on a tray. Colton ate three bites. Left the rest.

"Sir," Harold said one evening. Hesitant. "Is there anything I can do?"

Colton looked at him.

"No," he said.

Harold nodded. Took the tray. Left.

Colton sat in the study until 2 a.m.

Then he went upstairs. Lay in bed. Stared at the ceiling.

He didn't sleep.

He hadn't slept in three weeks.

He kept seeing Scarlet's face. The way she'd looked at him in her apartment. Not angry. Not crying.

Just done.

He'd tried to call her once. The second day after she left. Her phone went straight to voicemail.

He didn't leave a message.

What would he say?

Oakley came by the estate. Brought food. Sat with him in the study.

"You should eat," she said. "You're not taking care of yourself."

He looked at her.

She smiled. Sad. Sympathetic.

"I know you're grieving," she said. "But Edward wouldn't want you to fall apart."

Colton looked back at the empty chair.

"She's gone," Oakley said. Soft. "Scarlet. She left. Maybe that's for the best."

Colton didn't respond.

Oakley touched his hand.

"You have people who care about you," she said. "You're not alone."

He pulled his hand away.

Stood up.

"I need to work," he said.

Oakley watched him leave.

Sat in the study alone.

Smiled.

In New York, Scarlet Willis stood in the lobby of Richards Pharmaceuticals.

Glass and steel. Forty stories. The building gleamed.

She walked to the reception desk.

"I have an appointment with Grey Richards," she said.

The receptionist smiled. Checked her screen.

"Ms. Willis. Yes. Fortieth floor. The elevator is to your right."

Scarlet nodded.

Walked to the elevator.

Pressed the button.

The doors opened.

She stepped inside.

Didn't look back.